I ran a half marathon in St. Louis, Missouri this morning. Over 13,000 runners crammed into the city streets, and that's not counting those who ran in the full marathon (which overlapped with the half marathon for the first 10 miles.) The weather was great, the runners were awesome, the spirit excellent, and the downtown course pleasant. On the downside, I started having issues with my right calf somewhere between mile 8 and 9, but I refused to stop or walk. I bit the bullet and finished with a less-than-stellar time. I was hoping to improve my time from the half marathon I ran in Columbia, South Carolina in November, but I had no business thinking I could improve, having hardly trained during these winter months. I saw a few casualties along the road once I got past mile 10. Mile 3 ran along the Anheuser-Busch brewery. I instantly recognized the pleasant smell, which I liken to Campbell’s minestrone soup for some reason, and it evokes memories of driving on the freeway past Anheuser-Busch brewery in Van Nuys, California. As always, I had to urinate during the run, no matter that I took care of business in a Porta Potty only minutes before the start. When the course passed under a freeway overpass, a bunch of males ran off to the side to urinate. Feeling discomfort in my bladder, I joined in, peeing in public for the first time, as hundreds of runners whizzed by whistling and catcalling. I wouldn't call the experience exhilarating, but at least I can add public urination to my book of experiences. Now I'm sitting in a hotel in Bridgeton, nursing my wounds, eating a cookie, watching CNN, and trying to forget my mortality.