This is Pi Day #033.b

After running fourteen klicks in the bitter cold over this past weekend, my mouth refused to cooperate with my brain.

In fact, there exists a state somewhere comfortably situated between chattering teeth and frostbitten skin where the mouth goes numb and one finds that talking becomes a chore of some difficulty only bested by the difficulty of trying to understand someone speaking in that condition.

Some folks might tell you that this state of affairs is far from unusual, but alas this past weekend my excuse had more to do with frozen cheeks and frozen lips and generally frozen face than anything more permanent.