Every year on my birthday it tends to be dark, damp and chilly. Hence I am hugging to myself superstitiously the idea that I must be doing something right, as it’s no more than brisk out, blindingly sunny, and brilliantly colorful.
I hucked up ten pounds more on a deadlift than I have since I resumed doing them — I always try to make a leap of some kind on my birthday — distinctly overheard a personal trainer using me as an example to his client, and even extorted a birthday kiss on the cheek from Stu, the premier gym rat. A good day so far.
There was just this one ominous moment as I pulled up in the gym parking lot…
Two sightings in four days. I think I’m being stalked.
Or else, my past is returning to haunt me… but that’s a story for another post.