59 miles into my new training program, I found myself running shirtless past a cage filled with screeching cockatoos. I am pretty sure they were trying to tell me to put a damn shirt on.
Or maybe they were commenting on the rest of my attire, which consisted of cotton briefs, sleep shorts, and a pair of shoes that have been relegated to three main tasks since 2011; 1. lawn mowing 2. hiking, and 3. catching beer spilled by drunk-but-excitable concert-goers.
Though I enjoyed the experience, the next time we take a quick weekend vacation I will (probably) pack some running gear.