Oh what a week it was.

I'll spare you the details of my trip home but I'd say my drinking to working out ratio was somewhere in the neighborhood of 6 to 1/2.

However, the big difference was that I kept my eating in check (which is why I assume I didn't throw on 35 pounds).  My goal for this week is to dip my toes in the inviting waters that are the 370's.  It should happen because I was on the bike yesterday for 3 hours and burned more than 1500 calories.

I thought I'd pass along the moment when I knew I could do this.  I mean actually run the marathon... 

Very early in the game here, I went down to visit one of my buddies in Somerville, MA.  I was all of 438 lbs. and probably a lot more at the time.  I showed up unannounced at his apartment... and of course... he wasn't there.  He had already left for the bar with a couple of friends. 

Strike 1.

And seeing how the bar was about 1/4 mile away, I figured I'd walk because I didn't want to drive in the condition I'd be in later.  I was feeling frisky so I decided to hoof it instead of calling a taxi.

Fast forward to the end of the night (and taking into account my legendary sense of direction), I ended up walking 8 miles to cover the distance from the bar and back.  I've constructed a rough mapping of my route...



It was one of those deals where everything looked familiar so "I'll just keep going this way because I'm sure it's just up ahead".  Brilliant move on my part.  And by brilliant I mean one of the most awful things I've ever experienced.

As you can see, the blue traces my route to the bar and the yellow, the route from the bar.

I want to point a few key landmarks that I used as a point of reference.

1)  After realizing I had already walked more than 4 times the distance to what the bar should've been, I decided to ask the homeless guy with the shopping cart where the hell I was.  After deciphering a language that I assume was ancient Aramaic.  I promptly thanked him, gave him some change and continued on my way.

2) It was here that I remembered that I don't speak Aramaic and concluded I probably shouldn't have listened to a homeless guy with an eye-patch (lesson learned).  I debate whether I should go back and get my change from the guy for giving me false information... but the allure of a few beers calls my name and I keep pressing on.

3) Arrive at the bar only to have the bouncer claim that my Wisconsin ID is clearly a fake and begins to pull the lamination off... To which I tell him to F Off, grab my ID, and shove him into the wall.  Needless to say, I don't get into the bar.

4) Now I'm growing angrier by the second.  Convinced that I have my bearings, I decide to cut my losses and head back to the apartment to grab a few drinks there.  Refusing to go back the way I came, I head in the opposite direction.

5) Once again realizing that I'm off course and throwing my hands up in defeat... a hatchback pulls up to the street corner with 6 dudes in the car.  They roll down the tinted windows and a cloud of smoke pours out.  They turn down the bass so that they're miserable excuse for speakers don't rattle around anymore.  They ask me for drugs.  I ask them for a ride.  We can't help each other.  We continue on our respective missions.  God speed honda civic.  God speed.

6) It is hear, several hours of walking later, that I stop off on a park bench for a few minutes.  But something amazing catches my eye.  It here that 2 coke-whores dressed in 80's attire are trying to leave the parking lot of a dunkin donuts.  They both walk around there car, size up the space they have available, and play rock-paper-scissors to see who is going to drive.

So the 1st coke-whore tries to back out and stops the car 4 or 5 times every 4 or 5 inches (as if she was learning to drive a standard shift for the first time).  She slowly but surely back her car into a street sign.  The brake lights go on and the two girls pull a chinese fire drill.  Now that the other girl has her chance to shine...

She pulls forward back into the parking space, drives over the cement parking block and over the curb that their car had no business driving over.  SUCCESS!  They drive off into the sunset to do whatever coke-whores.  It is then that I gain a newfound appreciation for how resourceful coke-whores are.  After this 5-minute escapade, I continue on my way.

7) It is here that I begin looking for a bush to sleep in.  I have no phone on me.  It's so late that they're isn't anybody on the street anymore.  And clearly nobody is going to stop their car for a man my size in the middle of the night.  The gremlins in my head tell me to call it a life.  My body keeps going.

8) It is not more than a couple hundred yards down the street that I find salvation.  Just when I'm at my lowest, a car full of girls comes drilling down the street and 2 of them moon me.  I'm immediately revived and feel like I can climb Mt. Everest (or at least fake myself into thinking I can be productive).

9) I arrive back at the apartment several hours after I left.  The door is still locked.  I vow never to return to Somerville.

It was the next day that I went back to mapquest.com and retraced my route.  It was such an insanely horrible experience.  But I did come away with the confidence that I could actually run the Boston Marathon.

 

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