So I headed out at the crack this morning for my regular (sans the extra 3 miles down the road to nowhere) run. And by regular, I mean this is the second time. All the locals are at the beach at 7am. Because its freaking hot after 9 and they know how to work the Mexican weather system.

Anyway, I like to run down to the abandoned, except for locals and drug smokers/dealers, end of the beach. It feels more dangerous than prancing past the all-inclusives. What can I say? I live on the edge.

So I’ve already hauled ass to one end and am working my way back. iPod buds in. I’m just asking for an abduction.

I slow down to stroll a little because of the cramp in my left arch when this little Mexican guy comes right up behind me and scares the living crap out of me. I’m thinking, “here we go,” ready to start screaming and kicking him in the groin area, when he motions for me to join him on his run.

“Habla Espanol?”


Then we keep running. In silence. But we are pushing each other. Then I tried to ask him 100 different ways how long the flipping beach was, but he just kept responding “si.”

When we got close to my finish line, he broke into a dead sprint and said “rapido!!” Crap. He is a good trainer. I chased him like this until we came upon my beach exit.

“Yo Finito,” I said. “Como Te Llamas?”

“Marc Anthony”

“Mucho Gusto, Marc Anthony. Gracias for kicking mi culo.”


Hopefully I can find him again tomorrow.

The Colorado contingency is here. Our night was pretty calm as they had a long day of travel. We still drank enough to by stupid crap. A couple donkey blankets and 12 marracas. I think we’re starting a band or something.

Colorado In the House... or The Tequila Barrel

We also hung out with the little white dog named Mote. Yep, that is the Spanish name for weed. The friendly Mexican lady who owns her said they found her and she wouldn’t respond to any other name. I love Mexicans and their dogs.

Can you believe that tourists will pay 5 times what a bottle of tequila is worth just because it has two clay people doing the nasty slapped on the side? Ridiculous. And kind of gross. But I reckon that is something I could master if this whole PR business doesn’t work out…

Kind of messed up

It’s going to be a good day.