Today is/was the San Francisco Marathon. So, M. and I are up in the city with a Triple-A deal on a Marriot Courtyard. Conceivably, it could be romantic, what with it being SF and all.
But, he had to queue up at 6:20 at the a.m. buttcrack of dawn. (Actually, that was a relatively pleasant start time, since he decided at the last minute that a lack of focused training made the 1/2 marathon a better idea. The full marathon started earlier.)
Neither of us are what you call morning folks. In fact, I hasten to guess that if ever I do shiv someone in a psychotic, homicidal rage, it'd be closer to sunrise than sunset. In short, fucking dawn blows. Worser still, at about midnight last night it was pretty fucking clear that neither of us was falling into an easy, blissful sleep. Restless, tossing, turning, getting up to pee, checking the alarm. Yay.
He did well, and finished up much faster than I thought given the look on his face when he left.
I think I'll go to bed at 7 p.m.