Captured
Recently, my parents, grandmother and Auntie Margaret were over for the day. It was Margaret's first visit to the house so we took her on a tour. In the course of the tour someone pointed out a photograph, taken from the back window of Niko's room, of Niko and me on the hammock. If love could be boiled down to its pure essence, it would be this photograph:
A father and his son in the warm evening glow. Niko is reclined on top of me, his head propped up against my leg. We are facing each other and he is examining something he is holding in his hand and he is (I am sure) spinning brilliant theories about the object and its origins or use. In the photograph, the object is just barely too small to decipher. The stuff of our family life is scattered around us on the ground, brown now in early fall beneath the big oak. On the left edge of the photo there's a wading pool, empty but for a few clumps of leaves. Below, there are a couple of chairs, one wrought iron, another from an old dining-room set. There's a colorful plastic tee with the fat yellow bat nearby. There's a bunched up silver tarp, with Sammy Cat just off the edge, peering -- as he often does -- at something knowable only to him. There's also a bucket of water with one of my winemaking siphons in it. No doubt Niko had been siphoning earlier.
Looking at the photo, it occurred to me: My ex created that. One evening during our allegedly loveless marriage, she stopped what she was doing, grabbed the camera and captured that moment.
Photography is as much art as any other form. Beauty in art rarely comes by accident. And this beautiful photo, this picture of overwhelming tenderness and sweetness, was made by my ex. Could she have created it if she didn't see and feel and hold love for our lives -- for me -- in her heart? A classic technique of abandoning marriage is to revise the history; my ex wants to believe there never really was love between us. I see now where there was pain and poor communication and even meanness -- as in most human interaction. But there was love, as well. Tons of love. The evidence is everywhere, I am sure of it. Which leaves me, where, exactly? Where I was before, where I have been since this started, where I will be, it seems, for a very long time: drifting deep in sadness. Sadness for myself for what I have lost; sadness for her for the pain that drove her to destroy so much that was beautiful.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Out There Running
So what in the world's come over you
And what in heaven's name have you done
You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness
You're out there running just to be on the run
Well I got a heart that burns with a fever
And I got a worried and a jealous mind
How can a love that'll last forever
Get left so far behind
--John Prine
So what in the world's come over you
And what in heaven's name have you done
You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness
You're out there running just to be on the run
Well I got a heart that burns with a fever
And I got a worried and a jealous mind
How can a love that'll last forever
Get left so far behind
--John Prine
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Half Vineman to Me: Here, Pete; I Have Your Ass for You
Today I entered a new realm of triathlon. I sucked. Wait -- don't be alarmed! I'm not brimming with self-loathing. I'm actually proud of my performance. The run was 2+ hours of hell, yet I never stopped. I ran the whole thing. I ran slowly, but I ran it and in the end they gave me my medal and I look at it, right now, and say, "I earned that thing."
But I still sucked.
I'm not sure what my time was. Somewhere around 6 hours, more than 20 minutes slower than last year's 5:38 and 15+ minutes slower than my first Half Vineman, in 2002.
What happened? Two things: First, in my so-called training, I didn't put in the necessary work on the bike. Gordo has said many a time that the bike is the heart of long-distance triathlon. "The bike is the engine," is how he's put it, the idea being that if the engine isn't powerful and well-tuned, the athlete will come out of the bike in no position to run well. My story, in a nutshell. In poor cycling shape, I nevertheless splitted under three hours, making it a typical Half Vineman bike for me. But getting that time zapped me. Typically, I come off the bike and uncorked a couple of 8-minute miles and only slip by about a minute-per-mile over the course of the 13.1-mile run. Today, my first mile was 9 minutes. My second was 10. My legs were shot. It was all I could do to turn out 10-minute miles the rest of the way.
There was also the matter of hydration. My wave was second-to-last of 16 to go, each separated by 8 minutes. By the time we started our swim, at 8:45 a.m., the fog deep in the Russian River Valley was already burning off. On the bike, I never felt hot and never felt thirsty, so I didn't drink much -- probably about half what I remember consuming in previous Half Vinemans. By the time I began running, I realized I was parched. I drank a couple of cups of water, and sips of Gatorade, at every aid station (every mile). My stomach took it reasonably well, and after each station, I'd feel stronger for a couple of minutes. Then I'd fade. This repeated over and over again.
OK, so how dehydrated was I. Well, three hours and a probably a half-gallon of fluids later, my weight was still down almost 6 percent. This is serious dehydration, friends. (Check out this link; I was shocked.) Now, another hour and a sandwich and a liter of water and a beer later, as the cooling evening breeze kicks in and blows into the office here, I still feel very hot.
So, OK, I sucked and I was stupid.
But hey, as I said above, that's OK. I started, I finished, I learned. Now I'm going to get ready -- really ready -- for a cool local half coming up in October. Half Vineman handed me my ass today and the Napa Valley Vintage Half is going to pay for it!
UPDATE: Official numbers are in.
--0:40:30.9 on the swim (fantastic, a PR);
--3:03:11.5 on the bike, but they didn't have a T1 for me, so it looks like they folded my usual 5-minute transition into the bike time, which means I biked a 2:58;
--a 4 1/2-minute T2 (awful; couldn't find my bike for a full minute, then when I tried to put on my tri shirt I found I'd pinned my race number through the front and back of the shirt, making it impossible to put on);
--and the aforementioned hideous run, 2:15:45.6, between 20 and 25 minutes slower than my previous Half Vineman runs.
--total time was 6:03:54.7; this left me a surprisingly high 144th out of 234 in my age group, which suggests I wasn't the only guy to suffer from a, uh, drinking problem.
Today I entered a new realm of triathlon. I sucked. Wait -- don't be alarmed! I'm not brimming with self-loathing. I'm actually proud of my performance. The run was 2+ hours of hell, yet I never stopped. I ran the whole thing. I ran slowly, but I ran it and in the end they gave me my medal and I look at it, right now, and say, "I earned that thing."
But I still sucked.
I'm not sure what my time was. Somewhere around 6 hours, more than 20 minutes slower than last year's 5:38 and 15+ minutes slower than my first Half Vineman, in 2002.
What happened? Two things: First, in my so-called training, I didn't put in the necessary work on the bike. Gordo has said many a time that the bike is the heart of long-distance triathlon. "The bike is the engine," is how he's put it, the idea being that if the engine isn't powerful and well-tuned, the athlete will come out of the bike in no position to run well. My story, in a nutshell. In poor cycling shape, I nevertheless splitted under three hours, making it a typical Half Vineman bike for me. But getting that time zapped me. Typically, I come off the bike and uncorked a couple of 8-minute miles and only slip by about a minute-per-mile over the course of the 13.1-mile run. Today, my first mile was 9 minutes. My second was 10. My legs were shot. It was all I could do to turn out 10-minute miles the rest of the way.
There was also the matter of hydration. My wave was second-to-last of 16 to go, each separated by 8 minutes. By the time we started our swim, at 8:45 a.m., the fog deep in the Russian River Valley was already burning off. On the bike, I never felt hot and never felt thirsty, so I didn't drink much -- probably about half what I remember consuming in previous Half Vinemans. By the time I began running, I realized I was parched. I drank a couple of cups of water, and sips of Gatorade, at every aid station (every mile). My stomach took it reasonably well, and after each station, I'd feel stronger for a couple of minutes. Then I'd fade. This repeated over and over again.
OK, so how dehydrated was I. Well, three hours and a probably a half-gallon of fluids later, my weight was still down almost 6 percent. This is serious dehydration, friends. (Check out this link; I was shocked.) Now, another hour and a sandwich and a liter of water and a beer later, as the cooling evening breeze kicks in and blows into the office here, I still feel very hot.
So, OK, I sucked and I was stupid.
But hey, as I said above, that's OK. I started, I finished, I learned. Now I'm going to get ready -- really ready -- for a cool local half coming up in October. Half Vineman handed me my ass today and the Napa Valley Vintage Half is going to pay for it!
UPDATE: Official numbers are in.
--0:40:30.9 on the swim (fantastic, a PR);
--3:03:11.5 on the bike, but they didn't have a T1 for me, so it looks like they folded my usual 5-minute transition into the bike time, which means I biked a 2:58;
--a 4 1/2-minute T2 (awful; couldn't find my bike for a full minute, then when I tried to put on my tri shirt I found I'd pinned my race number through the front and back of the shirt, making it impossible to put on);
--and the aforementioned hideous run, 2:15:45.6, between 20 and 25 minutes slower than my previous Half Vineman runs.
--total time was 6:03:54.7; this left me a surprisingly high 144th out of 234 in my age group, which suggests I wasn't the only guy to suffer from a, uh, drinking problem.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Warming Up
The temperature shot up to over 100 in the valleys around the Bay today. I got in my workout -- 45 flat miles of steady, hard pedaling-- early enough to avoid much heat, but I couldn't avoid wondering what might happen next Sunday, at Half Vineman, if we have another day like this. My age group hits the water at 8:34 a.m., which means I'll probably begin the half-marathon run portion of the race sometime between noon and 12:30. Yikes.
One other quick tri-related thought: Saw a quote from Lance that Ullrich's problem has been that he isn't in quite the shape he needs to be as the Tour begins. Specifically, Lance said the big German needs to be a kilo and a half less-big when the race starts. This was a reminder of how important Lance sees body weight. I've seen many references from him regarding his own weight. Clearly, he works harder than anyone to find that sweet spot of maximum power and minimum weight.
Me? I could easily be six or seven pounds lighter without sacrificing any strength. How much time would that cut off my 56-mile bike split?
The temperature shot up to over 100 in the valleys around the Bay today. I got in my workout -- 45 flat miles of steady, hard pedaling-- early enough to avoid much heat, but I couldn't avoid wondering what might happen next Sunday, at Half Vineman, if we have another day like this. My age group hits the water at 8:34 a.m., which means I'll probably begin the half-marathon run portion of the race sometime between noon and 12:30. Yikes.
One other quick tri-related thought: Saw a quote from Lance that Ullrich's problem has been that he isn't in quite the shape he needs to be as the Tour begins. Specifically, Lance said the big German needs to be a kilo and a half less-big when the race starts. This was a reminder of how important Lance sees body weight. I've seen many references from him regarding his own weight. Clearly, he works harder than anyone to find that sweet spot of maximum power and minimum weight.
Me? I could easily be six or seven pounds lighter without sacrificing any strength. How much time would that cut off my 56-mile bike split?
Friday, July 22, 2005
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Road Trip
Niko and I are back from our southern sojourn, our jolly jaunt to San Diego County for my sister Liz's wedding . We drove 1,100 miles in just over four days, did a night-before-the-wedding party, the wedding, Legoland and I snuck in a 9-miler on foot and a 40-miler on the bike. It was all grand, even the 400 miles of I-5 that we conquered Monday evening/night. Fellow cyclists will want to know I found the ride on the excellent website of the local Sierra Club chapter and while it was never stunning or even lovely, it provided plenty-interesting exploration. It seems so obvious but it bears repeating: You see so much more on the bike than you do in the car. What stood out most starkly about this harsh and brown part of the world is how relentless, god-awful and phony the development is. I noted this as well on my long run, conducted in post-noon blazing heat up in southwestern Riverside County, in Murrieta -- everywhere you turn you find a new housing development going up with some cheesy name intended to suggest that the tract is unique from the one to the north, south, east or the west. Rancho This, That Bluff, Some Crest, Quite-A Canyon.... It all just reeks of cheap, stupid marketing. But I guess in California, you don't have to market a housing development well, do you? There are plenty of prospective buyers making the rounds in Lexuses and BMWs, not troubled at all by signs that say, "Starting in the low-800s."
Back to the ride: Mostly it was on wide roads snaking their way through the canyons, softened by grading. Bike lanes and wide shoulders everywhere -- good. Aggressive drives and lights always turning red every mile or so -- bad. I made a wrong turn that added a few miles to the trek, but no big deal. I got close enough to the ocean to enjoy the seabreeze and I went hard at the steady climb up Pomerado, well into the ride. Good stuff. Thanks to the grandparents and great-grandma for watching Niko while I played!
Niko and I are back from our southern sojourn, our jolly jaunt to San Diego County for my sister Liz's wedding . We drove 1,100 miles in just over four days, did a night-before-the-wedding party, the wedding, Legoland and I snuck in a 9-miler on foot and a 40-miler on the bike. It was all grand, even the 400 miles of I-5 that we conquered Monday evening/night. Fellow cyclists will want to know I found the ride on the excellent website of the local Sierra Club chapter and while it was never stunning or even lovely, it provided plenty-interesting exploration. It seems so obvious but it bears repeating: You see so much more on the bike than you do in the car. What stood out most starkly about this harsh and brown part of the world is how relentless, god-awful and phony the development is. I noted this as well on my long run, conducted in post-noon blazing heat up in southwestern Riverside County, in Murrieta -- everywhere you turn you find a new housing development going up with some cheesy name intended to suggest that the tract is unique from the one to the north, south, east or the west. Rancho This, That Bluff, Some Crest, Quite-A Canyon.... It all just reeks of cheap, stupid marketing. But I guess in California, you don't have to market a housing development well, do you? There are plenty of prospective buyers making the rounds in Lexuses and BMWs, not troubled at all by signs that say, "Starting in the low-800s."
Back to the ride: Mostly it was on wide roads snaking their way through the canyons, softened by grading. Bike lanes and wide shoulders everywhere -- good. Aggressive drives and lights always turning red every mile or so -- bad. I made a wrong turn that added a few miles to the trek, but no big deal. I got close enough to the ocean to enjoy the seabreeze and I went hard at the steady climb up Pomerado, well into the ride. Good stuff. Thanks to the grandparents and great-grandma for watching Niko while I played!
Monday, July 04, 2005
Making the Grade
"No breaks, no shade, no fun" -- that's what earned Oakville Grade the top spot on one man's list of the toughest Napa climbs. After tackling the hill today for the first time this year, I concur. Six-hundred and fifty feet in a mile in the afternoon sun. Man. But I made it, and continued on up to the Veeder summit. (One of the fascinating aspects of riding Mt. Veeder Road is the microclimates you pass through. I'm talking micro, tight 20- or 30-yard redwood-shrouded stretches that get no sun ever and the temperature drops 20 degrees, only to rise 30 when you pop into a perpetually sunny spot around the bend. Just one more thing you notice on the bike.)
Today's ride marked the beginning of a big week as I try to pull things together for Half Vineman on July 31. This is my fourth year in a row doing the race and I've improved my time each of the past two years. Despite the sketchy nature of this season's workouts, I have it in my head that I can take last year's 5:38:23.4 down to 5:30. Here's the recipe, with last year's times and this year's goals:
Swim…….42:58.7 / 41
T1…………4:48:6 / 4:15
Bike……2:54:58.0 / 2:52:30
T2…………3:25.7 / 3
T2……...1:52:12.2 / 1:48:15
Total…...5:38:23.4 / 5:30
Yeah, I've got myself saving a minute in the transitions. I've done no special training or practicing in order to make that happen; I just know that in the past, I've made no effort to be quick in the transitions. This year I will.
Anyway, the key to preparing myself for a good race-day effort: Getting in three rides of 50+ miles in the next two and a half weeks.
"No breaks, no shade, no fun" -- that's what earned Oakville Grade the top spot on one man's list of the toughest Napa climbs. After tackling the hill today for the first time this year, I concur. Six-hundred and fifty feet in a mile in the afternoon sun. Man. But I made it, and continued on up to the Veeder summit. (One of the fascinating aspects of riding Mt. Veeder Road is the microclimates you pass through. I'm talking micro, tight 20- or 30-yard redwood-shrouded stretches that get no sun ever and the temperature drops 20 degrees, only to rise 30 when you pop into a perpetually sunny spot around the bend. Just one more thing you notice on the bike.)
Today's ride marked the beginning of a big week as I try to pull things together for Half Vineman on July 31. This is my fourth year in a row doing the race and I've improved my time each of the past two years. Despite the sketchy nature of this season's workouts, I have it in my head that I can take last year's 5:38:23.4 down to 5:30. Here's the recipe, with last year's times and this year's goals:
Swim…….42:58.7 / 41
T1…………4:48:6 / 4:15
Bike……2:54:58.0 / 2:52:30
T2…………3:25.7 / 3
T2……...1:52:12.2 / 1:48:15
Total…...5:38:23.4 / 5:30
Yeah, I've got myself saving a minute in the transitions. I've done no special training or practicing in order to make that happen; I just know that in the past, I've made no effort to be quick in the transitions. This year I will.
Anyway, the key to preparing myself for a good race-day effort: Getting in three rides of 50+ miles in the next two and a half weeks.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Again with the Racing
Today I raced. In subpar shape after a spring and early summer of illness, business and generally sporadic training -- a friend described the phenomenon as "barely holding onto fitness" -- I went out and did the San Jose International Triathlon (1.25K swim, 40K bike, 10K run).
It had been since Half Vineman -- mid-summer last year -- that I raced. In the interim I did run a couple of marathons but for me that's not racing; that's called surviving. This race is just a couple miles from my parents' house, the house I grew up in, so I drove down yesterday evening and slept in one of those tiny kid beds in what used to be the room I shared with my brother Phil but is now Mom's sewing room. The birds woke me ten minutes before my 5:30 alarm was to go off. Good! A few extra minutes always come in handy on race morning, to be spent (as they were this morning, for example) standing in line at the portapotty, then jogging back to the car to retrieve the forgotten goggles.
In good time, there I was, in my wetsuit and my maroon swimming cap (marking me a male, 40-44), standing in a couple of inches of fetid Lake Almaden waters, waiting with my fellow tri tribe as the waves of age groups set off, separated by four minutes and practically catapulted forward by a booming cannon shot.
It occurred to me that I wasn't nervous. I wondered if this was a change from previous races, but -- customarily, not trusting my memory -- I couldn't be certain. I was dreading the swim, but that's par for the course. Mostly I was enjoying the scene and the scenery (lots of fit girls, people chattering about all the ailments that have held them back, that kind of thing), and speculating, to myself, about how I'd do. My thought: it wouldn’t be a bad showing if I finished 10 minutes slower than last year's 2:36, with most of the lost time coming on the bike.
We maroon caps finally got going and the swim in Lake Almaden featured many familiar elements -- thick green unappetizing water, guys swimming up your back, guys weaving back and forth in front of you and kicking you in the head (or, just as likely, me weaving and crashing into feet) and of course the indignity of the next group's leaders catching and leaving you in their wake. Despite all that, my level of distress remained low and I actually began to believe I was moving along OK. Not quickly, mind you, but better than usual. And sure enough, my time out of the water was 27 minutes, 23.3 seconds -- pretty awful, but about 90 seconds speedier than last year and 85th out of 134 in my age group. That's far and away my best swimming placement ever. Of course, I didn't know any of these facts at the time; it just seemed pretty good.
On the bike, we headed out of the park and turned south/southwest almost immediately, embarking on a flat, straight 13-mile stretch that would make up just over half the entire course. The marine intrusion was still howling up the valley and we were slogging right into it. Tough going, especially after we crested a little hill that takes you out of San Jose's development and into the farmlands between the city and Morgan Hill. I was down to 14.5 mph at a couple of points, and it was a bit discouraging. For awhile there, I thought I was looking at a horrid 1:30 ride, way off my 1:13 of last year. But of course, we enjoyed the benefits of this wind returning to the start/finish area on rolling McKean Road, just to the west over the first ridge of the Santa Teresa Hills (which front the Santa Cruz Mountains). Even with the wind pushing me along I worked hard, often cruising at 25, 26 mph, and I brought it in at 1:17:43.2 -- just four minutes off 2004. Not as bad as I feared -- but not nearly what it should be, ranking 100th in the age group.
Finally the run. I nearly matched my time from last year, finishing just seven seconds slower in 46:01.7, 34th best in the age group. And really, what was cool was that it felt, well, easy. I kept up a nice even pace (every mile was between 7:20 and 7:35) and was in control, just cruising.
So: swim not an embarrassment; sucky bike; great run. Add it up and you get an official time of 2 hours, 39 minutes and 0.1 seconds, 76th in the age group and 473rd out of 1100 finishers. Mediocre and, as always, utterly exhilarating.
Today I raced. In subpar shape after a spring and early summer of illness, business and generally sporadic training -- a friend described the phenomenon as "barely holding onto fitness" -- I went out and did the San Jose International Triathlon (1.25K swim, 40K bike, 10K run).
It had been since Half Vineman -- mid-summer last year -- that I raced. In the interim I did run a couple of marathons but for me that's not racing; that's called surviving. This race is just a couple miles from my parents' house, the house I grew up in, so I drove down yesterday evening and slept in one of those tiny kid beds in what used to be the room I shared with my brother Phil but is now Mom's sewing room. The birds woke me ten minutes before my 5:30 alarm was to go off. Good! A few extra minutes always come in handy on race morning, to be spent (as they were this morning, for example) standing in line at the portapotty, then jogging back to the car to retrieve the forgotten goggles.
In good time, there I was, in my wetsuit and my maroon swimming cap (marking me a male, 40-44), standing in a couple of inches of fetid Lake Almaden waters, waiting with my fellow tri tribe as the waves of age groups set off, separated by four minutes and practically catapulted forward by a booming cannon shot.
It occurred to me that I wasn't nervous. I wondered if this was a change from previous races, but -- customarily, not trusting my memory -- I couldn't be certain. I was dreading the swim, but that's par for the course. Mostly I was enjoying the scene and the scenery (lots of fit girls, people chattering about all the ailments that have held them back, that kind of thing), and speculating, to myself, about how I'd do. My thought: it wouldn’t be a bad showing if I finished 10 minutes slower than last year's 2:36, with most of the lost time coming on the bike.
We maroon caps finally got going and the swim in Lake Almaden featured many familiar elements -- thick green unappetizing water, guys swimming up your back, guys weaving back and forth in front of you and kicking you in the head (or, just as likely, me weaving and crashing into feet) and of course the indignity of the next group's leaders catching and leaving you in their wake. Despite all that, my level of distress remained low and I actually began to believe I was moving along OK. Not quickly, mind you, but better than usual. And sure enough, my time out of the water was 27 minutes, 23.3 seconds -- pretty awful, but about 90 seconds speedier than last year and 85th out of 134 in my age group. That's far and away my best swimming placement ever. Of course, I didn't know any of these facts at the time; it just seemed pretty good.
On the bike, we headed out of the park and turned south/southwest almost immediately, embarking on a flat, straight 13-mile stretch that would make up just over half the entire course. The marine intrusion was still howling up the valley and we were slogging right into it. Tough going, especially after we crested a little hill that takes you out of San Jose's development and into the farmlands between the city and Morgan Hill. I was down to 14.5 mph at a couple of points, and it was a bit discouraging. For awhile there, I thought I was looking at a horrid 1:30 ride, way off my 1:13 of last year. But of course, we enjoyed the benefits of this wind returning to the start/finish area on rolling McKean Road, just to the west over the first ridge of the Santa Teresa Hills (which front the Santa Cruz Mountains). Even with the wind pushing me along I worked hard, often cruising at 25, 26 mph, and I brought it in at 1:17:43.2 -- just four minutes off 2004. Not as bad as I feared -- but not nearly what it should be, ranking 100th in the age group.
Finally the run. I nearly matched my time from last year, finishing just seven seconds slower in 46:01.7, 34th best in the age group. And really, what was cool was that it felt, well, easy. I kept up a nice even pace (every mile was between 7:20 and 7:35) and was in control, just cruising.
So: swim not an embarrassment; sucky bike; great run. Add it up and you get an official time of 2 hours, 39 minutes and 0.1 seconds, 76th in the age group and 473rd out of 1100 finishers. Mediocre and, as always, utterly exhilarating.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Rilke. Always Rilke.
Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.
Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
No vino
Did I mention I haven't been drinking wine the last few weeks? Oh, that's right -- I haven't mentioned anything! Blogger vacation. Recharding the batteries. Flaking. Just not into it. Well, anyway, yeah, it's been 17 days since I imbibed. Persistent sinus and throat problems were the impetus. More soon on this topic, as it is multifaceted. (Just wanted to get something posted to inspire me to get back in the flow here.)
Did I mention I haven't been drinking wine the last few weeks? Oh, that's right -- I haven't mentioned anything! Blogger vacation. Recharding the batteries. Flaking. Just not into it. Well, anyway, yeah, it's been 17 days since I imbibed. Persistent sinus and throat problems were the impetus. More soon on this topic, as it is multifaceted. (Just wanted to get something posted to inspire me to get back in the flow here.)
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