Journal from 3-26-2020

A bit of a humble brag but even during the stay at home and high anxiety times of Rona Riot I have lost 3 pounds. Since late summer when my doctor buzzed me that I was just one decimal point from being diabetic I have lost 26 pounds. And mostly kept it of.

Its all diet. No more daily tiki drinks (albeit if you read earlier posts I still treat myself to a double one bender sometimes) and no more eating after my kids scraps. Smaller portions. Swapping in the salad for fries.

Oh and the medication. The metformin. The blood sugar blocker with some possible GI distress. Funny thing is that GI distress can be both constipation and diarrhea. So I often feel as if I am going to die but I don't know whether its because I am going to explode or wither away. Keeps me on my toes.

Not a ton of working out. Before the Rona Riot I went to the gym once a week. Now I just fuss and gyrate like my son does when he struggles with a math problem. I do that "See 10" challenge where I do 10 pushes every day or whenever I see someone do it on IG. I race to my phone or computer when I hear the notification ding. Removed from the day to day of little fires everywhere I am starved for something to do.

Lots of water. The universal solvent. A cousin of mine shared on Facebook a meme where "they" said that drinking lots of water kills the Rona. It lives in your throat so drink lots and it will push it into your stomach where the acid will kill it. I almost responded "That's bullshit" but better I keep the social distancing I have maintained for 18 years.

I have spent more time on that hell site, Facebook, in past two weeks then in a whole year. I had a brief flash of bravery and friended almost all my coworkers and then random people from 8th grade who are so removed they might as well be on the moons of Mars. I made memes but so is everyone else. The meme making bandwith is super saturated and my little pokes at the thrumming strings of the Internet are flicks of water into the now ever clearing rivers.

At my skinniest I was 22 and could fit into size 32 pants. That was all youth and circumstance (I walked everywhere, then biked, and lived off Wegmans brand vegetarain alphabet soup) but I was walking my bike down Main Street in the hamlet of Trumansburg, NY  and a tall man in black came out from the brick buuilding by the liquor store.

"Excuse me, but I saw you and noticed a young fit man riding his bike and wanted to ask if you are interested in self defense lessons."
The gentlemen had a laid back rocker hippie vibe. He would own the place where all the Power Rangers hang out. But, not like the juice bar from the first seasons of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers but the pizza place from Jungle Fury. And THAT guy did know kung-fu!

Scenarios raced through my mind...

"Is this a prelude to a fight!? Is the music about to change and our healthcare appear!? I am going to get my ass kicked!"

"Is he coming onto me. No, don't be so full of yourself. But, well....lets see where this goes"

"Is he crazy? Is a Napoleon Dynamite fan and wants to compare skills?"

"Or maybe he is sincere?"

Which he claimed he was. Ran a studio on the 3rd floor above the historical society. Not advertised in the window with a charming hand painted sign like the consignment shop or the Hazelnut Kitchen restaurant. Or in the endless town crier style shop local guides. It was not on the placemat at the local pizza and sports bar and if you weren't there then you were nothing.

I politely refused and never saw him again.