I've made a clean break from FitBit. I began leaning that way when I became nauseated with its requirements for my location data while syncing steps—yes, I know, FitBit claims that Google requires location data to sync, but, in an environment where location data makes profit why do I happily (and naively) hand it over? I had second thoughts about deleting my FitBit account—I even drew up plans for a syncing alternative. I did that, until I ran across an article: Google fully intends to buy FitBit. Well, that makes my decision easy to make. Nothing to see here: Silicon Valley's go-to business model is to have its users be the product.

I don't mind Google's products. I make use of its Google Charts and I like its open source OS on my phone. And I recognize that in the virtual world, I gotta walk by Google, even if I never visit its search engine. And as the virtual realm and reality coalesce into the ubiquitous Internet of things, maybe it'll be impossible to avoid it IRL, even in a longship across a fjord.

When I was a teenager to college graduation, that decade from 1991-2001, when I woke up each morning, I didn't immediately care what was happening across the city or across the world. And when Tom Brokaw came on the air at night, I didn't take a dopamine hit. I've been off social media for a good while now, but this recent departure from news media has me jonesin' for a fix. "I gotta know about all that is oh so not relevant to my life!" Why must I always be plugged in? Why is it so important for my data to be mined by Google, Facebook, etc, while new data is uploaded into my consciousness by those same players?

Now, clearly, there's some great applications of having a solid source of information, something like The Economist, to hear perspectives and events that we generally miss out on. Furthermore, I enjoy taking approaches in one arena and applying them in another. That said, of late, I just get a vibe from most news media that it's all about command and control. And maybe it's my INTJ slant, but, I grow weary of the 24-hour appeals to emotion cycle. It's just a matter of time before we are all inserted into a Sally Struthers surrogate, waddling out and pleading to one another to feed the trolls in the ever-so-deafening roar of Paul Simon's "ten-thousand people, maybe more, people talking without speaking, people hearing without listening."

As I'm hobbling around the house in a foot brace, it's looking like my decision to train minimally in The 13th Expedition was a fortuitous decision. Not that I necessarily chose it as part of my strategy; I just never could figure out how to maximize my time at 3-something in the morning with 7 hours of sleep since I have yet to insert the punch cards for an early work shift change of consciousness.

But hey, my current predicament has no bearing on my weightloss approach. Win?

I have NO idea what's wrong with my foot. In the past, a foot injury always had to do something with rolling my foot. This time, it was just the sudden sharp pain at the bottom of my foot, stopping me in my tracks. I owe my mobility in recent days to this brace velcro-ing everything in place.

Foot pain is nothing new in this Expeditionary approach. I'm pretty sure I picked up a stress fracture at the outset of last year, in January 2019, which explains the May '19 restart.

I do want my training regimen to return to The Expeditions for greater fitness, but not for weightloss. It's not that I've been wholly separated from it: if I need to get rid of excess energy, I'll hit the iron or slap the heavy bag around. But, that's a far cry from the 3-something to 6 AM sessions. Admittedly, I'm tempted to hold back from training during The 13th just as a point of comparison to all my effort in the past. Still, like everything else, it's about being mindful of my status; when I'm compelled to hit the treadmill, there I shall be.

Yesterday, in the spirit of heralding in my new year, I had hoped to receive my very first cup of Black Rifle Coffee via my monthly 3-bag drop. Sadly, however, its deployment must have reached the end of its supply chain as it handed the advance over to Montgomery. OK, so, I don't know enough about modern warfare's use of contractor services, so, I'm not sure what the analog would be for the failure of FedEx, but if I learned anything from ex-Navy SEAL Jocko Willink, Truman's "The Buck Stops Here," or Eisenhower's Overlord backup letter upon defeat, it's about the top taking ownership for failure—or maybe my instance is an outlier. It just miffs me because it's not like the order is coming in from California or Maine—it's in-state! It's right outside of Nashville to West Tennessee. In contrast, when I ordered from Upton Tea in Massachusetts, I received superior service whether I resided in Alaska or Tennessee.

I may move back to tea, my graduate-school-to-Czech-Republic-to-Alaska-back-to-Tennessee panacea, but, I have a long and complicated relationship with coffee that I cannot readily dismiss.

Coffee: the dark elixir drunk with friends who have faded into mists of memory. Coffee was the warm companion in places I'll never see again—at least not how I traveled them....

That's our past, isn't it, spinning wildly within a whirlwind of nouns. And when we look back of those days of old, we wonder why didn't they seem like something more in the context of their creation. We didn't know that a passing bye would be the last goodbye. It is as if we think the present is the immutable forever and that reflection in our coffee cup will never change.

And yet...(worlds are packed in those two words). The future is upon us. Emotionally, we must understand that every move we make gains something new and leaves something behind, both our context and all the opportunity cost thereof.

As for me, I drive deep into the timeless night...