FORTITUDE

The closest I've ever come to running a marathon, blindfolded, through a razorblade-and-lemon-wedge field, was spending this past weekend as myself. What began as a long night of drinking whilst playing acoustic music to an empty bar for a shitload of money ended as a long night of drinking after playing acoustic music to an empty bar for a shitload of money. After waking at morning's asscrack the next day and driving for three hours, where an afternoon of tiling my bathroom eagerly awaited, accompanied by a refrigerator that needed to be taken down a flight of stairs, I performed said tasks with absolutely no beer to get me through it. Immediately upon completing all home improvements, I was whisked away to one of the most injurious games of field hockey we've ever played, though we were playing it with a frisbee, under a different name: Ultimate Frisbee. And we didn't have any field hockey sticks, which only made it harder. And there was, yet again, no beer to get me through it. The game lasted almost three hours and ended with four teams in a tournament rotation, as twelve people jumped in and joined the ten of us that were already there. I have never been more beaten, broken, exhausted, and otherwise diminished; never have I felt so alive and well.

Well, I'm off to Ray's for partying the night away.