in three weeks, T has helped me put on so much muscle i managed to outgrow a brand new binder that i had purchased to size up to begin with and holy shit the pain of wearing a too-small binder for a full work shift fucked me up. do not try to push through wearing a binder if it feels wrong.
for context, before T, i was really underweight and i couldn't outpace my fast metabolism to gain any meaningful weight. i'm 5'5" and bounced between 100-105lbs and i was strong for my size but that's not saying much versus the general male population. this is where i'd say a huge majority of my dysphoria lived, having narrow shoulders, the little fat i had all being at my hips, people assuming i'm too weak for even basic tasks. so at the start of this year, i really put my nose to the grindstone and have been practicing muay thai and weight-lifting multiple times a week like i used to pre-pandemic. i was doing okay at it! i'm never going to the olympics but i was feeling good.
and then i started T in february. my appetite has exploded and i've been putting away over 2300 calories per day just to not feel so goddamn hungry. i've been focusing on high protein foods and trying to drink a quart of milk a day and two protein shakes. it's also given me more energy and confidence to go workout and practice even if i'm not feeling 100% mentally up to it.
so, between all the food and the working out, i've managed to put on 20lbs of mostly muscle in 3 months and holy shit the difference is real. T is putting a majority of it on my upper body. but then also i don't get as cold as easily, i have more energy all the time, my posture is better, my clothes fit better, this specific dysphoria is evaporating slowly and holy shit i feel alive and present. but there's a catch.
none of my fucking binders fit. at first, say around late-march, i got an inkling my flavnt half-binders were too small. something just felt off cause i can usually forget they're on but i was just so aware of them. so i stopped wearing them and i sized up and bought a new one like 3 weeks ago. it fit and felt great, back to normal i thought. i wear my binders maybe 2-3 times a week normally, but last week i had really physically active work so i didn't wear it until friday with nothing but a t-shirt over it. and by the end of the day i was fucking suffering. i had shooting pains when i moved any part of my upper body. i was getting those cramps you get when running along your ribs, while standing still. i couldn't take it off my entire 8 hr shift + 45 min commute, until i got to my girlfriend's place. i spent the rest of the night switching between curling up into a ball or doing any stretch i could think of to get away from the pain, my girlfriend also gave me a massage but the pain stayed just as bad the entire time, it was constant. it felt like a stomach ache, chest pains, running cramps, and period cramps all at the same time. breathing was like i'd been holding my breath underwater for ages and couldn't catch it again. it went on all night until i took an ibuprofen and got very high, then it finally eased. when i was smoking, i had a hacking coughing fit that i think shook up my lungs and cleared me out, and i also had a laughing fit when i was high and watching youtube that also definitely did something to help in terms of muscle pain. it was the opposite of laughing until you're sore lmao. i'm okay now after a weekend of free-balling it with absolutely no sports bras or any compression and doing some yoga to stretch it out, but christ that was so much pain i was freaked out. and i have a decent pain tolerance! i've been hit by 2 cars, i severed a finger once, i've done combat sports on and off my whole life! i'm never making that mistake again.
the night i was rolling around in pain, my girlfriend wanted to check something. i just happened to have my rib and chest measurements in my phone from when i bought the new binder, so my girlfriend measured me again to check to see just how badly i fucked up, and i went from being 27" around my ribs to being 32" (i'm gonna make these lats into wings) and my chest went from 31" to being 34". my girlfriend just laughed and she just said "you're bulking up too much babe, it's a good problem to have"

The god of mischeif and pain appeara before you and offers you a choice between 2 powers.
The 1st power is Invisibility.
How it works: You can become invisible for up to 10 minutes a day. Essentially think like a battery that is recharged everyday at 12am. The time coast of your powers (pacific time, eastern time etc) will permanently be the time coast of when you initially gain the power, meaning even if you move across the world your powers still follow the clock of where you initially acquired them. The duration will never increase or decrease. You become completely transparent visually (even your clothes). You still make normal noise though. You cannot make anyone or anything else invisible (except clothes directly touching your skin).
The drawback: You are required to use all 10 minutes of your power everyday ( doesnt have to be consecutively, but the effect must remain active for at least 30 seconds at a time). Anytime you're discovered, one of your limbs or organs will randomly explode. Like if you run into someone and they realize you're there, your hand might explode. Or maybe your kidney. You might be able to survive the 1st time depending on which llimb it is, but you'll never know which. The explosion to your internal organs is contained within your body, but the external explosion to your limbs will vary in size with the strongest explosion possible being a hand grenade in scale. Anytime your presence is confirmed to be detected by anyone, the effect will activate. If someone is suspicious but not sure the effect won't happen. The effect will also activate if you haven't used the full 10 minutes by 11:59pm. The explosion itself cannot harm others, but the effect of the explosion can (meaning if your arm explodes, there's the possibility one of the bones goes flying into someone skull). The explosion itself can also harm other parts of your body but would be centered on whatever limb is chosen.
The 2nd power is Flight.
How it works: You can fly similar to superman. No wings required. Your flying is tied to your stamina, meaning your can fly longer, faster and higher the more you exercise. Your top flight speed is equivalent to your top running speed. You are not immune to the effects of weather or oxygen, meaning you'll have trouble breathing and feel extreme cold the higher you go. You can only carry people with you if you are physically strong enough. Your clothes and belongings still weigh you down. Running out of stamina mid flight means you'll succumb to the effects of gravity.
The drawback: Once a month, you have to spend 7 consecutive days running from a mercenary. If they touch you anywhere on your body (direct contact with your skin or flesh), you will lose your powers, 90% of your stamina and your lifespan will be shortened by 30 years. You can't come into direct contact with them. You can't harm them in any way (meaning you can't use any weapons or projectiles to harm them from a distance either). In terms of physically, they never run out of stamina and have super strength ,(eqyivalent to captain america) but their speed is equivalent to someone competing in the Olympic track team. They never sleep. You cannot trap them either (if your actions leads them into some trap that incapacitates them, they will teleport within 10 meters of you fully healed. If that's in the air, they will safely teleport to the nearest available solid ground.) After 7 days if they haven't caught you, they'll leave only for the process to start again next month. If you're caught, they'll never appear again. You don't know when the 7 days starts or ends. Their intelligence is around 160 IQ. They can choose to hunt you however they prefer (meaning they can spend a few days just stalking you without letting their presence known, which means it's possible you won't know the 7 days had started already).
Failure to choose one option results in a prolonged and painful death.

Olympic Triathlon Tips
I (28 male) am participating in my first triathlon in a week’s time and would welcome any tips to get through it (and enjoy it!).
Due to work and playing other sports competitively my training never really got going so I’ve done maybe 2 weeks of ‘training’. I have managed to fit in a few brick runs to get used to the feeling of getting off the bike.
Current times for each section, and I guess my targets, are: Swim (1.5km) - 30-34 mins.. pain points here are breathing consistently, after a while I’ll find myself coming up/out of the water.
Cycle (40km) - 1:30-1:45.. feel relatively comfortable on the bike but I don’t have a lot of experience with inclines so any tips on going uphill for a sustained period would be great.
Run (10km) - 40-45mins.. I’m a confident runner although I do expect this to be tricky and so would aim for being within an hour on the day.

I started running last year and through overuse (I’m sure) developed a stress fracture in my right knee. I stopped running completely for approx 4 months and took up cycling and swimming. Had physio, built up leg strength in gym. I then slowly reintroduced running, made sure I had the correct footwear, correct warm ups and cool downs, shorter strides etc and was managing it.
I then did an Olympic triathlon 1 week ago (10k run) and my knee was ok on the run and. 3 days after the tri the pain got gradually worse and is possibly the worst it’s ever been now. I haven’t run since.
Saw a consultant and his view is that it will just take time to heal. Is there really nothing that can be done? I have been so patient and feel like 8 months after the initial injury I shouldn’t have this level of pain? It’s really getting me down
I’m 29, healthy weight, BMI 20, lead an active and healthy lifestyle, eat ‘cleanly’ inc meat and dairy

Hi guys, I can't remember if I posted in this sub or olympic NP but I am disabled and had an entire trip planned there before I broke my leg again (bone cancer survivor, if you want to know more my entire story is available elsewhere and this isn't the place for that, you can dm me). I was devastated because we were only a few weeks out from the trip, had everything planned (have been planning for 2 years) and ready and we (my boyfriend and i) were so excited. Every time I've broken my endoprosthesis (2x now) it takes about a year to heal until I can walk without crutches again, and even then it's difficult. I actually went to Yellowstone on crutches and had a wonderful time, my cousin lives in Bozeman and it was truly magical, even if I could only see most of it from the car. The Rangers at old faithful were so so helpful and lovely and helped me with a wheelchair and everything. I live in Indiana, and the thought of missing another summer because of my disability and pain makes me super depressed, I feel like my life is passing me by and I'm missing out on dreams over and over again because of stupid cancer even though it's been removed for 3 years now. But I should be in a little less pain in about a month. I'm a pro on crutches, like up and down stairs forwards and backwards, and can probably crutch faster than most people can walk 🤣 So a very long winded question but, what's in driving distance? Any recommendations on disability-friendly places to stay? I searched voyageurs on air b&b and as soon as I put on a disability filter my search results went to 0. I ironically have a little disabled dog too lol. I worry about him when we're gone but he's well enough for some long car rides. So driving distance would be awesome. I actually live about 15 min from Indiana dunes, and I might be a pro at crutches but not sand dune pro lmao. And I grew up in Michigan, so I've hit most of those.
Really any advice on some beautiful places to see would be wonderful. I've put off my dreams long enough, I may not be able to do olympic this year but, God damn it, I'm not waiting around anymore.
Thanks for reading my entirely too long post and I hope it gets approved. 🙏

Ok so rn im rocovering from an injury, (long head of the biceps tendon and pattelar tendon pain), i've beed a wannabe powerlifter for like 2 years before that so i have some basic strength. And after my knee pain is gone i wanna start olympic lifting, my plan for it is 6x a week weight training including some variations of the big lifts, like clean pull, snatch pull, muscle clean, overhead squat, back squats, front squats, and some regular hypertrophy accessories, and additional to that i wanna do some work like plyometrics, sprinting and regular running 3 times a week, to use the body more, and start developing some explosive power while getting the hang of the technique with oly lifts. So is it a good idea? i would be really happy to hear some tips from u guys, thanks in advance!!!

Race Information

• Name: Eugene Marathon.
• Date: Sunday April 28, 2024
• Distance: 26.2 miles
• Location: Eugene, OR
• Time: 03:56:xx
• Elevation: 538 ft
• Gear: Adidas Adios Pro 3 Red

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	Sub 4:05 (nominal BQ)	yes
B	Sub 4:00	yes
C	Sub 3:55 (BQ with really solid cushion)	no
D	Sub 3:50	no
E	Sub 3:48 (AG 70%)	no

Splits

Split	Time
1	08:45
2	08:37
3	08:38
4	08:37
5	08:37
6	08:35
7	08:34
8	08:45
9	09:07
10	08:46
11	08:50
12	08:37
13	08:32
14	08:47
15	08:48
16	08:55
17	08:50
18	08:50
19	08:57
20	09:04
21	09:05
22	09:23
23	09:38
24	09:42
25	10:01
26	09:36
.37	09:20

Background

After a 30-year hiatus, I began running again in January 2022. In November 2023, I ran the NYC Marathon, my first, with a time of 4:14:xx. Eugene was my second marathon, and I sought to attain at least a nominal BQ with a time of 4:05. Beyond that, I hoped to break 4 hours. With 3:55 I would have a comfortable cushion of 10 minutes for going to Boston. Based on recent races, I should have been able to do even better - in 10Ks in January (Classics By The Sea in Florida, 48:xx) and February (Manhattan 10K, 49:xx), as well as in the NYC Half in March (1:49), I had AG scores of over 70. On that basis (as well as the prediction from the Runanalyze site), a time of 3:48 was possible.

Training

I used the Runna app to set up a 16-week structured training program which maxed out at about 49 miles/week with several long runs of 21 miles. It went well, though I had to adjust it to accommodate other races and work obligations and I found that the target paces for the speed work were really challenging. The program included a three-week taper which felt a little long to me. Although I intended to include strength work in my training, this did not happen.

Pre-race

We flew across the country Friday evening for the Sunday race and spent Saturday reconnecting with a series of old friends. This was really nice, and necessarily took my focus off of the marathon. The travel and socializing left me a little sleep-deprived Sunday morning, but no regrets. I woke about three hours before the race, had some beet juice, coffee, a half bagel, and a banana. The weather was perfect, mid to high 40s and a little overcast.
I checked my bag, hit the porta-potty, and got to the start with about 30 mins to spare. I found the 3:50 pacer, Keith, a sharp runner who had been pacing marathons on the West Coast every week for the last month or so. When I told Keith that I was 67 and that this was only my second marathon, he advised me to run with the 3:55 or 4:00 pacers but I (of course) did not listen. I had my first Maurten gel and a few swigs of Maurten 160 and we were off.

Race

The first few miles were fairly crowded but manageable. I started a little fast, but not over the top, and enjoyed the chatter with those around me. I ran at a pretty consistent pace for most of the race - through 30K, all of my 5K splits were between 26:45 and 27:30, close enough to Keith so that I could appreciate his smart tangents on the somewhat windy course. I was having a great time, high fiving other runners and the crowd, and singing snippets of songs when the mood struck. My biggest problem through mile 20 was my music - I had curated three separate playlists for the race (Act I - Take it easy, Act II - Maintain and mix it up, Act III - You got this. Finish strong), but only the second loaded properly on my Garmin. I sipped Maurten gel from a gel flask every few miles and sucked down a caffeinated gel at about mile 19. I slowed down gradually beginning at about mile 20, and by mile 23 or so I was periodically admonishing myself aloud "come ON x." But I was not so much deep in the pain cave as looking inside it.
In the last few miles of my first marathon, I was fighting for each tenth of a mile; here, the unit, the goal, was a half mile. At mile 23, there were 6 of these left, plus the final stretch at Hayward Field. I kept on thinking about, visualizing, the finish, but I could no longer even imagine a sprint.
Finally the field came into view, I turned and hit the track, and gave it my all. The video shows that my cadence is quick, but my strides are short, Fred Flintstone like, as this was all that I could manage with the soreness in my glutes and hips. I hit the finish and pumped my arms, then listed a bit to port in a way not unreminiscent of Olympic pioneer Gabriela Andersen-Schiess. Three medics came up to me, but I shook them off with fist bumps and staggered off towards the bag check.

Lessons

As an older white male, I've been given breaks throughout my life because of how I look, how I seem, and how I talk. This privilege has helped me to transcend a rough family background and my first-generation status to go on to earn a PhD and have a successful career and a great family. I have been, in short, very fortunate. Running has reminded me of my good fortune (sometimes with every stride), but these two marathons have given me something more, an appreciation of my own sense of willfulness and determination. Before this race, in the fatigue of the last weeks of my training, I was thinking that this might be, though not my last marathon, my fastest. But I am not done aspiring. Health permitting, I'll be in NYC this Fall, and almost certainly Boston next Spring. And I'll be breathing hard, and occasionally singing.
Made with Strava race report generator. / Written with StackEdit.

I primarily teach a corrective exercise modality called Foundation Training, working with people to overcome pain and mobility issues and enhance performance. I also teach strength training, general movement (rocking, rolling, crawling, squatting, hinging etc) and breathwork (buzzword but I focus on mechanics and biochemistry in relation to pain, performance and state)
I don’t have a PT cert outside of the CFSC level one cert and personal experience. I have trained with a legendary strength coach the last three years, which has been an incredibly learning experience as well reaffirming my approach.
My question is what education is relevant to this field? So many educated people tell me their education is overrated and to just keep doing what I’m doing-‘ DPT friend said not to go to PT school, my CSCS friend said it’s just okay, my CPT friends say their certs are fine but they learned more doing the thing etc- but I recognize my own limitations and ignorance and want to grow as a person who teaches movement (coach, instructor, practicioner?)
Working with a physical therapist she said she would expect anyone in this field of movement/fitness/exercise/working with people physically to have an education in exercise physiology.
My good friend who was an assistant strength coach for the US Olympic water polo team told me to go to osteopathy school but I’m not prepared for that endeavor. And I’m not sure it’s what I want in life.
Is that a good degree to get to make a career out of this passion of mine? Are there other options that are more relevant?

NOTE FROM AUTHOR: Hello Hello! I am a first-time writer embarking on my first dumpster fire; input is most welcome. I'm not the best self-editor, so get your hiking boots on. It's rough out there. Whenever I read it, I find or create more errors (:
OPTIONAL READS: For the Retro Computer or Programming Enthusiast OR if you are open to other formats of story telling. I tried to combine my love for programming as an UNDERSTANDABLE way to tell a story through a Visual Experience in the Command Line Interface;
A Stand-Alone VISUAL ASCII 'Programming Terminal' Story Prologue. Follow through(Screen Shots of my Command Line Interface) the UNE-EYE Observational Satellite Terminal as Kable extracts Classified Data about his Beloved Military Unit, THE HUMMINGBIRDS, a flying exoskeleton unit. This includes the origin story of a Technology Tree in Book 1.

####

INDEX

1. DEADCOAST - THE HUMMINGBIRDS PROLOGUE -> HERE <-
   
2. DEADCOAST - COMPLETE ILLUSTRATED INTRO -> HERE <-
   
3. HEAT & GRIZZLY REDS - CHAPTER 1 ILLUSTRATED -> HERE <-
   

"Deadcoast Book 1: Heat and the Grizzly Reds" transports readers to a 2063 Earth, a world on the brink, where the scarcity of fresh water has led to previously unseen geopolitical tensions. Amidst this backdrop, the nation-backed militant group DAGGR has emerged as a formidable force, leveraging advanced technology to assert control over Canada’s abundant water resources. At the heart of their arsenal is 'slugTech,' a technology pioneered by James Broadshaw, intended for ecological restoration but repurposed for militaristic dominance.
The story unfolds with the chilling invasion of Vancouver, marking a turning point as DAGGR makes its ambitions clear, culminating in the assassination of the Canadian Prime Minister. This act of aggression leaves the country reeling, exposing vulnerabilities and igniting a global reaction.
The UNE-EYE satellite is central to the international response, a significant narrative element representing the world's most advanced orbital tracking system. Once decommissioned in favour of privacy, the Dutch reactivated the satellite as a strategic move to monitor DAGGR's movements and coordinate a unified international effort against the aggressors. This revival of UNE-EYE symbolizes a crucial turning point, highlighting the global stakes and the interconnectedness of nations in the face of a common enemy.
As Canada grapples with its plight, the DAMU (Deserted American Military Units) rise in solidarity, breaching borders to fight alongside their Canadian counterparts. This act of defiance is mirrored by international forces, including the Netherlands and Ukraine, each bringing their unique strengths to the coalition, underscored by the strategic oversight provided by the UNE-EYE satellite.
Amidst the geopolitical chaos, a man who had all but given up, a boxer on the ropes, emerges from Vancouver's Gastown. Known as HEAT, this leader of the Grizzly Reds becomes a symbol of resistance and hope. HEAT's story, and that of the Grizzly Reds, is one of resilience, rallying not only Canadians but also global citizens to stand against DAGGR's tyranny.
" Deadcoast Book 1: Heat and the Grizzly Reds" is a compelling narrative of survival, alliance, and resistance. It deftly weaves together elements of advanced technology, international politics, and the indomitable human spirit. The inclusion of the UNE-EYE satellite serves as a testament to the complexities of modern warfare and the critical role of global surveillance and coordination in maintaining security and freedom. But something else stirs amongst it. The UNE still shrouds its use, albeit assuring it is for record-keeping purposes- there is no way to be sure. Join HEAT and the Grizzly Reds as they navigate the challenges of Time, War, Science and liberating their fellow man in Vancouver. THE GRIZZLIES NEED YOU, in this action-packed, emotional saga, speaks to the resilience and camaraderie inherent in the human condition.
CHAPTER 1 - The Blood Spattered Maples
ILLUSTRATED VERSION -> HERE <-
The early morning sun cast a serene glow over Vancouver, its golden rays gently coaxing the city from its slumber. The harbour lay still, bathed in a tranquil blend of crimson and amber, defiantly calm as if aware of the day's latent potential for tumult. The awakening streets, pulsating with the vibrant beat of daily enterprise, transformed into bustling arteries of life.
Amidst this urban renaissance, Ryan stood by his apartment window, one eye still tinged a fading shade of deep lavender from last night's ordeals. He absorbed the duality of the world outside – a peaceful façade masking an undercurrent of chaos, much like his own existence. The apartment, a silent guardian of his life's chapters, was awash with tangible memories; some stood proudly like trophies, and others lingered like indelible scars.
"Eugh, need to sort out this money mess," Ryan muttered, his voice a gravelly mix of resolve and weariness. He gingerly touched the bruise beneath his eye, a stark reminder of the previous night's fight. He wasn't just a boxer but a living, breathing paradox. His undefeated record of 12-0 was more than a tally of victories; it was a map of a life spent dancing in and out of shadows. At 17, he was a beacon of hope for Canadian Olympic Futures. Now, at 33, he was a spotlight in his subconscious, illuminating the relentless passage of time and a road riddled with 'what ifs.' Eleven of those wins were echoes from a past steeped in the sweat and blood of the ring before life's currents swept him into the city's gritty underbelly. There, he became an enforcer, not out of choice but a necessity, bound by ties, not of blood but of unbreakable bonds forged in adversity. Stepping back into the ring at 33, Ryan wasn't chasing glory; he was hunting redemption, a chance to rewrite a narrative that had veered off course.
Today's boxing was far from what he once knew; it had transformed into a digital spectacle, a charade he refused to partake in. The sport now paraded fighters adorned with loud chains and face tattoos, pretending to live a life of crime they don't. Vile symbols of fame he doesn't wish for. Ryan had always skirted the fringes of the spotlight, respecting the sport but despising what it had become - a glorified masquerade that he believed led the youth astray. He stared out at the awakening city, contemplating his place in this ever-changing world, just as the first notes of a familiar yet unwelcome voice crackled from the vintage radio on his shelf.
"Ah, jimmy2piece," he scoffed, the name leaving a bitter taste. The vintage radio crackled on, announcing the dazzling exploits of the heavyweight boxing champion, an embodiment of everything Ryan detested about the sport's current state. Ryan's hand lingered over the old radio, a relic amidst the bountiful thrift and trinket that abundantly filled his apartment. The announcer's voice, overly flamboyant in its praise of 'jimmy2piece,' clashed with the morning's tranquillity, grating against Ryan's every nerve. With a flick brimming with contempt, he silenced the intrusive chatter. The ensuing silence was a stark reminder of his path's divergence from the once-noble art of boxing to a life mired in moral ambiguity.
"Enough of this nonsense," he muttered, the disdain in his voice mirroring the snarl on his lips as he spun the dial back to silence.
*Click*
Ryan was a man of contemplation; opening his balcony door, he let the morning breeze mingle with the memories that haunted him daily. These reflections were a tormenting ritual, no matter the joys and love surrounding him. His only respite was constant movement – hobbies, work, art – anything to fend off the sharp claws of the past that threatened to shred the remnants of his self-respect. He had lost ten years to choices and actions that replayed in his mind relentlessly every single day.
"This 'jimmy2shoes' or whatever...pal throws pillows, a poser pretending he's about that gang life; I can see it in his eyes, he's not a killer," he grumbled, gazing out at the awakening city. This day promised a respite from his underground fights – at least for a while. His recent backstreet brawls, a far cry from the glory of the boxing ring, were what paid the bills now. "At least I've bought myself three more months..."
Leaning on the railing of his miniature balcony, Ryan cradled a cup of steaming coffee, his gaze drifting over the streets below. At this moment, the chaos of his life seemed distant, replaced by a transient calm. Despite his bruised, rough presentation, a certain peace enveloped him, a rare stillness that belied the storm of his existence. His thoughts meandered through the serene hum of the city and the gentle brush of the ocean breeze. The skyscape, with clouds dancing to the ocean's rhythm, offered a brief escape from his turbulent past.
Memories of Robin, his mentor and friend, floated into his consciousness. Robin's untimely death in Dubai was a wound that never healed. The sacrifices he had made to keep Robin safe, only to be absent on the fateful trip that claimed his friend's life, weighed heavily on him. "Why did it have to be you, Robin?" he whispered to the horizon, the question, a haunting torment upon his daily routines.
Ryan was a thinker; as he slid over his ashtray from the stool, he sparked up A morning 'dart' (cigarette), as he called them. His past began to creep into his head, as it did every morning. With each inhalation of addiction-soothing nicotine, his blazing thoughts followed as his brain began to become fully active from his sleep. It was a raven on his shoulder tormenting him, pecking at him ever haunting his consciousness. No matter the love he may have found or the happiness, friends, or family surrounding him. The time to reflect was always grim and consistently unbearable. If he stood still, the Ravel's claws sunk more profoundly; the only reprieve was constant distractions. It's why he kept so busy, creative, and active. Ryan constantly kept moving with hobbies, work, or art. Pushing off the switchblade thoughts ready to cut into his subconscious and bleed out whatever self-respect he had left that day. He threw away ten years of his life, and he relives them every. Single. Day.
"Damn man, what's the point of it all?" Ryan's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the morning breeze. His gaze lingered on the horizon, eyes clouded with confusion and pain. "Robin's gone, and here I am, a ship adrift; up shits creek without a paddle. What good can I do? What purpose do I serve? My skillset? My knowledge? Ive wasted my life, nothing is applicable." The questions hung in the air, unanswered. Ryan's life had indeed been a storm of violence and turmoil, from the gritty days working alongside Robin, watching his back to his hard-fought victories in the boxing ring. He had dreamt of leaving the world of fights behind, yet fate seemed to have woven a different path for him, one that he couldn't escape...
The distant sound of boat horns broke his train of thought. These weren't the usual rhythmic calls that echoed along Vancouver's shores; they carried a sense of urgency, growing louder and more frantic by the second. Ryan leaned forward, squinting into the morning light. The sight that greeted him was anything but ordinary. Dark, ominous and foreboding shapes were cutting through the waters toward the Seawall – military-grade ships that seemed like phantoms against the sun's bright backdrop.
"What the...?" Ryan murmured, a wry smile touching his lips as he recalled a line from a 1930s radio show. "Ah yes, the 'Anti-Frackers' upping their game, bravo!" He often found solace in humour, a shield against the world's harsh realities. Ryan was an unbreakable anvil to the world, always struck to sharpen others' steel. But what about his iron resolve? He bore the burdens so others didn't have to, a silent guardian shouldering the world's weight in stoic silence. Yet beneath that armour of stoicism beat the heart of a man grappling with his vulnerabilities, a man with a core as soft as it was intense.
Just like that- The world as we knew it, changed forever.
The morning's peace shattered abruptly as sirens wailed into life, slicing through the air with a sense of impending doom. The tranquil dawn was now a backdrop to a nightmare unfolding in real time. Ryan's eyes, mirroring the turbulent hues of a stormy sea, narrowed in primal alertness. These were not friendly vessels coming to grace the city's harbour; they were harbingers of chaos, their arrival a silent scream in the gardens of Vancouver's tranquility. As the city around him carried on, blissfully unaware of the looming threat, Ryan's mind shifted into high gear, honed by years of confrontation, conflict and reading other peoples intentions. He understood the unspoken language of death, the subtle shift in the air that preluded catastrophe. The serene calm that had greeted the day now seemed like the deceptive stillness before a devastating storm.
PFFFFT~~
Ryan's coffee ejected out his mouth, a clean mist dispersed, dancing in the ocean winds.
His eyes widened in shock. "That... No, that's not right. That honeycomb structure on the bow – that's rumoured military tech, not something you'd find on a civilian vessel. That's definitely not one of our decommissioned ships; Canada has always had a modest military budget- It's not the U.S. either; they've moved on to those massive city carriers," he muttered, recalling the recent unveiling of the U.S.'s latest naval behemoth designed to be a self-sustaining war ecosystem.
"These are destroyers...carriers...and what in the world are those landing crafts?" His voice trailed off as a wave of realization washed over him. A heavy breath escaped his lips, his heartbeat thundering in unison with a growing sense of dread. This kind of military might, sleek and menacing, was straight out of the pages of a dystopian novel. Ryan's pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through his veins, mingling with an unsettling fear. Vancouver, with its serene beauty and peaceful reputation, was the last place one would expect a military invasion. Yet, as he stood there, the city around him persevered in blissful ignorance. Laughter and the sounds of daily life echoed up to his balcony, starkly juxtaposed against the darkening horizon of his thoughts.
Something sinister was unfolding, and he felt an urgent need to act. "Ah, damn it!" he exclaimed, frustration boiling over as he hurled his mug to the ground, where it shattered into razer sharp ceramic shards—a glimpse of futures past.
The walls of Ryan's apartment, once a gallery of memories from a life half-lived, now felt like they were closing in on him. The space that had been his refuge, adorned with mementos of a tumultuous past, suddenly felt like a prison. He felt trapped, not by physical barriers, but by the weight of the unfolding crisis. Who could he call? Who would believe him about an impending military assault? Was there even time?
Each option seemed as hopeless as the next, leaving him feeling powerless. His fists, which had once brought him victory in the ring, now seemed futile in the face of this immense and unknown threat.
BOOM
A thunderous crash tore through the city's fabric, piercing the veil of laughter and routine. Giggles changed to Shrieks, the buzzing of cars in the city turned screeching of panicked tires. It was a boom resonating with such force that it seemed to shake the very resolve of the most robust steel, a sound that demands attention and captivates a person, a sound of death; it rattles you to the bone. This explosion marked a pivotal moment that would forever alter the course of Vancouver's history and, indeed, the world's.
The resounding echo of the first explosion heralded a declaration of war on all that was ordinary. In Ryan, the shockwave ignited a transformation. Despair morphed into an unyielding determination, a fire kindled deep within. His skin prickled, each hair standing on end as if his nerves were braille, spelling out the moment's urgency.
"Are they firing at us?" Ryan's voice was a mix of disbelief and rising panic. The thought seemed almost too surreal to entertain. He hesitated momentarily, grappling with the reality of the situation. The explosion's roar, so fierce it shook the foundations of his apartment, jolted him back to the present. Racing back to his balcony, what he saw confirmed his darkest fears.
The ships in the harbour were no longer silent, ominous spectators; they had unleashed their fury, sending plumes of smoke and debris skyward. Vancouver's skyline, once a proud testament to peace and progress, now served as a harrowing backdrop to an unfolding apocalypse. Below, the streets descended into chaos. People scattered in a frantic attempt to escape, their screams piercing the air, a chorus of dawning terror.
Ryan's heart pounded against his chest, each beat a call to action. He was no hero, never the 'good guy' in his story, but he did value life above all. Standing there, witnessing his city being torn apart, he knew he couldn't remain a passive observer. Indecision and shock gave way to resolve.
"MOTHA FU-" he cursed, his words lost in the burst of an explosion, spotted at the last second.
The world around him had erupted into a maelstrom of fire and fury.
An air burst shell detonated with ferocious intensity a mere 50 meters from Ryan's sanctuary. The explosion ripped through the building, an unforgiving hatred that jolted reality itself. The blast wave, a monstrous force of destruction, assaulted his apartment, shattering the windows with an ease that mocked Vancouver's fragility. Glass shards, transformed into lethal projectiles, hurtled through the air with a hunter's precision, each piece seeking its target. Instinctively, Ryan lunged for cover, his only protection a vintage oak promotional board, a relic of a bygone era. This wooden guardian, decorated with the iconic image of Stan Lee, stood as a stoic defender, a symbol of comic heroism now repurposed to shield flesh and blood from the brutal onslaught.
A low hum erupts from the depths of his being as the fireball swirled around him. "Breathe... I can't... don't fall asleep... don't...sleep..." he whispered, fighting the encroaching darkness. His cobalt eyes, glazing over open, fighting to the last light, flickered between consciousness and oblivion. The distant, muffled voices of mentors past echoed in his mind, a fading chorus in the theatre of his memories. Ryan looked to his left, cast one last lingering look at the Vancouver sky, a canvas of blue that seemed so distant now. As his vision began to narrow, a tunnel drawing him away from the light, Ryan felt the grip of darkness pulling him under heavy, yet weightless. Once so vivid and alive, the world around him was fading into shadows.
Amid shrapnel-induced unconsciousness, Ryan's mind catapulted him back to a pivotal moment from his youth – the Ontario Canadian Olympic Trials.
The stadium's noise swirled around him, but it was an entirely different world within the ring. There, it was just Ryan and his opponent, every move a testament to the sacrifices he and Robin(Ryan's longtime mentor both inside, and outside the ring) had made together.
Ryan's style in the ring was unique, a blend of calculated ferocity in speed and agility. He adopted the elusive, angular movements that Robin had honed while serving alongside the hardened Ukrainians on the frontlines of Kyiv. This style was compelling and unpredictable, frustrating his opponents with swift and efficient strikes. Ryan's ability to slip away from counters, almost serpentine in its execution, left them grasping at straws.
Point fighting for the Olympics was a system that worked well with Ryan's style but not necessarily with his mindset. Ryan was a fighter at heart, and sometimes, when pushed, the disciplined techniques would give way to a rawer form of combat. Robin, who always believed in Ryan's potential, saw this as his greatest fault and biggest asset to "push past." In his gruff but encouraging voice, Robin would often spew "The stink in that mind, You've got a head on you that'd make an onion cry," highlighting Ryan's occasionally impulsive nature, and inability to control his emotions when it mattered. This characteristic made Ryan fearless in the ring but also sloppy, open, and vulnerable. It often led him into trouble outside of the solace in prizefighting.
In these trials, Ryan's physical attributes – his slender frame, broad shoulders, wide back and a peculiarly long wingspan that gave him an imposing presence in his weight class – it made him stand out. His frame synchronized with his style, creating a truly unique spectacle of genetic gifts, hard work, and skill.
These memories blended nostalgia and pain as they flickered through Ryan's mind. They were reminders of a path once trodden, a journey shaped by the influence of a mentor and the determination of a fighter's spirit.
As the Olympic Trials set to begin, Robin looked to Ryan to instill confidence for his upcoming bouts, but Ryan was in his element. It was fight day, the fun day, the day to show off all of the hard work. Ryan had confidence, and his style in the ring displayed it in full. He moved with an angular rhythm that was both art and battle – slipping, landing a quick stiff counter cross, then gracefully stepping out of reach inches from returning fire. He made it look fun and easy, as if playing with his prey before fangs clench throat, delivering the killing bite. Looking closer, you can only see fire and determination in his bright eyes. He found purpose in the beautiful science of boxing. His strategy was that of a technical boxer, The Counterpuncher; 1. To bait his opponent into committing, then counter, fight long, fight smart. 2. Beat em' up, Frustrate em', then start slinging the heat in the uppercuts and lead hooks.
The bell rang and the fight was officially underway. Ryan controlled the ring with his long frame. Each exchange was rapid yet controlled, a dance of precise strikes and evasive maneuvers. The world's complexities faded in these moments, leaving only Ryan and the pure essence of the sport he loved. He felt invincible, a force of nature within the confines of the ring. To Ryan, the fight was more than a competition; it was a performance, an exhilarating escape from the mundane. It was true Purpose.
The intensity of the round reached a frustrating outburst by his opponent, who grabbed Ryan by the back of his head– 'SPLIT' called by the referee, his hand placed between them. A judge calls for a correction, catching the referee's attention only for a split second. In this second, Ryan's Opponent saw an opportunity. Lifting his head to move away, Ryan locks eyes with his Opponent, sporting a grin and delivering a sly headbutt as a parting gift. It's against the rules, but part of the game's harsh reality if gone unnoticed. Expelling energy and detesting it was a waste of fuel. It was a jolting reminder of "at all times"(protect yourself), a stark contrast to the discipline and respect Ryan upheld, starting his boxing journey in Thailand under "Muay Thai" rules, ideology of the worrior spirit and discipline. There was a sense of Honor in Lumpinee Stadium.
The outcome of these unsavoury tactics here is an advantage for the opponent. Ryan's inner pools erupt, his mind swirled with raging white waters, crashing and colliding against each other, two oceans with opposite currents meeting in his consciousness. His once technical thoughts, muscle memory mixed with fight iq burst with flames, erupting and incinerating all strategy in his path. His eyes widened, open like he'd found his primal genetic ancestry hidden deep within. The slaughter and the war of history. The bloodshed of 1000 lifetimes. He felt it all. Manic in thought. Ryan wanted to take his glove off and rip his cheeks open from the inside out--
BREAK - Ryan snaps back into it, erupting in stoic, silent, primal rage.

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The fight escalated, Ryan's disciplined technique unravelled under the seething tide of his rage. The finesse and agility that once defined his footwork gave way to a heavier, more aggressive stance. His feet, usually light and swift under his commanding frame, now felt anchored to the floor, each step driven more by fury than finesse. This transformation in style played perilously into his opponent's advantage. Ryan, usually a master of stick-and-move tactics, found himself engaging in close-quarter brawls, trading his advantage for a risky gamble. His in-and-out maneuvers, once a blur of grace, turned into brutish, in-the-pocket exchanges. This was a terrain where his more muscular and compact opponent had the upper hand. A raw, primal contest of power replaced the tactical dance that Ryan excelled at. Ryan's precise strikes became wild swings, his movements predictable to his seasoned adversary. Seizing the moment, the opponent unleashed a devastating barrage of inside hooks with their compact frame. A vicious right hook, lands clean in the exchange, thrown with the grace of a milkbag, the power hooks brute force, cut through Ryan's defences. The blow landed with a bone-jarring impact, sending a shockwave through Ryan's frame. His world spun as he stumbled, his once dominant presence in the ring now faltering under the weight of his unchecked emotions.
The ground rushed up to meet him as he crashed onto the canvas, the taste of iron and the sting of defeat mingling in his mouth. The crowd's roar faded into a distant echo, a stark reminder of how quickly the tides of battle could turn. Robin's voice sliced through the ringing from the corner, resonating with a force that commanded attention.
"Get your shit together, JUMPIN JESUS RYAN! HEART OF GOLD AND HEAD OF STONE – GET UP, YOU LITTLE COWARD! YOU'RE LETTING IT WIN, AGAIN! STOP THIS ONION HEAD NONSENSE AND DANCE, BOX THIS FELLA – YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS, ACT LIKE IT, BELIEVE IN IT!"
His words were more than just a call to action; they were a lifeline thrown into the stormy seas of Ryan's mind. Each syllable was drenched in the raw, unfiltered wisdom that only a life spent in the cauldron of combat could forge. Robin's tone was a volatile cocktail of fury and concern, the urgency palpable in his voice. His palms crashed against the ring mat; each hit thunderous punctuation to his fiery sermon.
"You've got the talent, kid, but it's as good as ash if you keep burning it to the ground. I'M HERE FOR YOU, IM RIGHT HERE. SNAP OUT OF IT AND BOX THIS PLASTIC PATTY! MOVE GOD DAMNIT, GET UP!"
On the canvas, Ryan lay dazed, the echo of Robin's voice ringing in his ears. It was more than a mere pep talk; it was a wake-up call that struck a chord deep within him. Amidst the haze of the crowd murmurs and the pulsating pain that coursed through his body, clarity began to emerge. Lying there, Ryan grasped the essence of Robin's message –
"coward? letting it win? Playing my ego are ya Robin...hes right though. Im throwing this shit away."
This moment, sprawled on the canvas under the glaring lights and the crowd's gaze, became a crucible of transformation. The raw emotion and the hard-hitting truth in Robin's words ignited a spark in Ryan. It was time to rise, shake off the shadows of rage, and embrace a fighter's true spirit like he had learned in Thailand – not just with fists but with heart and mind in unison.
Staggered yet stirred by the dual impact of the physical hit and Robin's piercing words, A padded fist crushed into the rings canvas, followed by a kneee and the eruption of the crowd. Ryan was back, and he began to pull himself up from the canvas. His resolve, momentarily dimmed, now reignited with a fierce, clear, calculated intensity. Memories of the gruelling hours spent in the gym flooded back to him – the relentless sparring sessions, the time spent in Thailand, the sweat and toil, and the invaluable lessons etched into his being under Robin's stern tutelage.
With a renewed spirit, Ryan stepped back into the battle, his movements now embodying controlled power and a fluidity to his step. He recalled his time fighting beside the backdrop of the "Sarama" a traditional Thai music played when in combat. The times of learning to move, fight with the music, to flow, to be fluid, to be concise. Ryan finally put it all together in the heat of battle. He had merged his inherent ferocity with the disciplined technique that Robin relentlessly drilled into him, and the mindfull practises of the years he spent under Burklerk Pinsinchai in the jungles of Chiang Mai. His style was now fully displayed, raw and visceral yet refined by countless hours of practice in mind, body and spirit.
The final rounds bell clang to a start in a clinic of skill and sheer willpower. Ryan, driven by a blend of desperation and unwavering determination, unleashed a barrage of calculated and explosive strikes. Each punch and maneuver was a nod to the efficient, no-nonsense Ukrainian style that Robin had imparted to him. Ryan moved rhythmically across the mat, steps measured and precise, executing short, angular movements and deft outside counterpunches. He had returned to his element – the dance of combat, where he felt most alive, a symphony of movement where every step and punch was a testament to his life's journey and experiences as a human being first, and as a fighter second.
In this wake-up call, Ryan reinvigorated and reminded himself of his love for the sport, the exhilarating blend of art and athleticism. He was not just fighting to win; he was celebrating boxing, combat, honouring the path he had walked with Robin, and reclaiming what it meant to be a true fighter through Burklurk Pinsinchai's Teachings.
The round pressed on, and Ryan executed his maneuvers with a surgeon's precision. First;
-- The counterpuncher; a display in timing and accuracy, delivered with the full force of training and innate skill. --

1. He deftly slipped his opponent's cross, a move as fluid as it was swift.
   
2. He angled off, creating a space wide enough for his next move.
   
3. With an almost predatory precision, Ryan unleashed a powerful right cross, targeting his opponent's cheek from the angle he had just created. But Ryan wasn't done yet.
   
4. He slipped out again, evading any potential counter from his disoriented opponent. The rhythm, he danced in and out with his precise timing, perfected down to inches and angles.
   
5. In a final, decisive movement of the exchange, Ryan slipped in. He timed his step with a long cross that came off-beat, catching his opponent utterly off-guard. The punch landed with a satisfying impact, culminating in a perfectly executed combination. As he watched his opponent stagger, Ryan couldn't help but think, 'cya sleepy boi,' a silent acknowledgment of his dominance in this singular exchange.
   

This sequence was a statement. Ryan was not only back in the fight but also commanding it.
ONE!…TWO!…THREE!…FOUR!…FIVE!…SIX!...SEVEN!..EIGHT!
Ryan's opponent stands, admirable, but futile, driven by sheer will but hampered by sluggish movements, the man rose to his feet, it was clear the fight was reaching its zenith.
The opponent, gathering his remaining strength for a final stand, launched a jab, a last-ditch effort relying more on brute force than finesse. But this was a fatal mistake in Ryan's world – playing right into what Ryan was best at. Counters.
Ryan read the move with the clarity of a seasoned fighter. As the jab came, he effortlessly slipped to the right, evading the punch with a short angular step that spoke of his ring intelligence. Instantly, he countered with the same sharp cross from his right hand, followed by a devastating hook that cut through the air with lethal intent in his left. Grasping at straws, reeling from the counter, Ryans opponent threw a desperate, looping last stand punch, Ryan dipped down and left, rolling the punch with an elegance that made it seem almost effortless. He was Hunting for the Kill Shot. Seizing the moment, Ryan unleashed a ferocious left uppercut, the force of the blow lifting his opponent's chin skyward. He followed up with a right overhand, but just before impact, he halted the punch. There was no need for it; his opponent was already collapsing, the "Lights were on, but no one was Home". The fight was effectively over, Ryan's last combination is the final note, a crescendo that echoed through the ring.
As his opponent hit the canvas, the crowd erupted. Ryan stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving, every fibre of his being alight with the thrill of victory. This wasn't just a win; it was a performance, a display of skill, heart, and the indomitable spirit of a fighter who had walked through fire and flames to the otherside and emerge victorious.
The final bell Rings with not a single chair in the arena warm; a thunderous clap erupts from the crowd. It was more than just applause; it was an acknowledgment of a battle fiercely fought by both men. In that moment ringside, in a triumphant victory, Ryan and Robin shared a look that spoke volumes, a connection far beyond the usual bounds of mentor and protégé. Their bond, tempered in the crucible of hardship and struggle, was now sealed in the glory of this defining triumph.
Standing amidst the cheers and the adrenaline-fueled euphoria, Ryan found himself momentarily lost in the tide of memories. It was a poignant reminder of the journey that had brought him here, a path marked by triumphs and losses. Robin's teachings transcended the confines of boxing; they were life lessons imprinted deep onto him. Ryan began to slowly step out of the ring; the weight of these reflections settled upon him. The victory was sweet, but it carried the weight of all sacrificed to achieve it. Robin's presence was felt strongly, a guiding force that continued to shape his path, illuminating the way forward even in the most challenging times.

Random question. Has anyone ever had a chiropractor help them with their knee injury? I've just randomly met one who was a top sports chiropractor working alongside physios and Drs in a couple of pro Basketball teams as well as other Olympic athletes. I have been told by a surgeon I have chondromalacia and will need an arthroscopy and maybe Microfracture or shaving. Anyway this chiro has told me he thinks I just have bone bruising as the pain doesn't match up to the MRI. He is saying my pelvis is massively twisted and all my muscles have tensed up and pulled my knee cap out of place. He believes he can get it fixed in 5 weeks seeing him 4 times a week. He also uses cold Lazer therapy. Has anyone else gone down this path and had success? Not overly excited about the prospect of Microfracture.

I got injured recently so I started binge watching JudoTV - the matches of the top 10-20 players in most weight classes. It was… bad. Despite the IJF’s attempts since the Olympic removal scare of 2012 to increase viewership (including banning leg grabs) judo remains an incredibly painful sport to watch. A lot of matches see constant, sometimes minutes-long delays from coaches contesting decisions and forcing refs to review footage. Others are constantly delayed when one player gets tired and takes his time putting his gi back together.
These are both simple, though not easy, fixes. Removing the “fix your gi” rule and having 1 ref and no ability to call time outs from the corner (like literally every other combat sport) would do wonders for judo’s watchability.
The other thing that makes judo boring is the number of matches at high levels won through 3 shido. Some players (Zelym Kotsoeiv is the absolute worst) have made an art out of spamming ineffective, but not false, attacks to avoid shido and make their opponents look passive, then winning by hansokumake or a counter against a desperate, 2 shido opponent.
This I don’t have a good answer for. I’m sure whoever comes up with an elegant solution will become a millionaire, considering how long the IJF has struggled with it. My initial proposal would be to make losing by shido impossible, and instead count shidos as “minus points”. If we changed the scoring system where wazari is worth 5 points and ippon 10, then shido can be -3 or -5. 10 points are needed to win, and you can accumulate negative points. Of course this cheapens the finality of the ippon, and runs the risk of matches degrading into “shido wells” where both players are too far in the reds to score 10 points.
This all begs the point of why viewership is important, and it’s not just to stay in the Olympics. It can help athletes pay for their travel, and most importantly watching the circuit is the best way to improve at home, but most judokas don’t because it’s boring.
What are your thoughts? Any ideas on solving the 3 shido problem?

Tried to listen to a self-compassion mediation and at one point it says “every single one of us feels really painful, difficult emotions.” And my deep core emotional response to that was anger.
It’s the same when I’m told phrases like “you’re human, nobody is perfect.” Not comforting at all. My not so sub-conscious just want first place in the trauma olympics and it certainly doesn’t want to accept any flaws or imperfections.
Or perhaps the worst one, “there will always be someone who has it worse.” I just feel so angry? invalidated? Criticised? Maybe this one is a bit more… non pathological but I don’t know.
This fucking sucks (pity party).

The storm slithered across the countryside, consuming all in its path. Hurricanes are nasty, especially in southern Florida. This one was a category four, with sustained winds of 150 miles per hour. Most people evacuate in such a storm, but not my grandpa. The man is as stubborn as a boulder with less emotion to boot.
He’s hard, difficult to love, but not entirely without his charm. He is faithful, slow and steady and always does what he says. Grandpa is cut from a different cloth, old school through-and-through. His face is as severe as the storm and his demeanor equally so. No one would consider him a pleasant man, not even his wife. For this reason, he lives alone in Hendry County on a plantation.
I found myself stuck in the crosshairs of this ungodly devastation for his sake. I was worried for him. I'm his eldest grandchild, so I felt responsible to care for him. To this day I regret my decision. It left me scarred. Sleep eludes me. I lay in my bed unable to keep my eyes closed. In the stillness of the early morning, I hear his desperate cries. I told myself there was nothing I could do. This is probably true, but fear stole my breath away. I was powerless to stop them.
Storms are the worst. The panic attacks begin. The memories come back in a flood of emotions. I remember all the details. I hear the screams; the noises no human mouth can produce. My therapist says they are fantasies my mind conjured to distract me from my loss. I want nothing more than to believe this, yet I know it is not so.
I saw the eye.
The crotchety old bastard shouted, “Jeb move your ass, the storm is approaching and we still need to gather all the cattle into the barn.”
Thoroughly regretting my decision to help the old man, I responded, “I'm going as fast as I can. Yelling at me isn't going to make it better.”
At this point, the wind was whipping through the trees. The rain was pelting us in the face, feeling like pin pricks on our exposed skin. This was so stupid, the old man had insurance on the farm and all damages would be recompensed.
Love makes you do dumb things.
The old man was the only family I had left. My mom died in childbirth and my dad drank himself to death. Suicide one sip at a time. Death by bottle. I was left alone, with no family members who cared for me. No legal guardian at the age of fourteen; confused, lost, bouncing from couch to couch. Consumed by anger at my mother for abandoning me, disgust for the weakness of my father, and jealousy of my friends who had loved ones. This is how Terrance “Terry” Clearwater found me. He took me in without a second thought. His level-headedness grounded me. The old man was the only consistent thing in my life. He genuinely saved me. Guilt and shame shatter my heart when I remember this. A debt to my grandpa will forever be unpaid. When he needed me most, I froze.
The storm roared. It surprised me how loud hurricanes can be. A war was being fought outside, an onslaught of winds and rain against the longevity of the trees and stones. Judging from the noise, it seemed as if the storm was winning.
We made our way in doors, stacking the heaviest beds and dressers against the windows. We weren’t keen on having a branch tossed through the window to impale anyone. I began to fill the bathtubs and sinks with water, knowing that at any time the power could go out. After we felt confident enough in our fortifications, the two of us gathered in the living room. To distract ourselves from the tempest huffing and puffing and trying to blow our house down, I dealt out cards.
It was in the second game of poker when the lights began to flicker. Before we could even finish our hand, the lights were out altogether. For a second, we sat in the dark, listening to the wind and rain. It was oddly peaceful. That was the last peaceful moment I had with my grandpa.
Sometimes I wake up tears staining my pillowcase, yearning for that moment again. I don’t think I would light the candles. I would just let that moment linger, stretching it out for as long as possible. I miss his gruff voice and rough hands. The sturdy pat on my shoulder, his signature way of showing me that he cared for me. He never outright said he loved me, but it was clear by his actions. Words are cheap, but actions are invaluable.
He was invaluable to me.
I ignited the flashlight and lit a sufficient number of candles. My nose was assaulted by warring scents. Each tried to compete with its counterpart. The room smelt of pomegranates and maple, cinnamon and ocean breeze, any smell imaginable was present. The smells made me queasy, at least that is what I thought then. Looking back at it now, I am convinced somewhere in my subconscious I was aware of what was about to happen.
My grandpa grabbed his portable battery-operated radio, the one he used to listen to the ball games and switched it to the local weather channel. In a crackling, staticky tone, the weather host predicted that the eye of the storm should be passing Hendry County in the next few minutes. The charming woman’s voice promised that the worst had passed and there shouldn't be much more to worry about. She advised us to stay hunkered down and wait the remainder of the storm out.
The woman could not have been more wrong.
The storm, in one final torrent of ungodly furry, blew with all its combined strength. An awful ripping noise, a crack, and an explosion; the 100-year oak in our front yard smashed through the kitchen window. I remember staring up through the gaping hole in the ceiling seeing the pitch black of night, darkened by the suffocating clouds and whipping winds. I felt as if I was staring into the depths of the abyss itself.
The storm at that moment ceased. No more wind, no rain, the clouds parted so that the moon was visible. It was full, the eye of God peering down on us. I stared perplexed at the moon. It was the color of blood congealed on a corpse. The visage was malevolent by nature. It was not the celestial body I was used to. It was foreign, uncomfortably large. The moon seemed to open wide and swallow the night sky.
This false moon had one dark spot in the center, a pupil in the center of an eye. The longer I looked at it, the more it peeked into the depths of my soul. It was alive. More than that it meant harm. I was certain of this. I can’t tell you how I knew it, but there was no doubt.
The night sky, other than the crimson glow radiating from that celestial eye, was darker. It wasn't merely darkness; it was inky blackness. Void of any light. It was a sky bathed in pitch. No light refracted. No light illuminated. My flashlight’s beam seemed to be choked in the night. An anorexic illumination emitting from the spotlight. Where my LED light would’ve ignited the sky like an offspring of the sun itself, it barely allowed me to see the far wall of the room.
It was as if the cruelty of the storm split the fabric of our reality only to have the hole filled by this monstrosity. Perhaps that is exactly what occurred. I’m not sure. I can’t explain what I saw. I just know that my grandpa was there and then after the storm he wasn’t.
Regardless, I found my adolescent-self staring at the night. I can’t rightly tell you how long me and my grandpa stood, looking at the eye in the sky. We didn’t speak. What was there to say? We were glued to our spot neck contorted; eyes locked on the celestial body. I am not even sure I blinked the entire time. My eyes refused to break the soul gaze for one moment. Soul gaze it was. I understood vileness at that moment. I met true darkness. Fear did more than fill my heart. It consumed me, a shadowy beast tearing into my sanity. I felt myself wandering, my consciousness being lost forever.
It was the blood curdling cries in that inky blackness that broke my mind’s wandering. It was off in the distance, but I could not locate the origins. The darkness did more than distort light, the sound was odd. It was as if the night had substance to it, causing the soundwaves to bounce off of it. Echo location was impossible. One moment the sound would come from behind me. The next would be just outside of my field of vision. I could not tell if the creatures were leagues away, or if they lurked right outside of sight.
A different type of fear seized me. This kind was animalistic and natural, whereas the previous type was philosophical and soul retching. There was a predator on the loose, my mind could comprehend. Before, that eye in the sky induced a fear that ripped at my understanding entirely. It was something superseding my insignificant intellect.
Still, my body became erect. My senses fired on all cylinders, attempting to detect and protect. The carnal portion of my mind took over. Self-preservation kicked in, and I unconsciously shuffled towards my grandpa.
My instincts remembered how it was like in those earlier days. Those days when we weren’t the top of the food chain. Humans are herd creatures by nature. We build sprawling metropolises so we don’t have to remember those days when creatures stalked us in the night. We try so hard to banish the darkness with our artificial light, yet still we wake screaming in the middle of the night from those phantom memories from our ancestors. Those memories of monsters, and creatures so evil we try to forget. We haven’t forgotten, and neither have they.
We huddled there, me and grandfather, under my dinner table, unwilling to make a sound. Hoping. Praying that the howls would fall off in the distance. No such thing happened. Fear muddled our minds and we could hardly even breath.
Eventually, my grandfather whispered in a voice barely audible, “We need to get to the attic. We are exposed here. We would stand a better chance of hiding, also my guns are in the lockbox there.”
Mostly because I lacked a better plan myself and I was petrified to be left alone, I followed him as we crept from under the table to the corner of the room. On all fours we crawled from one side of the room to the other, careful not to make a sound.
The cries were getting desperate; hollering, slobbering noises produced in the back of the throat. They made my blood run cold. In the dim light of my flashlight, I saw my grandfather trembling. His hands shook and his face grew sweaty.
The bestial calls were terrifying, but I had never seen my grandpa scared. This absolutely paralyzed me with fear. My grandpa survived the Korean War, Vietnam War, and helped train people in Desert Storm. If he was worried, then I knew we were in dire straits. We were not moving fast enough. I was deadly afraid that those creatures stalking us would catch up to us.
As we barreled forward, scuttling as fast as we dared, we turned the hall to run face-to-face with one of the creatures. It resembled a dog; I mean this in the loosest way possible. It was made of shadow. I don’t mean it was shadowy, I mean the body was formed by the swirling darkness. Its paws were too large for the sleek frame, extended even longer by cruel claws protruding from its tips. The beast had twisted spines piercing its bent back. Its’ skin was flaky, like it was afflicted with a serious case of mange. Thank God I was unable to see the creature's face. Its’ ears were notched and stood erect. They shortened and lengthened in a mesmerizing pattern that was oddly pleasing to the eye.
We backed away slowly, making sure we didn’t lose sight of the demon dog. In reverse, we made our way to the living room, hoping to make it to the staircase. As we scooted along, we heard a scratching sound coming from the kitchen. My head twisted with break-neck speed to get a glimpse of a second creature climbing through the hole created by the fallen tree. We were exposed to it. The creature only had to look up from its incessant scratching to see us.
Forgetting all pretenses, we climbed to our feet scrambling across the hardwood hallway for the living room. I wasn’t even trying to hide my footfalls, I fled with all my might. My grandpa was right behind me. The creatures heard our ragged breathing and our heavy footfalls. In seconds they were in hot pursuit. Snarls, and slobbering yawls echoed down the hallway after us. Panic seized me, and I ran faster than I ever thought possible.
When I made it to the stairway, I turned to look back. My grandpa was a few strides behind me. The creatures were barreling towards him. He wasn’t going to make it. Our eyes locked. I saw that he saw he wasn’t going to make it. His lips formed, “I love you son.” It was the first time; I had ever heard him say it. Tears filled my eyes. I knew I ought to help him, yet my feet remained locked firmly to the spot. I watched as he changed course and began to run towards the front door.
The creatures were drawn further away from me.
Still, I was unable to move. I stood there stunned, struck dumb in the presence of my grandpa's final heroic act. Time was put on rewind, and for a second, I saw the man my bent grandfather used to be. A glorious man, young and full of life. He stood tall, accepting his death with stoic grace. My grandpa turned to me and we locked eyes. A moment passed, then he bellowed, “Go, get out of here. Grab the gun and hide.” As if it was magic, the ice in my veins melted.
I moved with the grace of an Olympic athlete. I flung myself up the stairs three steps at a time. I barreled through the spare bedroom, slamming the closet door against the plaster wall. I pulled the draw string for the attic door up above my head. I shot up the pull-down ladder and found myself in pitch darkness. If I could only get to my grandpa’s shotgun, maybe I could help him. I cursed my squeamish nature that caused my grandpa to place the guns up there in the first place. It couldn’t be too late. I can't lose him too. He is all that I left.
As if to make a liar of me, immediately I heard a familiar voice echoing from downstairs. It was my grandpa screaming. Tears filled my eyes and my vision began to sway.
Those screams.
Those god awful pleas for help. They tore great swaths out of my still beating heart. I was consumed by those creatures, if not bodily, then emotionally. My grandpa. My strong, stubborn, and independent grandpa. I was left alone, again, in the dark with on one to guide me. I collapsed to my knees in that scorching attic. I looked to the heavens hoping to see God. All I saw through a leaking crack in the roof was that damned eye.
The blood moon seemed to wink at me, pleased with the activities of this night. I heard the unearthly screeches of those dogs' taper off. It was just me and the celestial body. We stared at each other for a moment, then two. The eye in the sky didn't want flesh, it wanted this. It wanted to gorge itself on my pain. The kind that remains. The kind no doctor can heal with clever medicines. The insatiable pain of loss with no hope of recovery. A broken heart, unable to be mended. Guilt for actions not taken, and prices not paid.
I used to think I was brave, a strong man. Now I know the truth. Me and that eye both saw. I am a coward through-and-through; willing to let those I love pay the price, while I stay cowering in safety. That night I protected my own worthless skin, but I lost my soul in the doing.
With one final glance, I looked and saw that eye and it saw me. I knew it, and it knew me. Then the winds picked up, and the clouds obscured that eye from my sight. I would like to say I have never seen it since, but every time I close my eyes, I still see it.
You see, I live my life underneath the watchful gaze of that celestial eye.

I AM NOT THE OOP. OOP is u/ThrowRA-3258
Originally posted in relationship_advice
4 updates (3 in original post, one in a new post)
Original Post - April 29th, 2024
My (32F) boyfriend (35M) of six years disappeared while I was out of town and I don't know what to do?
Last Tuesday evening I (32F) came home from a being out of town for two weeks for work, my boyfriend (35M) Nate was supposed to pick me up from the airport but once I got in, I wasn't able to get ahold of him and he never showed up, I was a little annoyed but no too worried because I figured he had fallen asleep(When I talked to him earlier that morning he said he didn't sleep very well the night before and was going to lay down before he had to come get me)so I called my sister for a ride home.
When I got home Nate was no where to be found, I checked the garage an his car was gone, so I sent him a text asking where he was and headed up stairs to unpack. When I open the closet to put my things away I saw that almost all of his clothes were gone. At this point I'm confused, so I start calling him it just keeps ringing and then going to voicemail. I check his office and everything is still there, everything in the house is still there and in place except his clothes and his car. I'm really starting to freak out at this point, so I call my sister and she comes over and we both try calling and messaging him and still get no answer. his computer and his laptop are both still in his office, I logged on to his computer and my sister his laptop(I know all his passwords) but we didn't find anything out of the ordinary, so I started searching his desk and found his iPad in the top drawer, I logged into it and checked everything I could think of and found nothing out of the ordinary, my sister suggested checking the find my iPhone app on his iPad to see if we find out where his phone was. We logged into the app and see that his phone was pinging in the next state over, I starting calling him again but still got no answers to my calls or text.
I really start to lose it here, my mind starts going all over the place trying to figure out what could be going on, I called the police because I think someone has to have done something to him. The police came out but they said there wasn't much they could do because he hasn't been gone long and his clothes missing was sign the he left on his own violation.
Over the last few days I've done everything I can to contact him, He doesn't have any family except for a brother that he cut ties with before I met him, I found him online and sent him a message but he said he hasn't seen or heard from Nate in years. I keep checking his phones location and since Saturday morning it has been pinging in the same location in the PNW, I took off work for the rest of the week and my sister and I are flying up there to go to the location his phone is pinging.
Has anyone ever dealt with something like this before? How do I even confront him, what if he is with another woman, what if he isn't there or worse? I am so lost and hurt right now, my mind is all over the place, I can’t think straight, I’m so lost right now.
tl;dr my(32F) boyfriend (35M) of six years disappeared while I was out of town, haven't been able to contact him but his phone is pinging in the PNW and I am going to confront him tomorrow.
Edit: Yes I have called or messaged all of his friends, none of them have seen or heard from him, I do have access to his bank account as we have a joint account but not his business account, He last used his debt card Friday night in a town west of Seattle Washington, He owns his own business but has taken a step back over the last year so he doesn't communicate with them regularly, they haven't heard from him since last month.
I am 5 months pregnant and we have known for 3 months, he did become a bit reserved and withdrawn since we found out but its not uncommon for him to do that every so often especially around this time of year. I don't truly believe that he would abandon me and his child, that's just not the type of man he is but I don't know what to think anymore.
small update: first I want say thank you to everyone for suggesting the welfare check epically u/MuppetJonBonJovi We called the the department where his phone is pinging and they have sent someone over to see if they can make contact with him.. Its been over an hour and we are still waiting to hear back. I am hopeful but still have a overbearing since of dread. All I want to know right now is that he is ok and I can figure out everything else later, I just need to know he is ok.
UPDATE [same post]: The police were able to do a welfare check and although they were unable to make direct contact with him they spoke to the couple who live at the house, they said they were old family friends and that he was there on Friday and Saturday but that he went to the Olympics Sunday morning to go hiking for a couple of days, The officers informed them of what was going on and they told him, they believed he was ok and that they would contact me tonight to try and help explain the situation. What does that even mean? I am even more confused, our flight to Seattle is at 9:45am tomorrow and at this point we are still going, I hope these people do call but its been awhile now and I haven't heard anything.
NEW UPDATE [same post]: I think this will be my final update, I have to get ready and get my stuff packed for the flight in the morning, I have just spent the last hour speaking to the couple who house he was at and they against his wishes told me what is going on. They have known Nate since he was 12 years old, he started dating their daughter Ashley when they were in sixth grade and they counited dating all through middle school and high school. Ashley got pregnant toward the end of their senior year and they got engaged. I don't know how to even write this next part, When their son was a 1.5 years old they were involved in an accident with a drunk driver, Nate was ejected from the car and Ashley and his son passed away in the accident, She said that he blames himself for it because according to him they were never supposed to be out that night and it was his fault they were, She said he withdrew from them and everyone else and that up until last Friday that hadn't heard from him since he left. She has offered to come get my sister and I from the airport in the morning and she can try to answer any questions I have while we wait for him to return, She said they know where he is, he is at the spot they spread their ashes, she said he told her that he need be with his son one more time before he let him go... I'm honestly in a total state of shock right now, I don't know what to think but I know he is in pain and I need to get to him and I can figure everything else after.
Thank you to all the kind people who reached out and offered your suggestions, I honestly don't think I would have this information right now if it wasn't for you all, so again thank you!
UPDATE - May 9th, 2024
First I want to say thank you to everyone who reached out and offered your advice and help on the other hand the people who were just mean or all the men who came into my messages, you should be ashamed of yourselves.
We did fly out to Seattle last Tuesday morning. Kathy(the wife of the couple) picked us up from the airport and took us back to their place, on the way there she said her husband was on his way to go find Nate so he could bring him back but it would likely be a few hours before they would arrive back.
As we waited Kathy did her best to answer some of the questions that I had, I knew Nate lost his mom at a young age to breast cancer but she said it had deeply profound effect on him and he became a very troubled child, she said that when him and Ashley met that Nate was in a group home(I did not know this)because he was in a lot of trouble for fighting and drug use(he was 12!) I was kind of taken back by this because I've never know him to do anything besides smoke marijuana from time to time, he doesn't even drink. She said that when they met Ashley immediately took on a role of protector of him, she could feel his pain and she wanted to rescue him from it, when they finally got to know him they decided that they would take Nate in if he wanted that once he was was out of the group home, when he was 16 he finally got out of the group home but was still on probation so he had to live with his dad who was a alcoholic and abusive but he would spend most evenings and weekends at their house, he still got in trouble because he kept failing his U.A. for marijuana but he was no longer getting into fights, he credited Ashley for that and felt like she and her family were the only people besides his mom to ever show him any compassion or love. She asked if I would like to see pictures of them and when she showed me the picture of Nate holding his son for the first time I broke down, because I have never seen him in the six years we have been together with a smile like that, he was so happy, he smiles now from time to time and he is always laughing but I've never seen that smile, that gleam. it just broke me to know that he had been living in that much pain for 15+ years and hid it from everyone. We looked through more pictures and she told more stories. and spoke of how sad she was when he left, we talked for hours and then finally her husband came through the doo but Nate was not with him.
George(Kathy's husband) said that he had found Nate where he was supposed to be and explained that my sister and I were at their house waiting for him. He said when he told him this that Nate laughed and said of course, and that he would head back, he just needed a few more minutes alone.
so we waited for what felt like forever and finally a little over two hours after George arrived back, Nate walked in the front door. He looked at me and the first words out of his mouth were "I should have known my note wouldn't be good enough and that you would come find me, I love you and I am very sorry" I said what note! and he said the one I put in you front seat, he put in my car! I never even thought to check there for anything.
I am going to leave out a lot of this next part because its very personal but I asked him why he would just leave me at the airport and why he wouldn't just call or text me that he was leaving. He said that while I was gone, he wanted to put some of the things that we had gotten for the baby in the nursey and start painting it before I got back and that everything was fine until he started putting together the dresser and the changing station, while he was doing that he was flooded with memories of his son and Ashley and that it actually knocked him off his feet and he broke down, he said every time he closed his eyes he saw them(that's why he couldn't sleep) he said he deiced to take mushrooms to try and help get him out of it(what!) but all that did was make things worse and he realized that he needed to not forget them and not hide them and that he needed to go make peace with them and ask them to forgive him for abandoning their memory. He knew that when I got home that I would obviously know something wasn't right with him and he also didn't know how to tell me he had been hiding a huge part of his past, anyway he expressed how sorry he was and that he understood if all of this was to much and if I didn't want to be with him anymore that he would completely understand. I let him know that as long as he agreed to never hide something from me or disappear again and would agree to go to therapy and couples therapy that I wouldn't be going anywhere. He promised he would do whatever I asked of him. I asked him to fly back with me and my sister called her husband to fly in and they would drive his car back. So we are back home now, he hasn't started therapy yet but has an appointment next week.
Our baby is doing ok and so am I, I just need him to be ok and everything will be good again, anyway thank you again to all the kind hearts who reached out, you gave me a lot of positive vibes in a dark time and I really cant thank you enough for that.
Comments
Svennerson
OP, I want to commend you for a bit here.
For most people, what Nate did here would be an absolute irredeemable break of trust. To leave a pregnant wife with no communication aside from a single note that was easy to miss, and fly cross country is the sort of sudden and deep traumatic act that shatters so many relationships, no matter how understandable it is.
The fact that you are clear-headed about why this hurt you and formulated a plan and specific boundaries you will need to have maintained shows that you have enough self-respect to not be treated like dirt, to ensure that you won't let his pain turn into further mistreatment of you. But the fact that you were able to see the level of pain he's going through, see the struggle, and understand why he did what he did shows both an astounding level of empathy, and the deep, powerful love you have for this man. The fact that you were able to see a picture of a past him, when he was with a different woman, smiling harder than you've ever seen, and instead of letting the pain of his flight and move surge into rage, feel compassion knowing the man you have loved has been hurting all this time, is a frankly staggering combination of that empathy and love.
May your therapy sessions turn out bountiful, may you help him recover so that in the future, he smiles just as hard as he did in that photo, and may your relationship only blossom further from this ordeal.
Sensimya
I'm happy everything is okay. But man, this was rough. I hope in therapy he truly understands what his actions caused you to experience. Also, he needs to know what a dunder head he is for leaving the note in your front seat!? Who does that? The kitchen is where you leave the note, and regardless he shouldve answered your calls, called and texted, etc.
I think it's going to take time for you both to realize that a lot of trust has been broken by all of this. You can both understand him and still feel a loss of trust from this situation. I hope y'all make it through it.
Marked concluded (unless BF pull another Houdini).
REMINDER, I AM NOT OOP.
No brigading or harassment.

I'm in the medical field and done 100s of hours of research h, tell me what you guys think, any feedback is welcome. Also thinking about my main character mainly using 2 knives instead of guns with magnets in his gloves that he could call back the blades at any time along with a grappling hook on his right wrost(like the one from the just cause video games) and a gauntlet on his left hand that can shoot blast of pressurized sonic blasts(similar to a sonic spear in black panther) but can only use it a few ti.es before needs to recharge: Crispr - Various gene editing applications
Myostatin - Enhanced Strength & Muscle Mass
Actn3 - Enhanced Speed, Sprinting & Strength
.;Dean karzarnes - Lactate Dehydrogenase Syndrome - super sprinter
Lrp5 gene unbreakable bones
Salamander super healing Crispr Nono Matirx
LIN28A - Super Healing - Lin28 enhances tissue repair by reprogramming cellular metabolism
MG53 - Enhanced Healing
SCN9A - Insensitivity to pain
KAL1 -Super Smelling
2.6g 329m/s
high sensitivity to the hormone erythropoietin, or EPO.
Normally, EPO steps up red blood cell production during exertion, bringing in more oxygen to keep the muscles going. For Mäntyranta, this process was accelerated, so his body overproduced hemoglobin. With deeply reddened skin and a higher-than-normal blood-oxygen capacity, Mäntyranta won seven Olympic medals (three gold) in the 1960s.
POWERS:
Enhanced Strength, Speed, Stamina, Agility, Bone Density, Rapid Healing, Reduced sensitivity to pain, Enhanced hearing, sight and smell. Wears custom bulletproof armor.
Strength 1 - 2 Ton range When he wears custom slim exosuit with micro actuators and presess can go as high as 10 tons
Speed/Sprinting/Jumping 30MPH Top Speed for long distances, 45-50MPH short burst, 10-15 foot lateral jump
Stamina/Endurance Can run/fight for hours 24+ before lactic acid begins to build
Durability Unbreakable bones, wears 2.6g 329ms all over body suit making him bulletproof
Healing MG53, Crispr Salamander DNA give degree of superhuman healing. Heal from minor wound in hours, major ones in days.
Pain Insensitivity SCN9A grants insensitivity to all pain Super senses Smelling/Vision/Healing
Super Senses Heighten degree of a sense of smell, vision and hearing.

Hey everyone, here is the digest of the digest again, focusing on Berlin. Last one from March.

Week of 2nd (issue #95)

1. 👩🏻‍🍳 Hallman & Klee was awarded a Michelin star. Regular readers will remember we recommended it three weeks ago! In total, with the new addition last week, we now have 22 restaurants with stars in Berlin, the highest number in Germany.
2. You can earn €25-€120 for helping as a volunteer in the European elections on the 9th of June. Unlike other elections, you can apply with any of the EU passports. (Look for Onlinebereitschaftserklärung, somehow my link got broken twice). They are looking for 30.000 volunteers, so take the chance.
3. An exceptionally important and well-written essay by Adam Tooze to understand German-Israeli relations (Israel’s security as a key part of Germany’s Staatsräson) around the Gaza crisis. It involves submarines.
4. Career: If your company recently went through layoffs, this might actually be a good time to ask for a raise. People are the company’s number one asset.
5. Reddit choice of the week is this great explanation from Tolstoy_mc about why during inflation, coffee and restaurants are getting so much more expensive for the regular Joe/Jane. The longer the supply chain, the worse it gets.
6. 💬 Briefly:
   1. Stats: In the last quarter of 2023, the bankruptcy proceedings in Berlin grew 12.4% YoY to 1,516. (St. BB)
   2. Numa will invest in 82-unit serviced apartments in Wedding. Opening planned for Q2 ‘26.
   3. A reader sent me evidence of how startups were disrupting the insurance industry: their policy was sold twice in the last 2 years, which means they are with their third insurance company now. 🤡

Week of 8th (issue #96)

1. Tagesspiegel (🇩🇪, €) made a list of the top 10 best-paying Berlin employers based on Kununu data with a minimum of 50 submitted salaries. I’ve often featured many here, but was recently sceptical about Cariad (VW’s software company).
2. Because I clicked on one ad, my Instagram stories are full of law firms offering deletion of bad Google reviews. It’s a big business because I get a lot of ads served on the “Löschhelfer” Google query. With this templated business model, businesses can harass reviewers for a couple of EUR. Here is a BZ report on a not-named popular Café in Mitte (🇩🇪). A part of me is, “fuck it, who cares,” but a part of me is like, “Let’s name the bars and restaurants doing it.” What do you think? Spoiler alert: I decided we can’t really do anything against it without getting bullied.
3. 💬 Briefly:
   1. Stats: On average, we eat 51.6kg of meat annually (-430g YoY) in Germany. Out of which 27.5kg is pork, 13.1kg poultry and 8.9kg red meat. (FAZ)
   2. Activist investor hedge fund Sachem Head started a 3.6% position in Delivery Hero. This usually means nervous C-level management and stock price appreciation. Last week, the stock settled at +18.47%.

Week of 15th (issue #97)

1. ♡ I loved this pitch for Berlin from 2018. The pitch doctor also mentioned EyeEm and N26, both featured in today’s Briefly section
2. If you ever want to start a company in Germany/Berlin, here is a guide to bookmark. Buying an existing off-the-shelf company is also available if you need it earlier.
3. Career: “Find people to talk to or collaborate with by searching across the /about, /ideas and /now pages of 6054 personal websites.” A lot of Berliners if you try the “Berlin” search.
4. 💬 Briefly:
   1. Now N26 also turned on stock and ETF trading. What a crowded market!
   2. Volocopter’s plans to start running regular flight services in Paris during the Olympics are in danger. One problem is the necessary approval, and the other is local opposition. If, they will fly “by invitation”. (Capital, 🇩🇪)

Week of 22nd (issue #98)

1. 🚨 If you haven’t yet, check out this cool dashboard for the comp data.
2. 🎥 Kino International, a former GDR “premiere” cinema, which celebrated 60. years last November, will close for two years of renovation on the 13th of May. If you want to catch it in its current glory, here is the programme. It’s worth it.
3. 🇪🇺 Everyone with an EU passport can also vote in Berlin in the coming EU elections on the 9th of June. Here are instructions on how.
4. 🤖 In Germany, we have constitutionally forbidden Sunday shopping. Now imagine a shop run completely by robots. Could this automated shop be open on Sundays? Apparently not. The legal battle (Verdi vs Tegut) over automated shops in Fulda started four years ago, and the judge said the small-service store still qualified as a shop. (FT, €) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
5. Timeless: Tit for Tat always wins. A must-see video about the game theory, the beauty of cooperation and being nice to people. What Game Theory Reveals About Life, The Universe, and Everything by Veritasium (25+ min).
6. Reddit choice of the week is this gorgeous graffiti by 1UP crew. Also seen is Paradox Paradise left and right. If you want to see it live, go here.
7. 💬 Briefly:
   1. Grocery delivery news: Flink raised $100M from most of the existing investors, maybe also to fight off Knuspr (formerly known as Bringmeister), which is starting in Berlin on the 22nd of April. Crowded! WiWo (🇩🇪) reported that Getir might pull out of Germany. (It eventually did!)
   2. Thai retailer Central Group bought the remaining share of bankrupt KaDeWe. According to RBB, the company was struggling for years. (🇩🇪) Extremely high rents from their owner (Signa) surely didn’t help. Financial engineering until you hit the wall?
   3. After a stellar 2023 performance, Q1 sales of ASML (microchip equipment producer with a presence in Berlin) came in at 21.6% lower than expected. ArrakisTaiwan-based TMSC also lowered the outlook.
   4. RBB reports that Apple Maps started to record German streets for their “street view”. This time they’ll also do it on foot (in Berlin between 23.5 and 31.7). The whole thing should be documented by mid-August.

Week of 29th (issue #99)

1. ❤️ We have trash investigators like “Bronko” in Berlin (🇩🇪), so make sure you don’t do anything stupid (fines are going to significantly increase as well: 250€ for a fag, €3.000 for 2kg of trash and €8k for a sofa). BSR removed 40.000 m3 of illegal trash in 2022! I wish dogs would also leave a signature on their sh*t, because some of their owners clearly have no shame.
2. 💦 The Berliner published the results of their sex survey (n=2,075). Findings include high acceptance and practice of non-monogamy (40% defining their relationships as some form of non-monogamy) and the cultural influence on sexual identity (35% reported that living in Berlin has changed their preferred relationship type).
3. 🤔 Bayer, the former German pharma champion and aspirin inventor, is in big trouble. €34.5B of debt, €2.5B loss in 2023 and poor pharma pipeline. Bill Anderson, CEO since June 2023, learned “that the company’s rules and procedures handbook was longer than War and Peace,” so his plan now is to save €2B by cutting most of the middle managers and asking nearly 100,000 employees to ‘self-organize’. (Fortune) Wild!
4. Career: LinkedIn compiled a list of the 25 best companies in Germany based (🇩🇪) on eight factors: advancement opportunities, skill growth, company stability, external job prospects, company affinity, gender distribution, educational level of employees, and employer relevance in the specific country. Twelve of the companies have a presence in Berlin: Siemens, Sanofi, Boston Consulting Group (BCG), Kering, Karl Storz, Bain & Company, Amazon, Fresenius Group, Deutsche Bahn, Thermo Fisher Scientific, McKinsey & Company, and Pfizer.
5. Reddit choice of the week is this rare burst of (spring-related?) positivity on and the quote from Anneliese Bödecker added by someone: “Die Berliner sind unfreundlich und rücksichtslos, ruppig und rechthaberisch, Berlin ist abstoßend, laut, dreckig und grau, Baustellen und verstopfte Straßen, wo man geht und steht – aber mir tun alle Menschen leid, die nicht hier leben können!” Goosebumped!
6. 💬 Briefly:
   1. Stats: In 2023, the average asking rent per sqm was €13.60, an 18.3% increase from the previous year. Kreuzberg and Neukölln saw nearly a 25% increase. (🇩🇪, RBB)
   2. Autodoc (Berlin, auto parts e-commerce) reached unicorn status (€2.3B) after taking on a private investment from Apollo Funds. In 2023 they generated €1.3B+ in net revenue and €130+ million of adjusted EBITDA.
   3. HelloFresh reported Q1: a 74.6% drop in adj. EBITDA to €16.8 million with record revenue of €2.07B. They target 2% to 8% revenue growth for the fiscal 2024.

You can see the rest here.