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been a cold week

It’s now been a 4 day stretch of temperatures about 10 to 15 degrees below normal highs and lows. So maybe that’s not super cold, but it’s noticeable in contrast to last winter and the winter we had been having here so far.

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I continue to do sets of squats when I get the time, every day. Yesterday, I think I ended up performing a total of 87 reps, some of them were bearhug sandbag squats, some front squats, and some back squats. It’s given me much more noticeable thigh musculature, much more than I ever had back when my primary focus had been deadlifts and I never really did all that much deep squatting.

It makes me hungry too. You start squatting 50+ reps a day with weights that maybe aren’t maximal, but of significance, it makes you hungry. And now these last two mornings the scale has come in at 156.2 lbs. So that’s about a gain of 4 lbs from the beginning of the year.

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4 years ago, I counted down the days to the first day of spring. It was an invocation of magic, maybe, a count against the dark and cold of winter, of the hopes that could be reached on the first day of spring. I still remember that first day of spring 2009 so clearly. It had an annoying cold start, a splash of light snow that tangled some things up and delayed what would be the most amazing moment of life later on that day, but it grew sunny. The world had such clarity that day. So I believed. I was as alive as I had ever been, I felt like power lines were plugged into my body, I felt almost like a crazy liquid broken glass and an iron resolve through all of my limbs and heart.

I remember pacing back and forth while I waited for that first moment. A moment which cannot leave me. No amount of past crying or whatever odd strange tears that might come again will ever wash that away. I never said another person’s name so loud as I said that one that evening upon the first sight. I’ll probably never again. It’s not in me to be loud. It’s not in me to love all that much. There was only that time of odd circumstance, of stray magic that nearly shattered the world I had known, and the world I’ve had to return to, if only to maintain the less than sturdy framework of sanity that I hang my life upon.

And eventually I will forget. That is the eventual function of death. But until then, I will not forget. I cannot forget how what might be the best in me, although it is meager and not substantial enough, what might be the best in me lived brightly then, cannot forget the other who brought that forth, no matter how much I may wonder now just how much it was real. But I tell myself that there is a core of good in most people, a core of good no matter how much we struggle with knowing what is real and true, how much we struggle with looking in our own distorted mirrors and knowing who and what we are exactly.

I may be forgotten. But I won’t forget.

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