it's official!

If it weren't for some onerous circumstances at work (I'll write about that in a "frank" post soon, once A Certain Unsavory Coworker leaves our office for good), I'd be celebrating: I finally got word from the HR department that my request for my upcoming vacation has been approved. And that means...

THE WALK IS ON, BABY!

There's so much less to prep this time around since I'm walking the same path as in 2017. I have the luxury of time, and I've already bought pretty much all the new equipment I'll be needing. I've got a nice, new Gregory backpack, which won't be loaded down nearly as much as the other pack had been two years ago; I've got my new leather belt and new walking shoes; I can use my spare trekking pole this trip. I need to review my equipment, especially my bivy sac, which I haven't taken out of its bag for two years. I hope it's not moldy and rotten. It shouldn't be; I cleaned it fairly thoroughly last time around.

I'm thinking about swearing off sodas and other sweet drinks this time around. My time in France last year, when I lost six kilos in two weeks, taught me that I could lose a lot more than the ten kilos I lost over 26 days in 2017. In France, I had Coca Cola only when I visited my friend Dominique's parents for lunch, and that was maybe twice or three times a week. True, I could work my way through most of a 1.25-liter bottle of Coke during a single lunch sitting (and Dom's folks were polite enough not to make comments about my Coke dependency), but that was it: otherwise, I was walking around the marshland or trekking out to Niort, over 40,000 steps away from Dominique's place. Eating good, homemade food also meant I was staying away from junk food, and whenever I retired to my room for the evening, I ate literally nothing (except during the first day or two of my stay, when I discovered a tin of chocolates!). It was great discipline, even if my circumstances weren't entirely of my own choosing.

So applying my France experience to the upcoming walk seems like a good idea. No soda, then. And as for fruit juice: every motel room has a mini-fridge in which you can often find a couple midget-sized cans of fruit juice and/or shitty coffee. Normally, when I reach my room, I'm so tired and parched that I don't give a fuck what I'm drinking, and those tiny cans of blessedly ice-cold liquid are the first things to die. I normally don't drink coffee, but I'll guzzle it on the trail. Upshot: aside from the meager portions of juice that I find in those mini-fridges, no juice for me, either. No soda, no juice—just tea and water. I have a feeling I'm going to regret this commitment, but there's no doubt it'll make life interesting. And who knows: maybe I'll get used to not downing my favorite drinks while I'm crossing the country.

So those are some pre-walk thoughts. I might feel more celebratory when the weekend rolls around, but for now, it feels good to know I'm good to go. I still have a ton of pot-pie filling, so maybe I'll make some more pie crust and bake up some dang pie. That reminds me: I also want to make some Jamaican beef patties. That might be another weekend project.