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.
I hear you, Juancho. But if anyone can do it, you can. That bully didn’t know who it was dealing with.
Aw. You’re a married man now. You’re not supposed to have that hungry look about you.
But go ahead, eat your kale, ride your bike.
I need to call your wife about getting my hair trimmed. I should get around to that by July. Maybe.
Don’t listen to Ms. Moon and her “married man” talk. Lean and mean is good! 😉
Like Rocky IV.