He doesn't jog.
First off, he gets me up before my Benadryl wears off. Then he has the oxygen shipped to Cheryl's house. Speaking of Cheryl, I think he thought I was her, or fast like her, or something. His "9 minute pace" started out at 7:15 pace. And I was most definitely still asleep. Maybe that's what it's like in the army Daryl? Your first sign you're awake is chest pain? Finally, after signs of distress from his big little sister, he asked me, "now, do you want to go 4 miles or 6?" (We had planned to go 6). So we slowed down. Or I slowed down. I think he would have left me in the dust but he was worried I wouldn't find my way home. He started telling me where the house was.
Finally, we started downhill. Now. I am good at downhill. Here's what you do. Squat down, tuck your head under, and roll. We brushed by a yard waste container, which drew blood. I was not quite to the tears yet, but I had now done the blood and sweat. FunZies! AND I could now see as the sun was starting to rise. I finally found my legs and we ended about 50 minutes later, a quarter mile short of 6 miles. After I ate a plum from his back yard I was ready to go. As in, back to bed.