It’s Friday

I’ve spent much of the week feeling astoundingly weak and not knowing the cause.

Simple answer—dehydration. I’ve noticed that I feel the effects of dehydration a shit-ton more strongly in the last year. WHY?

• Is it due to my advanced age?
• My billion and a half recent surgeries?
• The fact that I spend nearly all my time indoors, in bed or in a chair? No big time exercise for yurs truly in about a year now.
• OR that I haven’t been drinking 64 ounces, minimum, of fluids each and every day? Not consistently anyway.
  

BING, BING, BING—I think we have a winnah here. Mostly it’s the last point but, possibly, a little of each.

Ya know, 64 ounces is NOT actually all that much. That’s the equivalent of four pints of Guinness. I can/could/used to down that in the pub easy. OK no and a bad example. One pint of Guinness is too much and always has been—that shit’s heavy as fuck. One pint always put me clean out. It’d fill me up so there’d be no room for as much as a lettuce leaf. I’ll go with four pints of Blind Pig IPA as an example instead. Back in my beer days I’d smoothly down three to four IPAs in one sitting (which goes a long way toward explaining my surplus poundage).

In any case, to catch up on my fluid intake, I’m now downing the equivalent of one Lake Superior per day. Wine and whiskey don’t count—they’re anti-hydrationists.

I now feel better, have more energy (good thing too since PT is today at 11), feel stronger and more flexible. I’m 63 motherfucking years old—WHY am I still struggling to remember this radically basic concept.

More water means more life. Easy, peasy. Right? In my case, apparently not.