I thought, as close as I was last week, that this would be the day that all my dreams would be realized; that I would be able to walk down the street with my head held high, knowing that I had made the 17-year old version of me look foolish and weak; well, more foolish and weak than I actually was. I thought that, after today, I would be able to relax and coast through my 30th birthday having proven myself more physically fit and mentally tough than I was over a decade ago; that I could enter my 30’s knowing that I had reversed the aging process and that those silly theories of “time” and “nature” simply didn’t apply to me. I was mistaken… at least for now.
My frustration is diluted only slightly by the fact that I still have ample time in which to accomplish this feat. But only slightly, because, truth be told, I am not a patient man. In fact, I’ve already considered hiring a stunt double on several occasions, and in fact, I probably would have done so by now, however, I’ve found that it is much more difficult to locate a man my height and build who can not only dunk a basketball, but who also has the testosterone levels necessary to grow a massive, face-swallowing beard the likes of which I am currently rocking.
So I suppose it’s up to me. God knows none of you are going to do it. If something incredible and mind-blowing is to be done, I suppose I’m the one to do it. That’s all there is to it. So, please, sit back down in your Lazy Boy recliner. Stick your hand back down into that bucket of The Colonel’s Extra Tasty Crispy and wash it down with your 44oz Cherry Coke Slushie. Go outside and enjoy your pack of Marlboros Reds, and take a load off. Leave breaking the laws of physics and gravity to me. I’m on it. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll see you next week.

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