It is sadly predictable to be squeezing into one’s fat jeans in the beginning of January. The holiday bully sits upon our chests and rubs cake in our face for sixty days and before you can slur your way through Auld Lang Syne it is too late. Say what you wish about moderation, but the holiday bully on my block won’t tolerate it.
I ride pretty well as a Clydesdale, in some ways better. More depth to the legs, more assertive, just more of more in general. Still, measures must be taken.
Still monk, not angry now, I have my ways. I am natural-born Spartan, never happier than flexing the self-denial muscles of a true hunger artist.
I have been over the mountain and back, as they say, so this? A smallish hike, a wander on the road. The Skateboard of Great Clarity greets me everyday, reminding me of the hardships that came during the Unraveling of 2010. In this club, the Redemption Gang, you must re-certify on occasion, but you are only initiated once.