I ran a mile just before midnight, my belly full of licorice. I was sweating licorice. I was totally destroyed from the WORST BIATHLON EVER I experienced Saturday. To make it up to my older kid, I took him to a big ass cave.

We joined a guided tour deep into a mountain at Laurel Caverns, endured mild, cool conditions and disparaging updates of our guide’s unhappy conjugal arrangement. We walked a mile in the lit cavern. Very pedestrian. The tour culminated with this weird light/sound show. The music made me think of the tour guide’s marital situation. I imagined him returning home, finding the house empty, a note on the counter saying, “I’m out, sort of like your passion”, and his dinner cold and congealed in the fridge, uncovered. The music swells as the food spins and spits in the microwave upon its lit carousel.

Alone in the chamber, he cleans his dish from a trickle oozing from a sandstone wall. Darkness falls. The triumph of silence, the ineffable darkness. Then, boom:

Tower of Hercules
Tower of Hercules

I ordered a replacement inner tube for my bike. Taking the kids to a park, hoping to get two short runs in today. I’m so sick of being unemployed. At least my son got a kick out of the corny cave tour. He kept asking me if “this was fun”. I assured him it was fun.