Sushi Doesn’t Surrender
Neither does the forest road
There’s something quietly magnificent about getting dressed up... which, in this case, means a flannel shirt and a trucker hat... and walking into a place with a purple-lit tree growing through the ceiling and cocktails arriving in coupe glasses with little orange garnishes. Mo and I sat in a room designed to make you feel like you stumbled into an enchanted forest after a very good day, and for a couple of hours, that’s exactly what it was. Regulated. Connected. Present. I wanted to bottle it.
That was last week. This week I’m grinding up a forest service road, lungs working like bellows, legs doing their thing, and the enchanted forest has been replaced by actual forest, which is quieter but significantly less glamorous. Somewhere between mile 20 and mile 30, the question surfaces: will I ever eat again? Not in an existential way. In a metabolic way. My body has apparently decided that one small shake is a perfectly reasonable fuel source for four hours of climbing. Old guy efficiency. Super efficient. Terrifyingly efficient. The kind of efficient where you eat a blade of grass and somehow produce enough watts to embarrass people half your age.
I finished at mile 40. Four hours. Three thousand feet of climbing. Came home, stepped on the scale, and... nothing. A week of rides. One shake a day. Zero movement. Turns out sushi is built different. Or I am. Hard to say.
The meal was worth every stubborn calorie it’s holding onto. Until a week later when it is still holing on. Man, we walked 3 miles to that sushi place too.
March 12th Strikes Again
Looking back at 23 years of March 12th posts reveals a date that swings wildly between disaster and possibility. From snowstorms and eviction notices to mountain peaks and strength sessions with Cuddles, this calendar square has seen everything. Turns out consistency isn’t about what happens on a date, but about showing up anyway.
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