Canadian Ski Patrol

first aid –noun
[furst eyd]
1. emergency aid or treatment given to someone injured, suddenly ill, etc., before regular Medical services arrive or can be reached

My newest distraction to chase is training to become a member of the Canadian Ski Patrol. For approximately 9 weeks I will be learning all the ins and outs of the human body and the techniques to keep it alive long enough for EMS to arrive.

This is really the personal challenge of all personal challenges for me.

I'm very squeamish when it comes to the inner workings of the body. I much prefer to pretend that inside us all is this fire that burns. Eating fuels these flames and as we get older the flame slowly diminishes until it is snuffed out and we die. Learning about how vulnerable we are makes me feel weak. In fact I never lasted through a whole health class in high school and came close to fainting many times. I don't think I will have a problem seeing 'it' or dealing with 'it', it's more just hearing about 'it'. I have an overactive imagination and learning about our insides just freaks me out.

But what's a personal challenge unless you really challenge yourself?

Speaking of personal challenges, today is the last day of Sober September. Another successful year, but the most challenging to date, this September I attended a wedding and a bachelor party. I managed to survive the temptation so as a award for a job well done I will be attending the Oktoberfest celebrations at the Beau's Brewery this weekend.

Prost!

A New Quit Smoking Aid

big house –noun
[big hou-ziz]
1. Slang a penitentiary

I've considered myself a casual smoker for years - too many years to mention *cough-cough*. In an attempt to curb this filthy habit I thought I would take some insight from those unfortunate souls that find them self in the Big House. Well at least what I know of it from books and movies.

In the Big House the common currency is cigarettes. The current exchange rate for a cigarette is 50¢; from this day forward I will think in terms of cigarettes. For example:

If I want to order that tasty sandwich from the place around the corner it's going to cost me 13 cigarettes.

My car just went in for repairs; it's likely going to cost me 3000 cigarettes.

When this year's Sober September ends that first frosty pint of Guinness is likely to cost me 14 cigarettes plus another two for tip.

It costs me just over 1000 cigarettes a month for rent… hmm I wonder if my landlord will be up for that exchange.

Hopefully thinking in terms of cigarettes will help me to quit. For every dollar I spend that's two smokes I can't have.

Sober Septembers

tee⋅to⋅tal⋅er –noun
[tee-toht-ler, tee-toht-]
1. a person who abstains totally from intoxicating drink
For the 4th (or maybe 5th) year running I am off the drink for the month of September. With only a week to go I have never felt better – well in actuality I feel no different at all. The only difference can be found on Saturday and Sunday mornings. As a typical social weekend drinker (i.e. binger), my day-to-day routine never included the drink, other than those odd days where a spontaneous social event happens on a school night.

Speaking of school night, tomorrow is my first quiz in the Latin, wish me luck or Bonam Fortunam!

Back to the drink, or lack there of. One thing I have noticed, which is a bit shocking, happened last Sunday afternoon. Typically I spend Sundays doing absolutely nothing. Just lounging around the house, watching movies, reading etcetera. Quite often on these lazy Sundays, or neked Sundays as I have dubbed them, I would come down with a case of the emotions. These random crying, laughing emotional outbursts usually brought on by commercials – yes for some reason commercials make me tear up. I contributed these uncharacteristic emotional responses to the hangover and a body that was chemically out of whack. However, the same emotional outburst happened last Sunday when not a drop of alcohol had been involved. Either my body is still cleansing the last of the toxins or I am slowly going crazy (one-two-three-for-five-six-switch-crazy-going-slowly-am-I-six-five-four-three-two-one-switch…).

Many have asked why I do this – why take 30 days off each year? ”Is it for Ramadan?” they ask. No it is not, as I am not Muslim. But hey, if you really need a reason, then ya sure, it’s for Ramadan.

In short Sober Septembers are great way to transition from a Soused Up Summer to an Alcoholic Autumn. So tell all your friends, maybe together we can make this a nonreligious/spiritual annual fast.

Only one week left. Man, am I ever thirsty.



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