#49: A Day in the Life

Alarm goes at 7:40am. Snooze. This is my old silver Motorola flip-phone. Still reeling from being gazumped by a Blackberry. Must have known Orange wasn’t the only ‘fruit’. Second alarm goes at 7:41am. Snooze. Yesterday was a long day. I’m having a bit of a lie-in today.

One eye open. 9:30am? OK, guess I should rise now. Right: ACTION STATIONS!

Make tea. Morning Thunder by Celestial Seasonings. A blend of black and Yerba mate. Heat hot water in the microwave, as my kettle internally combusted a few weeks' back.

Laptop flipped open and on. Create new humour column canvases. Two needed this fine Monday (to stay on schedule for 75 by 2012’s end). No Source for Sports sales assisting today, so I have a ‘free’ day.

There’ll be a Part 2 (and possibly 3) to the U2 piece. But I fancy a bit of word-play. Sechelt seashells on the sea shore… Hmm.

Get the first 118 words written. I shoot for a minimum of 800 in each column; seems to be the industry standard. Words with multiple meanings and soundalikes. Themes for #49. #50. Or #51. I shuffle the pack a lot.

Next priority: Boston Marathon training. Eight miles (+ 6 x 10-sec hill-sprints) on the training agenda this morning. Need to get over to see Bob Hoy (manager of the IGA Marketplace in Wilson Creek), so I’ll tie that in. Seeking more part-time work so I can still feast – at least on banana oatmeal – during my current freelance writing famine.

Head out the door (from the rancher I share in West Sechelt) a whisker after 1030 and drive my Mazda MX-3 to the retail park opposite St. Mary’s Hospital (and home to Sechelt’s one-and-only Starbucks). Park close to the hallowed SB. A hard-earned Grande Soy Café Misto awaits, around 70 minutes from now.

If detailing everything I’ve done/am doing today, I’ve apparently left home naked. However, I can confirm that running kit was donned during my first laptop stint.

I run out from the retail park and head uphill (though technically south) along the Sunshine Coast Highway, towards Davis Bay, Gibsons and the Langdale ferry terminal.

There’s no proper trail or pavement framing the highway up and through Selma Park. But scraps of wiry track and the odd side-road help me avoid being steam-rollered by an impetuous Dodge Ram or Nissan Titan.

I’m forced to jink left and right; across driveways, a scrap of scrawny trail, then back onto the bare road-way, hugging the far left of the north-facing cycle lane...

To read the rest of this column, check out BC Johnny's upcoming book: Chilled Almonds.