According to this watch, I could have eaten two of these on September 2nd. I haven’t worn it since, which means:
1. That my off season was 131 days long.
2. That the dirt on there is Canadian.
3. That I missed an opportunity to eat something that might have given me an instant heart attack.
Yet once again, I take a somewhat irrational pleasure in what my HRM doesn’t know. What have I gotten up to in 131 days of “off season”?
I’ve explored a bunch of new territory on skis and bikes, cut my first pair of skins, and slept in cabins full of friends, firearms and whiskey. I made deep-fried-panko-spam sushi, kale shakes, and a really long paper about Moby Dick. I invented (according to spell check) no fewer than three words for said paper. One of the words was bromance.
I saw the Dead Sea, a tank, the inside of my very first bar, and the first half of the last Harry Potter, which was ruined as usual by the supremely incompetent Daniel Radcliffe. I started rockclimbing again, got my wisdom teeth stolen, and made many, many hats, which I gave to many, many people for free (not a sustainable business plan.)
It’s been a great 131 days, but like all 131 day segments, it had to end.
For some people new years comes on January 1st, but mine was today. I’m celebrating by making a nice veggie stir fry, doing a core workout, and going to bed early. Here’s to new seasons and old watches!