Miami

After narrowly escaping a hurricane in Belize I arrive in Miami. I have entire day for myself and I decide to continue my vacation. Rather than a gloomy sleepover around the airport I rent a car and head for Miami Beach. My hotel is right by the ocean and I plan to blend with the local beach bums. I also plan to work as next day I go to Santiago, Chile to be on a panel. The plans for work are unfortunately soon extinguished by a bottle of sake that I consume together with sashimi for dinner. Sadly both servings are huge  but they sorely lack in quality.
Next morning is the beach time. Running is my new hobby and I take it very seriously. I put on my running gear which is very tight and with clearly visible logos of respectable sportswear companies. iPhone in an armband and earphones complete the setup. I  am clad in black from top to bottom and in spite of the fact that I have been running only for a month I ooze confidence and professionalism.
I leisurely stroll to the lobby - fuck - two individuals with beer-bellies and first names embroidered on white t-shirts sit there discussing cars. I am obviously in the wrong section. I rocket to the beach and start jogging. The pace is geriatric and in spite of the fact that it is only 7:30 it is already very hot. After half mile I remove my over-tight shirt. This increases my comfort level but  considerably lowers my beach-bum factor and unravels glaring imperfections in my physique.
I latch onto a tall old guy who is ahead of me. He is much faster but he carries at least a gallon of water strapped to various body parts which makes me suspect that his endurance is low. Indeed, after quarter mile he stops to gulp from his bottles while I zip by pretending to be as light as a gazelle. Three minutes later he catches up, his legs are at least 3 feet longer than mine. This back and forth continues for two miles. Finally I am back where I started. I run half naked into the lobby and sit on a bar chair with a glass of ice-tea. Small puddles of sweat form on the floor around me but I understand that this is an indication of my commitment to beach life. Other patrons, may or may not agree. After a while I am starting to get confused about it and my self-confidence is waning. I retreat to my room, take a shower and dress up.
The rest of the day is hard work, I sit in Starbucks and read. There is no (free) internet connection which increases my productivity by leaps and bounds. In the evening I fly to Santiago.