Day 166 and 167

Three Hots and a Cot . . . I lifted a weight yesterday, and I feel vigorous.

In my quest for improved fitness, I began to weigh the pros and cons of various fitness programs and came to a remarkable conclusion.  Some of the most fit people in the world are prisoners.  Instead of leaving you to ponder the profound nature of this comment, I will tell you what I mean and how it relates to my life.  I want to start by saying that I don’t intend to equate house husbandry with imprisonment.  While but both have a certain level of solitude, there are obvious differences.  I don’t run into an unfortunate shower scenario on any given day, but my life is as monastic in many ways as any hardened criminal on death row.  With little to do but explore the content of your thoughts and work out your frustrations on the weight bench in the yard, imprisonment is the perfect way to get right with the world.  I believe it is in this way that prison does in some way rehabilitate those few that are truly reflective and know the errors of their ways.  I too realize the errors of my ways and in a day and a half have revamped my diet and began the long road back to clean living.  After just a day or so, I have realized that this is going to be a difficult challenge.  My mind may be strong, but my body is terribly weak.  It is amazing the degenerative effect time has on our ability to lift anything heavier than a wine glass or coffee cup.  My pectorals and triceps are screaming for relief and no amount of Icy Hot is going to make this better.  To worsen the condition, my head is pounding from caffeine withdrawl and it won’t be long before my positive attitude swings toward the negative.  Experience has taught me that this is a passing phase and will be the steepest part of the hill that I must climb.  It is in the deprivation of all those wonderful things that we so desire from a dietary standpoint that I find the true meaning of imprisonment.  Being bound to my house husband duties and the lonely days alone with my thoughts are a blessing, not a curse.  The bland chow and physical ailments, however, are a curse that make this endeavor feel like a life sentence.

If I can manage to hold it all together without attempting a homemade spiderweb tattoo with parts scavenged from a bic pen, I might just make it out of this experience alive.  While my body does seem to be rejecting this process, I will not let a little excruciating pain derail me so early in my quest.  Right now, this mission is my only focus and I have little else to report.  The weather had again turned grey and rainy.  After a month straight of rain, I am getting used to the darkened days.  To be honest it keeps the temperatures very mild, which is a big departure from the sweat box that life at home in Kansas usually becomes this time of year.  Our household has returned to its original number and the Vacancy sign on the Jack Butler Hotel is once again illuminated.  Our guests returned home safely with no major incident to my knowledge.   My eldest went for a sleep over at a friends house which left me alone with the three year old for two days.  It was nice to spend some alone time with the little fella.  He spends so much time trying to compete with the eldest, he seems like more of a handful than he really is.  By himself, he is a joy and full of personality.  The things that come out of this kids mouth are pure comedy.  Oh, to see the world through those eyes . . . now that would be a magnificent trip.  Still no movement on the internet connection.  Received a letter back from the provider which I believe indicates that we failed to provide some piece of crucial information.  I don’t exactly know what, so I am going to have to go next door to obtain a translation.  Other than that, life is fair and we are well.  Until we speak again.  R.