Orly eat your heart out – my super foolproof anti-jetlag plan is once again being called into action to try to help me adjust my body clock ahead of Saturday’s race. I know it’s not actually a race, but if it were, we know who’d win. Not me necessarily, but the important thing is not him. Or rather he’d pause, vomit and potentially die, but Ithe moral victory would be mine.
I think the lack of sleep is taking its toll on me.
Time to go out for a spin.
I just read this, you heathen.
By now my body is finely tuned to tropical climes. Let’s so who plays Daddy when you reach the fairer latitudes, eh boi?
The gauntlet is down. Come to papa.