- Get on the treadmill (or equivalent exercise) daily
- Pace is fine at 30 min/mile, although I may up it on occasion
- Time range between 30 minutes and 1 hour per day
- Distance 1-2 miles per day
- Read the chosen book. I’m officially modifying my original rule of not reading the book-of-the-week off-treadmill. I’m usually going to look at length and try to divide it up somewhat evenly per day, even if that means either closing that book early (if it’s short) or continuing after (if it’s long).
Week 173: March 15, 2020 – March 21, 2020
|Sunday||30 min/mile||31:00 min:sec||1 mile|
|Monday||30 min/mile||31:02 min:sec||1 mile|
|Tuesday||30 min/mile||30:11 min:sec||1 mile|
|Wednesday||30 min/mile||30:10 min:sec||1 mile|
|Thursday||30 min/mile||30:04 min:sec||1 mile|
|Friday||30 min/mile||30:22 min:sec||1 mile|
|Saturday||Yard Work & Mowing||~ 5 hours||Front & Back Yards|
What I’m Reading
Note: Although I will try to avoid them, my weekly reading snippets may or may not contain spoilers, so read at your own risk.
What I #amreading: Off Campus (Bend or Break 1) by Amy Jo Cousins
Everyone’s got secrets. Some are just harder to hide.
With his father’s ponzi scheme assets frozen, Tom Worthington believes finishing college is impossible unless he can pay his own way. After months sleeping in his car and driving a pirate taxi for cash, he’s ready to do just that.
But his new, older-student housing comes with an unapologetically gay roommate. Tom doesn’t ask why Reese Anders has been separated from the rest of the student population. He’s just happy to be sleeping in a bed.
Reese isn’t about to share his brutal story with his gruff new roommate. You’ve seen one homophobic jock, you’ve seen ’em all. He plans to drag every twink on campus into his bed until Tom moves out. But soon it becomes clear Tom isn’t budging.
Tom isn’t going to let some late-night sex noise scare him off, especially when it’s turning him on. But he doesn’t want any drama either. He’ll keep his hands, if not his eyes, to himself. Boundaries have a way of blurring when you start sharing truths, though. And if Tom and Reese cross too many lines, they may need to find out just how far they can bend…before they break.
Warning: This book contains cranky roommates who vacillate between lashing out and licking, some male/male voyeurism, emotional baggage that neither guy wants to unpack, and the definitive proof that sound carries in college housing.
My favorite lines this week…
✿✿ SUNDAY ✿✿
“Great kid. I’m thrilled for you. Even though I don’t have the faintest fucking clue what you’re talking about.” New rule: People using big words when he was dead tired would be shot. “But it’s nine p.m. on Sunday night. Nobody’s gonna straighten this out until tomorrow morning. So, since I have a freaking piece of paper that says I should sleep here, maybe I can just—” a huge yawn ripped out of his mouth, catching him off guard mid-sentence, “—sorry, sleep here.”
✿✿ MONDAY ✿✿
He stopped for one second in front of the open door with his hand on the knob and looked back over his shoulder, all color drained from his face and the dark shadows under his eyes starker than ever against his white pale skin.
“Go ahead. Dig all you want, asshole. You won’t find a goddamm thing.”
His voice was flat, his eyes vacant, before he turned and left the room, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.
✿✿ TUESDAY ✿✿
Gossip traveled like wildfire through a dry ocean of prairie grass, so he wasn’t surprised when someone found him, only that it had taken so long.
✿✿ WEDNESDAY ✿✿
“Well, shit. If you were gay, I’d offer to suck you off. You know, distract you from the pain.”
Reese laughed and then paused, clearly expecting something from Tom.
“This is where you’re supposed to chime in with a screaming chorus of ‘Dude, I’m So Straight I Can Barely Fuck Flat-Chested Girls.'”
✿✿ THURSDAY ✿✿
Tom knew the grin on his face was goofy, more fit for a teenager playing Ding Dong Ditch maybe, but he let his freak flag fly. Fuck it.
✿✿ FRIDAY ✿✿
Bruce Willis was yippee-ki-yaying all over the place, which was Tom’s reward for sitting through some British period piece about gay dudes without enough sex scenes in it to make up for how fucking depressing it was. Tom lay between Reese’s legs, arms draped on his boyfriend’s raised thighs, head on his chest. Reese was complaining about every scene that didn’t include Alan Rickman.
“I’m just saying, with that voice? I’d be all, hostage here! Please, take me.”
✿✿ SATURDAY ✿✿
He was pretty sure that he was fooling himself that this was even possible, but it seemed as if that was an inextricable part of the having faith thing. Doing something when you had no idea if it was going to pay off, because you hoped, you trusted that it might.