On paper, this morning may not have seemed like a red-letter day. Even after my first set of Arnold presses, I paused for a beat. Then when I emerged into the night, my left foot's blade/heel had a sharp pain that would crescendo from time to time within the greater context of being...just zapped. I had NOTHING.

I knew it was gonna be this kind of day. After I broke my Fat Focus with a hunk of roast from the fridge to kick the day off, I tasted nothing, just the texture of the meat (and my disdain for cold fat). I grabbed my "cinnamon bun" butter coffee prepped yesterday...and there was NO cinnamon.

There's still nutritional value in taking my fat and protein, but it sure takes a lot of the fun away from my HFC diet. I may just skip eating altogether today, something I can do on this since there's no demanding carb fixation.

So it was in all of this context that I had a good morning on my 4.6-mile walk behind the post office and the old library. I could smile (and I did). Yes, my foot ached; yes, I felt like I weighed another 50-60 lbs and couldn't see how I had the ability to tear down the very same path the day prior. But, I smiled because I was doing it. I was digging deep and doing it. I was leveling up my mental fortitude. It was uncomfortable, but it was beautiful.

Look at us, we're beautiful
All the people push and pull
But, let's just go out and ride
Talk about the things we try

-Moby, Beautiful

It's Wednesday so it's another FF day for me. This Sun/Wed approach is purely experimental. The challenging aspect of it is keeping my overall average of protein above 65 grams. By day's end, it'll likely be around 64 for the 25-day average. My fat average will be somewhere around 236. It'll be 2,360 calories (if that ever mattered) with a whopping 89.4% of calories coming from fat. PURE ENERGY. Technically, I'd punch it over 90% 'cause I converted my engine to burn the fat off this rig!

YEE haw!

I'm looking forward to March 3, when I should post a weight that completely skips the 230s. My money? 227 lbs. Stay tuned!

Yeah, there's still a war raging within me, but my white blood cells are outflanking the enemy. Experientially, I've got NO juice at the end of the day as a vaporizer is my campfire. I really ought to find a flicking orange LED to add to the aesthetics. It's heavy, but comforting.

That said, I had no problems meeting that 2:30 AM hour. It was an Abs Day. As I worked my lower and upper abs along with my obliques, I thought how I really want this routine to occur twice a week—I want ALL of it to be twice a week! At the same time, I like having just three exercises per session and hate to smash Thursday and Friday into Monday and Tuesday. Perhaps a pull-push approach can better meet my req's?

So, I began to do the pencil work through what exercises are critical to my goals. Take for example my DB straight leg dead lifts: it is really there to protect against back dings. But to add value? I can achieve similar output with my rows.

Then there are shrugs. I mean, why? Yes, it hits the traps but when it's overinflated, it's the telltale sign of a steroid user. But specifically, I have an issue with the movement: what context would I use it? I mean, I know stuff, I don't generally shrug my shoulders as I hold milk jugs. Why do that? And then there's overhead tricep extensions? Pragmatic application? And don't get me started on SKULL CRUSHERS! Honestly, my triceps get hit by virtually everything I do.

The specifics don't matter as much as I want to hit my targets twice a week. I'm even weighing bumping the reps from 15 to 20 while applying a greater emphasis to martial arts.

All that's to say is that I may be sick, but I feel..."it's time for a new empire."

After my strength session, I met the street and added Briergate, Laurel Creek, Northhampton, and Shade Tree to the tapestry. I beat out Monday's efforts and posted a 3+ mile walking best with a 19:21 pace for my 4.09-mile walk:

1. 19:30
2. 19:24
3. 19:38
4. 18:59

At this rate, I'm gonna run out of roads in my 1996 Bartlett. I'm making plans to walk to my childhood home this weekend. Ought to be my Garmin distance record. Maybe I'll have ol' Mr. Bill come out and brush against me...hear the '76 Stingray rumble to life...answer to a bounce of the basketball clarion call.

Yesterday, a 1.7 oz vial of Acqua di Gio arrived, its familiar scent instantly whisking me back to a time before the Star Wars prequels. It's a time capsule in a bottle, conjuring memories of balmy nights with the top down on my Mustang convertible, stars my only guide.

When I sat up in bed at 2:30 AM this morning, a thought crept to strike at the forefront, "I may not have it today." Both my feet were aching, a take-home prize of trouncing my Garmin step record on Sunday.

There is also the greater context of my immune system taking up arms to wage a war against the invaders. There's a bit of an upheaval in the conflict as we needed additional resources in the battle—from my perspective, it made me really tired so at 4 PM yesterday. So much that my mind would drift!

Oh, I shook my fist at that dang ol' circadian rhythm...and I neither could fault the smooth voice of City Planner Plays nor the Tolkien lore of In Deep Geek. No, a lava flow of burning mucous let me know the war raged on.

Thus, this is the pit I pulled up and out of as my feet landed on today's beach. Yes, I felt miserable, but knew not to fall to the sultry temptation to yield. As the themes to The Avengers and M:i-2 played followed by Creatures of the Night, this werewolf stretched his arms out wide and howled to the moon. Faintly echoing in the night air, a 90s arcade cabinet bellowed, "Test your might."

And yet, after my Chest/TKD segment, I felt tired. I never feel that way after my resistance—a good weak, but not fatigued.

Nevertheless, I headed out into the night.

When my feet hit the street, this theme of The 36th Expedition came on...

There is no time to waste
I've got that lightnin' inside me
This is how legends are made

-Sam Tinnesz, Legends Are Made

Changing the proportions of our bodies requires one thing. There's not a pill that we can take. A doctor cannot hand it to us. No, the only thing is the sheer force of our will. That's it. We gotta dig deep.

I splashed a little more paint onto the map of Barlett, specifically Barwick and the non-Starbucks Star Valley. I then made a return to Sleepy Hollow, a park that is becoming a favorite, especially with the light fog adding to the atmospheric ambiance. Unlike my treks in Williams, Sitka, and Anchorage, traversing through Bartlett can come off a bit like the monotony of a treadmill, so when something breaks up the edged yard and brick-walled veneer it is invigorating.

I had this in my headphones as I championed between the street lamps in my soliloquy of "rage, rage against the dying of the light."