Picking Up "Sticks"

As usual, I had a brotein shake for breakfast.

I had  chocolate chip cookie dough Luna bar for lunch.

I then skipped the gym, as I had some manual labor to attend to. I was asked if I would be available to pick up sticks this afternoon. I agreed, wondering how hard picking up sticks could really be.

Idiot.

There was, I would later find out, an issue with semantics that went straight over my bro meathead.

First, I grew up in the suburbs. While not inherently a problem at all, I am now living on a farm. The farm is in full swing of planting and all that goes with that. That means the fields need to be prepared for such merriment. And I, upon agreeing to pick up sticks in a field, was picturing little twigs fallen from a mighty oak tree at the behest of mother nature's majestic and powerful winds.

Again, idiot.

You see, I'm perfectly fine with picking up sticks. But picking up  "sticks" is a different thing entirely.

You see, in farm lingo, "sticks" is a euphemism for "trees" and "roots that are stuck a quarter mile down into the Earth that require swinging an ax repeatedly to remove while hoping you retain all of your toes, feet, shins, and legs."

By the time I realized I was out of shape, it was too late to turn back. But let me tell you, the next five minutes were even worse than the first. Eventually, I just bro-ed up and tackled these fields like a heavy set of curls. When the ax swinging got really intense, I was thankful that I hadn't gone to the gym today. Today was my shoulder day, and swinging an ax is apparently hard on my shoulder. I felt as though my right deltoid was getting HUGE, so I actually enjoyed it. Plus it's an experience that I didn't have access to in my formative years.

In all honesty, while manual labor might not be the most enjoyable activity in the world, I really appreciated this experience for its difference from my normal life. Complacency can get the best of anyone, so its nice to mix it up occasionally. And as a biology major, I really enjoyed learning an alternate definition for the term "sticks."

Now, walking around in fields for hours after having only consumed a scoop of brotein, a scoop of BCAAs, and a brotein bar isn't necessarily ideal from an energy standpoint. Expending quite a lot of energy having only eaten about 350 calories in the previous 16 hours can lead to severe fatigue and hunger. In fact, I kept singing in my head the titular chorus to Tim McGraw's song "Humble and Kind," except the words eventually (quickly) became, "...always stay hungry and whine." Although I wasn't actually whining, a certain gastrointestinal organ of mine certainly was (emphasis on gastro).

Eventually, though, we reached a point where we felt relatively confident that we had made a dent in the number of sticks in the three fields we combed, so it was time to go home. When I returned home, Sidney and her mother took great joy in proclaiming my hygienic state as "the dirtiest [I]'ve probably ever been." This suburban jab went to such extremes that they insisted on taking pictures of me to send to my mother, in order to inform her that I have finally done some "real work."

As you can see, I'm literally covered from head to toe in dirt. In fact, I'm rather surprised that there's anything left in the field other than some bedrock and liquid hot magma.

To demonstrate this state more clearly, they insisted on taking pictures of my arms. You can clearly see where my wristbands and watchstrap had been, as the sharp contrast from clean, pale white goes to the color of dirt rather abruptly.

The only thing that this mocking picture taking accomplished, in my mind, was the impediment to me getting food. I eventually succeeded, but not before the incredibly laborious and frivolous comportments of showering and changing clothes.

But after all that, finally I was able to get some nourishment. (I should mention that, being a bro, I didn't think I would need much water while working in the fields. After all, I never drink water during my workouts in the gym. Why would this be any different? Well, I was obviously wrong, and when I got home I downed 4 glasses of water.)

This is a bowl of quinoa and what Sidney's family calls "Drunken Pintos." It's a mixture of pinto beans, some meat, and some veggies of some kind. All I know is that it tastes amazing. And if you don't believe that there is any quinoa in this bowl since none is visible, here's this.

You'll just have to trust that I actually got some. I earned these carbs today. I may be accidentally getting huge by accident, but I was ravenous, and I didn't care. In the interest of full disclosure, I also had three milk chocolate-covered peanuts too. So there.

There was also some cheese, of which I almost forgot about. But I was reminded, and it made into my bowl.

After this, and in the style of 1 month ago me, I got more.

This time, though, I didn't get any quinoa. I am cutting after all!

And as it turned out, the Eat Outside Index (EOI), popularized by Gary Lezak, was at a 11/10 today. It was 73 degrees F with a slight breeze. Absolutely stunning weather.

And with that, I bring to an end a surprisingly busy and interesting day, a tiring day, a good day.