Twenty-ninth Olympics: My personal training.

Next month I will be marking my 29th birthday with a bit of an European vacation. I will be travelling alone, but luckily, have great friends with which to stay. My travels will take me to The Netherlands and Germany.

Approximately one month ago, I began my Training. My lungs and liver are terrified of what is to come for 10 days in February. My lungs are still unsure of whether or not to partake which has shocked my friends into a banter of, "Super-stoner won't smoke in Amsterdam?! What?! I feel like I don't even know you."

The thing holding me back from partaking in Amsterdam is I would be partaking alone; a very scary prospect if you cut me open and ask my bronchial tubes. A friend of mine who lives in Amsterdam (Arrogant Dutchman) has told me he and his friends often laugh at the tourists sitting or sprawling on the sidewalks. My friend does not smoke the stank (I know!) and therefore, I'm just a bit weary of the whole thing. Who will fish me out of the canal?

As far as my liver is concerned, the training is in full swing. The Mister has complimented my diligence and even bragged to somebody, "Little Super is putting away about 3 beers a day." The person to whom he said this lived in Germany for many years and was not impressed until he added, "She only weighs a super 100 pounds." Before you get concerned, I'm not doing this EVERY day and some days it's less... some days more. Regardless, I'm not getting tanked every night or anything, I'm just preparing my system for what is about to come.

I have had the occasional day when my liver says, "Sweet baby jeebus, Super, can you lay off the sauce for just one night?" Alack, alas, I must point to my midsection and say, "NO, dear liver, Mama knows best. Now open up and take your medicine!"