Tonight I had my first, "Oh, jeez, it's that late?" moment of the summer, and that's truly awesome.

Scene: Some bar
Players: Myself, two coworkers
Activity: Not much, starting at about 6:30 or so. Talking too loudly, about nothing particularly interesting. Lots of me listening to 'design' talk, and eating Gorgonzola dip. Really, pretty productive, in its own (unproductive) way. Also, I should note that we were, inexplicably, inside. (This is what happens when you choose to meet people there, rather than show up first and stake out your spot. Oh well.)

So, we're there for I'm-not-sure-how-long, and I see a friend from last summer walk in. Quick hug, and a "A bunch of us are outside. You should totally come and join us," and then, after about 15 or so minutes with the current coworkers, I drop my cash on the table and wander out.

So the outside part was nice. Catching up, introducing myself to their new staff members, generally being genial and enjoying the mid-80's temps, and, eventually, they're finishing up their dinner and I'm hanging out, and then it's go time.

Still relatively bright out, certainly still warm and comfortable, and I get to my car and, Oh jeez, is it really that late?, it's 8:55. But still bright and wonderful outside and, still, another month for days to get longer. It's really pretty sweet, when it comes right down to it.

I even hustled in a quick walk post-hangout, and was home in relative lightness just before 10. Man, late sunsets rule.

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I just wrote "a quick walk," which is just lame. But my right leg's been bothering me lately - I've got a feeling it's a stress fracture - and that's severely limited my running. Usually two days off for each extended run, which isn't the schedule I'd like to maintain.

But, man, walking is just lame. And yes, it used to be my only form of exercise, but you can feel pretty inferior seeing some person run one way on the path behind my house, then passing me on their return trip. Just embarrassing, and I want to say, "Hey, check it, I'm injured," but there's just not time for that.

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Also, it's much better to have a destination, even if it's just the library. Last Thursday, it was a Disc Golf (disc golf?, probably, and don't you dare call it Frisbee Golf, or Frolf, Andy Bernard) course. I was terrible and felt like a hippie, but Disc Golf seems like a pretty good way to spend a few hours. A fair amount of walking - hills and everything on this particular course - and drinking's mildly encouraged. So it was a 40 of PBR in my belly and a well-above-par score on my card, and I'd say that the net calorie intake was negative, which is to say I burned some calories in that particular two-plus hour stretch.

I also lost a friend's 'driver,' though I'll blame that primarily on the unraked leaves and the severe downslope, rather than on a lack of focus (and talent) exacerbated by the sweet, sweet nectar.

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For the first time in years, I'm really, really enjoying a whole lot of baseball. Enjoying, I wrote, and not just observing. Then again, that much is obvious based on what I've written semi-recently.

Highlights from recent broadcasts:

Bob Brenly, WGN-TV: "This linescore is like binary code. All 1's and zeroes." I was shocked that he was able to pull that one out.

Also Bob Brenly, as a helicopter is shown on screen...
Bob: You know what that is, Len?
Len: What, BB?
Bob: High chopper.
Len: (Giggles like a school girl)
Not funny, but a little funny. Mostly in context, and mostly because there's a whole lot of work that goes into filling three hours of time every day for three hours. You need 'high chopper' jokes, you see.

Monday afternoon, Hawk Harrelson: "And we're just gettin' our butts kicked."

Monday evening, Detroit Tigers:

Scene: Mario Impemba and Rod Allen are discussing the Devil Rays B.J. Upton, a former second-overall pick (Brian Bullington was more polished, because he was a college pitcher, the Pirates stupidly decided), and his brother Justin Upton, the first-overall pick of the Diamondbacks in 2005.

Mario: There's a whole lot of talent in that family.
Rod: There's a whole lot of Benjamins in that family.

Me: Awesome.

And the clincher from, of course, Ron Santo. Saturday afternoon, the day after the Cubs had scored something like six runs in the top of the eighth, then allowed one or two in the bottom half to lose, say, their fourth straight. Sinking ship.

Ron: Patrick, have I told you how much this season's getting to me?
Pat: No, Ronny, you haven't.
Ron: Well, Patrick, after last night's game, I just walked across the outfield and got right on the bus. I needed to go to sleep after that one.
Pat: Ball three. Three and one. (Who am I kidding? He never calls pitches when Ronny's on a roll. But let's pretend.)
Ron: So I tossed and turned and finally got to sleep at about 1:30. And then I woke up in a cold sweat.
Pat: Strike two swinging. Full count. Why's that, Ronny?
Ron: I had a dream that my wife left me and I didn't have any friends. You think this season's not getting to me?
Pat: Don't worry, Ronny, you have plenty of friends. Millions, even.
Ron: Oh, thanks, Patrick.
Pat: Ball four. Garciaparra walks.
Ron: Goddammit. Jesus. I wanna kill Scott Eyre.

Conclusion: Memorial Day weekend rules.
Friday: One televised game.
Saturday: One televised game. Another on the radio. Sadly, a third was rained out.
Sunday: One televised game.
Monday: Two televised games. Another on the radio.

I also found time to drink a bit.

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In the "Burying the Lead" category, I completed a 10K on Saturday. I kind of run a 10K about three times a week or, at my peak, six times a week, so it wasn't the running of it that was the accomplishment. It was the waking up for it (6 a.m.) that was an accomplishment and the free bananas and yogurt afterward that made it awesome.

I finished 14th of 64 in the age group (linked above), which I'm pretty happy with, though I came up 12 seconds shy of my not-unrealistic, yet kind of fast, 48:00 goal. But 48:12, equal to a 7:46 pace, which isn't anything to pee on, you know? Also, I would've won the Males 65-69 group, and finished a strong second in the Females 1-14 group, so I can also take pride in that.

There was a professional race photographer shortly before we entered the track that led to the finish line. Clad in my too-big Northwestern Wildcats N-Cat shirt, I gave a first-class Go Cats claw; I can only hope that the picture came out, and that the photographer is able to identify my number and contact me to purchase. I'd totally buy it. Sadly, I wasn't able to find the photo at the public photo display place on Sunday afternoon, but that was after it had been open for 24 hours already, and perhaps someone had ripped that fine picture off the walls. They were up for grabs, you see.

So, then the question is, How much do I enjoy this? Quite a bit, it seems. Though, as I was looking through the brochures promoting upcoming events, I kept thinking, Is it worth a hotel room and the entry fee just to get a t-shirt and some bananas? The answer, inevitably, is a strong "Probably not, stupid."

That said, maybe if I get healthy, I'll look into one of those 26.2-milers, perhaps the international one in October, or perhaps the Chicago one the following October. I don't think I'd do the 26.2-miler up here, though maybe I'll do the half-marathon next year. Sounds like you need to take a bus to get to the start line for that one, though you also get a medal. Me, I just got the t-shirt. And I spilled mustard on it within four hours of race completion.

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I should mention that the Northwestern Wildcats Women's Lacrosse team won its third consecutive national championship on Sunday night, and that the Women's Softball team just qualified for its second straight College World Series. It's not the type of thing I can get excited about - I'm not invested in it, and I don't really even check the results until the postseason - but it's really, really, really awesome. (Also, I do watch the softballers whenever they're on; in a lot of ways, softball is better than baseball. There's no margin for error. Of course, softball is also, in a lot of ways, a game of one-dimensional players and one-player teams. That's why it's not as good as baseball. Also, they don't scratch their crotches.)

Nothing bad comes out of it, except for, occasionally, hazing pictures.