Halfway there . . .

Today is day 12 of what will be 24 days without a day off.

Am I psyched to be missing the first real storm of the season? No.

Am I staying fit? Yes.

Is this the kind of life I want to be leading? No.

Is this why they pay me to do what I do? Yes.

Is it worth it? Ask me in 12 days...

Moving in the right direction . . .

It's snowing. Finally. Maybe by the time I get a day off -- just before Christmas -- the rocks and the ice will be covered. Between now and then, the challenge is to stay fit. And to get rid of the little rhinovirus bastards that have taken over my sinuses. We'll see how it goes.

Mmmmmm. Delicious.

My whole milk consumption continues. I'm averaging about 1.5 gallons per week.


My cholesterol? Pffft. I'm sure it's fine.

This is why they pay me.

It's the end of the billable year and all of my cases are going richter simultaneously -- which means three weeks of looooong days at a desk for the 'Gumby.

Which is probably okay for right now, because the mountains are fucked. A patchwork of ground-level-faceted-nastiness and cold, clear weather for the foreseeable future aren't offering much hope.


The horror continues . . .

That's not to say that I haven't been skiing. I have four days so far, and they've gone something like this.

Day 1: Skinned in the Uintas with The Wee One and The Furry Devil. Never took the skins off, even going downhill. A dee-licious pulled pork sandwich at the Samak Store eased the pain of the meager snow pack.

Day 2: Skinned at Alta. We took the skins off, but the stickiness of the man made snow made it hard to tell.

Day 3: Skinned into So Long at Alta. The skiing on So Long was actually very good. The exit out of Catherine's Area was ridiculous. And not in a good way.

Day 4: Skied firm groomers at Alta. It was great to ride lifts and comforting to have my alpine boots on again. The snow, however, was less than confidence inspiring. I was all gumby, and no upper level. Skied with the MeltonHibbs and Dr. G. They both made the ice look easy, which is remarkable given that the MeltonHibbs live in Fresyes, and Dr. G probably hasn't slept in six weeks. I was humbled.

Go see this. At night.

There is a new mural -- and by "new" I mean "in a place where only decaying brick used to be" -- on the east side of the building where Este Downtown lives. You gotta see this at night. It's amazing.


A prime example of why art critics do not use the iPhone.

WHERE THE F@CK HAVE I BEEN?!

Fair question. Well . . .

1. I've been working waaaaaay too much. The cases I'm on are going richter and year end is coming. Two good reasons to bill as much as possible.

2. I've been trying to stay fit. Rumor has it that it will actually snow in the Wasatch soon. (Real snow, not this TG-weak-layer-waiting-to-fuck-us bad dream that we've been having.) So I've been trying -- and failing -- to follow MtnAthlete's dryland progression.

3. I've been drinking a lot of whole milk. Yes, you zone/paleo fuckers, whole milk. About a pint a day, and I feel great. My cholesterol remains a wild card.

4. I've been traveling. First to Hell on Earth (read: Phoenix) for a deposition, and then to the Tri-State Area (read: hell on earth) to visit family. Which brings me to . . .

My father was a pharmacist, then a sales rep for a major pharmaceutical company, and is now a pharmacist again. He has a sense of humor about it.

A New Experiment: Week 4.

I finished my 4-week experiment with MtnAthlete a few weeks ago. The links below provide a summary of the final three workouts of the work-capacity cycle.
Monday (I needed 43 sprints and 39 sandbag get ups; I managed the former and failed the latter.)
Wednesday
Friday (31:58 -- I feel like I killed it on this one.)

The Scientist and I rewarded ourselves with an eating challenge -- 12 cake donuts for time. The Scientist crushed it in 23 minutes. I managed 9 donuts and most of a half-gallon of chocolate milk before my preternatural fear of vomiting shut me down.

The starting line . . .


Right about now we called our buddy Jason, who was attending a nutrition certification in Bozeman. The irony . . .


Nearing the end . . .