Was talking to my mom last night, and she was like, "I kept getting this alert on the computer that I was low on space, so I had to throw some things away and I started getting rid of these photos and I saw one with you with some woman in 2013. You looked a lot different."
I'm thinking, okay, I know what's coming here.
Then she goes, "Who was that?"
I said, "I don't know. Is she attractive?"
She said she was. It was this woman who flew in from LA to see me. Then my mom keeps on with a few other references to me looking different now, and finally says, "Your face was really chubby." I knew that was coming. But it's okay, because that was then and this is now. I wasn't a Zulu warrior at the time, you see.
I actually recently went four days without running stairs. It's hard here to hang on. This is just the worst situation. Hanging on is like being on a roller coaster but outside of the car you sit in, with one hand on the back. And you can't let go. I can't let go. I have to find the strength to make sure I hold on. And in that holding on, and doing what I do while holding on, I will prevail. But it is like that.
Over those first three days, I did have a day where I walked twelve miles, which I had mentioned here. Got to Friday, and that was the fourth day, and I was like, sir, this is dreadful, you must do better than this, you cannot give in. I didn't run stairs that day for a fourth straight day, but I did walk another twelve miles, and I did 500 push-ups in a relatively compact window of time. That's pretty good. I went to Haymarket for fruits and vegetables, went to CVS, and went to Bova's. Just got myself going again. I walked the second six miles in shorts for the purpose of getting the blood flowing.
Then yesterday I did my 100 push-ups and ran 3000 stairs at City Hall. Today I ran 5000 stairs, did 200 push-ups, and walked three miles. Today marks 2765 days, or 395 weeks, without a drink. After running stairs and whilst en route to CVS--damn, I forgot to get peanut butter for my celery--I FaceTimed with all three kids who were in the car on the way to Amelia's soccer game. But the way this works is Amelia hogs that phone. She puts her face right up against it. It was good to talk to Charlie and Lilah, too. Charlie and I share the same opinion of the music of Taylor Swift, and Lilah is just such a sweet kid. Amelia is Amelia--my buddy. I can't call her my little buddy because she'd probably be offended.