Durham, NC
Long Distance cycling, drinking and smoking (sorry...I'm working on it), Third World travel (Francophone), 7 card stud, ultra-long-distance wilderness foot travel, bike matenance, cancer (Colo-Rectal/Pancreatic...ongoing for the last 9 years), Social Security Disability, semi-professional roadie for several punk/hardcore bands, craps, sleeping in, Happy Hour, poverty, family, Dostoevsky (all),
Long Distance cycling, drinking and smoking (sorry...I'm working on it), Third World travel (Francophone), 7 card stud, ultra-long-distance wilderness foot travel, bike matenance, cancer (Colo-Rectal/Pancreatic...ongoing for the last 9 years), Social Security Disability, semi-professional roadie for several punk/hardcore bands, craps, sleeping in, Happy Hour, poverty, family, Dostoevsky (all), Letters to the Editor (relentlessly), Section 8 housing, the Catholic Church, Anarcho-Syndicalism.
I had a really long, agoraphobic winter splatered with a variety of cancer relapses and general malaise. I had always been very active (prior, if not travelling, I had been cycling 400-500 miles weekly), however spent this last winter (and then some) drinking heavily, being sick, eating poorly. A pretty rough break up and an eventual move to a pretty crummy part of town left me, well, drunk and depressed.
Strangly, that was fine. However, I developed this beer belly, which, for reasons still unclear, bothered the ^%@* out of me. It was just unacceptable. My fitness had been shot to hell: any lame attempts at cycling or getting back in shape was very laborious and I felt quite stuck.
Luckily, my muscleboud cousin Ben showed up a couple months ago, praised P90X, and now that's pretty much all I do.
While getting in the best shape of my life shounds great, I really just want to nix this belly. And if nothing more, being the sole representitive of the extreemly tattooed branch of Beachbody can't be that bad, can it?
