Fell off the horse for a spell. I've continued to train since my last post, but my writing ceased for a while. 

I think I'll blame the moon.

As that orb grew fuller, each day got more frenetic. Conflicts, accidents, missing keys, Elvis sightings--you name it. By the time biceps day came around (Thursday) my attitude was suffering and I was dreaming of throwing in that infamous towel, of giving in to a vision of napping on the couch in a pair of baggy sweats with the tv blaring and potato chip crumbs on my chest. I mean really. I already have a side job, oh, and another side job, plus a business that keeps running only because I clean the toilets, balance the books, and greet the customers myself. I've got a couple of cute girls who still like to see me walk in the front door, and a husband who still tolerates me too. Why do I need to become a bodybuilder too?

I am burned out--a soggy cigar butt floating in a rain-filled gutter. 

And I want cake--chocolate with buttercream frosting.

How flip and impulsive I was to sign up for this journey to May 9th. Even if I had one job, no kids, no one needing me, this is still a far-fetched goal--forty-three is forty-three. And I am not a seasoned athlete. What I am is tired. Make that tired and hungry.

So why stay in the game? First, Tina's time. She's invested in me. I have not revealed to her that I am burnt toast, and I owe her my effort in exchange for hers. And hope. I just think I will ride this defeated feeling out for a while and see if it passes, changes like the moon's phases. 

Might could happen.