This may be my final entry.

Tomorrow my alarm clock will pierce through my deep state of unconciousness at 7:00 am. After I wipe the morning gunk from my eyes I will shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, stretch out, and drive to campus. I'll give some frat guy a fifteen dollar check and continue to stretch and contemplate my life. I'll probably say it was a nice run, these twenty years, and think about the things I've been able to do. Then I'll get in position to fight for my life.

That's because tomorrow morning I am running a 5K.

5K, five thousand feet, a little over three miles. Five thousand feet is a walk in the park--- maybe literally--- for Phil, my friend Ben's roommate who is a UF track star. Five thousand feet is practice on the stopwatch for Ben, who runs almost daily and talked me into this battle. Five thousand feet could be fatal for the author of a certain weblog, someone whose last organized run was when Coach Jones timed his eigth grade class in the (one) mile run, someone who prepared today for his run by sitting on his butt studying and making an orgasmic dinner that contained about 400% of the typical daily saturated fat content, someone who is typing on his computer at 11:45 pm instead of sleeping and dreaming that God will turn off his alarm and spare him the emabarrasment of having to wring his sleeves of perspiration after walking to the track.

But at least I will cure sickle cell anemia. And if I survive, I'll continue to write.