I don’t have to go far to find out what failure looks like – all I need is a mirror.
As many of you know yesterday was the first day of the Lurong Living Challenge. Let’s just say in the annals of ‘How Much Can I Screw Myself In One Day’ – Monday, Sept. 16th will go down as a truly monumental achievement for me.
Let’s start with breakfast. Oh, wait we can’t because I didn’t eat any. However, I did drink about 17 cups of black coffee. I offset that with about a half glass of crisp cool H2O. Why? Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m brilliant.
Mondays are generally hectic at work. This is even more true now that we have approximately 648 new projects happening at once. All of them on deadline. All of them requiring snap decisions. All of them demanding 100% of our attention when we’ve only got 2.3% of it to give.
Needless to say, my lunch was eaten while driving in between meetings, while on the phone, and prior to sitting down to a mountain of endless email. Now, I didn’t go fast food because I’m not Judas. But, I did get a BBQ wrap from the local BBQ joint. Hold the slaw. Hold the cheese. Hey, I’m doing good! Only wait a minute…the ‘wrap’ is a flour tortilla.
And, the downward spiral begins.
It’s now 2:15pm and despite half of my blood being made up of coffee, somehow my energy level has dropped. I scour our community fridge for anything that can bring me back to normal. What do I find? Coffee ice cream with chocolate covered java beans. Seriously, that happened. Yeah, you know where this is headed. Three minutes later and I’m fighting off work mates with sharpened plastic utensils for the last morsel. It was like Lord of the Flies up in there.
We’ve basically begun steamrolling down ‘Fat Guy Dies of Cardiac Arrest’ mountain and our brakes are starting to go out.
Normally, I can get a handle on a day like this. I simply head to Cross Fit. However, I can’t go today because we have a monthly meeting this evening. So, instead of push pressing my way to freedom, I’m now locked into a two hour meeting featuring a plethora of beer, wine, food, and snacks.
The rest of my night is kind of a blur. There was some sort of intoxicating cilantro/lime white bean salad. There were fried plantains. There was a latin-inspired beef concoction with olives. There were draft and bottled beers flowing freely. There was a white wine from this one specific valley in France where virgins dance and sing patriotic songs.
By this time, they’ve begun chiseling my face onto ‘Fat Guy Dies of Cardiac Arrest’ mountain and the Park Rangers are beginning to rope off a viewing area.
What’s the moral of this story? Be prepared. Pack some kale in your lap top bag. Ziploc yourself some meat sticks. Vacuum seal a bit of broccoli. Call your friend and ask them to regale you with stories of why buttered popcorn is the devil incarnate. Do anything you can to halt the shit storm that I called Monday.
Seriously, good luck.
If you need me, I’ll be over here crying a river of tears into my bowl of arugula.
Fat Guy In A Little Coat