The bottle of Maker’s Mark had been sitting on the shelf for months, unopened, a testament to the fact that I can have good booze in the house and not feel compelled to indulge at the drop of a hat.
But after the president spoke tonight to his administration’s alternately pathetic and misguided response to COVID-19, I broke the wax seal, opened the bottle, and poured a shot over ice.
November cannot come soon enough. In the meantime, thank G-d for good bourbon.
All of my macronutrients, plus fiber and electrolytes, when pushed into a single pile makes me seem every more obsessive-compulsive than I am in real life.
Sunny dropped us at the beach at Sycamore Canyon around 9am. It was a later start than we would normally like, but as it turns out it was a good thing we were rested.
The twelve mile uphill hike wasn’t particularly strenuous, except for a portion where we gained about 600 feet in a mile, and that was only a challenge because it was after 8 miles and 2:40 of steady walking up slope without rest. What is more, Aaron keeps up a steady 3mph pace with a full day pack, so it was a bit more than a leisurely stroll up Sycamore Canyon.
In theory the last four miles should have been an easy downhill stroll to the 101, but fatigue was starting to set in, and even the kid was audibly relieved when our stopping point hive into view as we crossed the freeway.
By the end we had taken a bit over 4 hours to walk the 12 miles, but we had crossed the Santa Monica Mountains, burned 2,000 extra calories, and started our training program for the big prize: the John Muir Trail.
This as delivered ten minutes after I set my bags down in my hotel room on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
From tiny gestures like this is loyalty built.
Showed up on a busy Sunday afternoon and they sat me right down. They were so fast with an immense iced tea, so accommodating with my obsessive-compulsive substitutions, and so tolerant of my flagrant head cold that after lunch I ordered dinner to go.
The Broken Yolk Cafe is now my official North County (San Diego) bruncherie.
The Courtyard at Deerfield handed me a personalized water bottle when I walked in. Torn between drinking it and keeping it.
UPDATE: Ingot thirsty on the train on the way home, drank it, and recycled the souvenir.
One thing I did not expect to be on the menu at Max & Benny’s Deli in Northbrook for my end-of-brutal-work-week dinner was halibut, and certainly not this massive slab of fish! The Greek-style grilling with lemon, cilantro, and a dash of olive oil absolutely killed it.
A trainer-approved cheat meal at Ototo Sushi at Liberty Station. Good on proteins, good on fats, surprisingly a little short on carbs.
This is what happens when your body changes after decades of obesity.
- You go through all of your old clothes.
- You put everything that is so large that it is clown-like into trash bags.
- You fill the back of your truck with the clothes bags
- You take it to the Coalition Thrift Store in Ventura.
- And then you come home to discover you have nothing to wear.
- Honestly, I don’t even know what size I wear anymore.
Not complaining, mind you…
I had friends, relations, dieticians, and even physicians telling me that without surgery I was doomed to a life of obesity.
I am grateful beyond words that they were all wrong, grateful for the unfailing support of my family, and grateful for the loving help of G-d.