So where do you go after San Diego? Home perhaps, or that is what I plan to do with my vacation time. Visit friends and family and spend lots of time with that grand baby of mine.
"You have a grand baby?" asks a co-worker. She looks to be about an age between my two older daughters.
"Yes", I reply.
"Gosh, you must really be old" she says.
"Thanks for that" I reply.
"Oh no. I don't mean it in a bad way. You just don't look to be that old." she finishes.
I do, but don't act it. That's what throws people off. Still waiting to grow up and act my age. Maybe another grand baby, and I'll finally have arrived.
I have recently lost 15 pounds and targeting a few more to go before hitting my ideal wait. I found it wasn't as easy to be bouncy with the extra pounds.
San Diego has lots of hills, called mesas and so I decided to take up my routine of hill sprints; a somewhat impractical habit while living on the flat beach.
I found a suitable ascent of between 50 and 75 yards nearby the house, just a short bike ride actually, and walked down the hill. I then sprint up the hill as fast as I can to the top and take a few minutes to rest and catch my breath before walking back down and doing it for a total of three times.
Afterwards I get back home to Mary and collapse on the sofa, my skin is clammy with sweaty chills, my chest feels like it could explode and I feel like I could hurl all over the place. Classic symptoms of a heart attack.
Two days later, I approach the same hill, but only this time I jog up.