2 Analogies: Climbing Mount Everest.

I'm about to blow your minds with Analogy Two, but please bear with me on this first one, I have to vent.

I believe I talked earlier about achieving the vaunted 36-Minute Mile tonight; it's the crowning glory, my coronation into perfect health. In short, it's the goal I've been striving for these last three months on the Top Ramen Diet.

Fast forward to tonight. I was stuck in my room until 9pm revising that short story I was talking about earlier. With it finished, I changed into my shorts, bundled up around them, and braved the sub-freezing temperatures to get to the gym. I did my full allotment of crunches - six pack will be here any day now - and proceeded directly to the treadmill. Notched that baby up to 6.6 miles per hour (with my sprinting the last .20 miles at an 8.4 mph clip, I'd succeed in my 36-minute, 4-mile barrier) and hit the road.

The first mile came and went without any trouble. The second mile came and went without even realizing I'd gone so far. Mile three passed in a similar fashion and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Turning the corner on minute 28, the woman from the front desk came over to the treadmill next to me - I thought to cheerlead me to the Promised Land - and said, "It's 10 o' clock, we're closing."

And just like that, I was sunk. 3.18 miles.

You know what that's like? That's like training for a solid year, making the treacherous climb up Mount Everest, getting to within 100 yards of the peak, and then running into a rabid mountain goat who says, "It's 10 o' clock, Mount Everest is closing."

Fuck! There's no solace in KNOWING you'd break the 36-Minute Mile. You have to do it. I'm crushed. I'm 99%-sure I'm going to be too busy to hit the gym tomorrow, Sunday is DEFINITELY out, which means I can't attempt to tackle the record until Monday at the earliest ... when I'll most likely be nursing a 2-day hangover AND trying to eat an entire Crave Case.

Seven more minutes. Seven more minutes and I would've been there.

Analogy Two

This other one you're going to like, I guarantee it.

I've figured out why it's IMPOSSIBLE to catch a solid buzz by just drinking shots and nothing else all night. Like, you know how surfers are always on the hunt for the perfect wave? Well, any Above-Average Alcohol-Drinker is always on the hunt for the solid buzz. Not too drunk, not sober, awake and entertaining all night, AND feeling pretty OK the next morning. That kind of balance is the hardest thing to do in life and some Premium Alcohol Drinkers don't even achieve such a miraculous feat.

Well, for all you A-A A-D's out there, you can scratch Vodka Shots off your list of things to try.

Here's the analogy: Drinking is like Climbing Mount Everest, only instead of being an experienced mountain climber, you're you. In other words, YOU are never going to climb all the way up Mount Everest, so it's like the Impossible Journey. Such is drinking. OK. So, if you drink beer, it's like you're chugging along at a steady pace. The more beer you drink, the higher you get, but ultimately you're going to black out/pass out, fall flat on your stomach, and slide back down the mountain into sobriety the following morning. Now, if you figure every hour you burn off one beer, that's akin to ... a slight stumble on your steady climb.

OK. BUT, if you're just taking shots, it's not possible to make that steady climb. Either you pound eight or nine shots in an hour, which is like you're running naked UP Mount Everest, leading to you tripping over that cocksucking redheaded female mountain goat from the gym and belly-sliding back down the mountain before 10pm rolls around.

If you try to do the 2-shots-an-hour trick like I did, then it's like you're busting your ass for 100 yards, sliding for 50, busting another 100, falling 50, and so on. It's tiring! Having to make up that 50 yards every hour is fucking daunting as all hell and the body just can't take it!

See, I didn't pass out last Saturday because I was too drunk; I passed out because I wanted to go to fucking sleep. Drinking to make yourself drowsy is NOT that perfect surfer wave. It's just not.

I have no solutions to the mystery - like finding the clitoris - but as soon as I catch that perfect buzz, I'll let you all in on the secret.

As for me, have I ever had the perfect buzz before? Yes, but it involved marijuana and 40s, which kind of disqualifies me since it's not exclusively alcohol-based.