Stranded on Wirelesslessness Island

I moved out of a nice downtown apartment into a room in a family's cabin near the university where I work. The change has been good. I don't have internet at home anymore, so...I've had to adjust to not constantly soaking in the stagnant digital bathwater of the Innerwet. Infurpet. Analsweat.

You'll simply have to find it in your beautiful, muscular, throbbing, proud, shining, inviting, true, wide-open, close-hewed, wickedly delicious Heart to forgive me, True Believer.

Now, I live about 50 meter from the university's gravel track and the gym. The result was my biggest/bestest training week of the year: 2 hours of squat thrusts and 43:00 minutes of juggling practice.

A rare day that the track isn't covered in couples jogging in the inside lane in the wrong direction, dogs chasing runners, young mothers pushing strollers and people stretching in the middle of track. I have attempted 400m workouts with all of those things going on at the same time. Because I'm an asshole like that.

I raced another 4K at the university a week after the 50 miler. 2nd overall. My buddy, who works in the gym, beat me. He's a mid-16:00 5k'er and I'm a drunk, so...I didn't feel too torn up about my loss. I raced/waddled 50K a couple weeks ago. Daniel and Max beat me, which I was more than happy about. The race, in terms of the location, was a pair of redlipsticked lips puckering up for a greedy kiss. The race, in terms of organization, was rolling over in bed to discover your last-night lady friend is twice your size and twice as hairy...in terms of penis.

I have two weeks until my first 100-mile, jogorgy. Boss walkin' is what I do, baby.

Take a gander, you sweet bitch.