Here is an article I recently published on my Substack. If you'd rather read (or listen to an audio version) it outside of Reddit, you can do so here.
Why jump rope isn’t already touted as a leading running drill tool is completely beyond me. But then again…
I'm by no means an "experienced runner"—having started running in 2021 at the age of 34. So, at the time of this writing, about 3 years.
Despite this, I managed to silver-medal my age group in my first race ever.
And it was a 10k. And I was wearing barefoot-shoes.
And I had only been running before that race for about 3 months.
How the heck did I manage to pull this off?
The answer eluded me for a while. Then I remembered—ah, I’ve been jumping rope nearly every day for 2 years.
But how do those connect?
But first, why the heck would some guy start jumping rope at age 32?
About 2 years before I started running, I took up jump rope really just as a fun outdoor hobby.
Even though I was pretty inactive and a bit overweight, that’s not the reason I started skippin’.
One day, I came across some footage of boxer Lulu Hawton doing some jump rope training.
In addition to her seemingly effortless rope handling skills and rhythmic footwork, what caught my eye was a giant grin that spread across her face about 45 seconds into the video. While she was probably skipping to warm up for a match or a training session, something was abundantly clear.
She was having a blast.
And this was from a prize fighter! None of the usual boxer mean-mugging—she looked more like a kid on a carousel.
So, after buying a $10 jump rope on Amazon, I took to the driveway in my swim trunks (yes, I was so inactive, I didn’t own gym shorts).
And…whoo, did I suck.
After a few months of making puddles of sweat in my driveway as well as wheezing sounds so loud that I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t whistle EMS, I eventually got pretty decent at it.
And I lost about 45 pounds in 6 months—probably also from making some lifestyle changes merely to make jump rope less of a slog. Not the original plan, but hey, not too shabby.
After about a year, I found myself constructively critiquing other people’s beginner jump rope videos.

• “Unlock your boxer skip. Then you’ll be able to skip forever without getting tired.”
• “Here’s how to do Double-Unders, though they’re overrated.”
• “You’re skipping like it hurts. Relax and skip easy. Smile every once in a while and you’ll feel it all over.”

But how did that turn into running?
Though jumping rope is inherently enjoyable, 30-minute skipping sessions of staring at the wall without something in your headphones can be a bit drab.
One fateful day, about 2 years into being student of the jump rope, I began listening to the book Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen by Christopher McDougall.
Even before I got to the end of the book, running—just like jump rope— sounded fun**.**
Yeah, I know that sounds counterintuitive—unless you’ve read the book.
“I knew aerobic exercise was a powerful antidepressant, but I hadn’t realized it could be so profoundly mood stabilizing and — I hate to use the word — meditative. If you don’t have answers to your problems after a four-hour run, you ain’t getting them.”
Ok, ok—I’ll bite.
I proceeded to dive into all of the normal “Couch to 5k” running programs I could find and took my jump rope to a nearby park with a 1k walking path—sprinkling in running between jump rope sessions.
But something wasn’t adding up.
There was a lot of advice about walk-running to build endurance until one could run a block, two blocks, a mile.
Not to brag, but I wasn’t experiencing most beginner snags.
**“Ah, I know why—**I did most of my newbie wind-sucking two years ago!”
This isn’t to say I wasn’t still periodically sucking wind but after two years of consistent boxer skips and double-unders, getting gassed felt like part of the fun and not a medical emergency.
I also felt much springier than the average beginning runner—able to run for miles all over the city in the most minimal of footwear.
And so, I tried my hand at my first race—a donut-themed 10k. And silvered in my age group.
(Ok, there was only two of us…but my time was still respectable. 😂)
Running became an amazingly freeing activity, like getting my driver’s license for my legs.
But I still didn’t understand why running was coming easier to me than the average newcomer.
Digging still deeper, I unearthed another exciting revelation—this time from multi-decade sub-3-hour Boston Marathon runner and one of the foremost running experts on the planet, Dr. Mark Cucuzzella.
“Running with a jump rope is also an amazingly simple drill for posture, balance, and rhythm.”
In other words—form. Overall technique.
Digging a little keeper and experimenting on myself, I discovered just how similar proper running technique and proper jump rope technique were.
Both require:

• An upright, chest-leading, elbows-back, joint-stacked posture
• A soft mid-foot landing directly under your pelvis
• A quick loading and unloading of “leg springs” from your tendons and ligaments to reduce “stickiness” and wasted energy
• A proper supination (roll out) followed by a quick pronation (roll in) of the feet to help launch one’s body
• A steady core without dropping hips from side to side to reduce energy “leakage”

And so many other commonalities. The list unraveled before me on every run.
And like running, without proper technique, jumping rope just doesn’t work—though the consequences are different.
For a jump roper, due to the lower impact, the risk of injury is quite minimal.
Most newbie rope slingers will report sore calves, slightly tender Achilles tendons, and the odd shin splint if they go full Rocky at it. No need to worry, though—most of these injuries see themselves out as the skipper becomes more experienced.
However, for runners, the injury story is more severe.
The next time you’re at a park with a good path, take a seat on a bench and watch the runners. See if you can spot folks reaching far out in front of them with straightened legs—smashing heels into the pavement.
This style of running results in everything from screaming knees, plantar fasciitis, lower back pain, to hips issues.
But why do all of these occur to new runners, but rarely to new jump ropers?
Most new runners commit a major physiological no-no when they begin their running journey: they treat running like fast, aggressive, airborne walking.
“Well, what is it supposed to be?”
Synchronized jumping.
Simply put, proper running is nothing more than a series of coordinated single leg jumps through space with each landing compressing the springs for the next stride.
To compare this synchronized jumping to the aggressive airborne walking of heel-led running, you can test these in just a few seconds.
Step 1: Stand up.
Step 2: Kick off your shoes.
Step 3: Jump up and down three times.
How did you land?
Probably on your mid-foot, knee bent slightly, with your weight stacked above your pelvis.
And did you use your compressed “leg springs” to launch you into the following two jumps?
Oddly enough, if you were to add a jump rope to this, you would on your way to spinning side swings like Lulu Hawton.
If you were to take this same technique one foot at a time moving forward, you would be running in a way that increases speed, preserves stamina (springs!), and drastically decreases your likelihood of injury.
Let’s try the same test with a few tweaks.
This time, jump, but land on your heels.
Your knees probably remained fairly straight and you felt the impact in your ankles, knees, hips, and possibly even your lower back.
Now, imagine attempting to jump rope this way.
It simply doesn’t work.
Not only would there be no second jump due to the lack of spring but the pain would stop you in your tracks—even in cushioned shoes.
But if jump rope technique and proper running technique are nearly identical, what are aggressive heel landings doing in running?
While a jump roper landing on their heels would resemble Frankenstein’s monster in an express lane to an orthopedist, this is how many people perform the aggressive airborne walk—aka, a heel-striking, over-striding run.
But why do we run this way? Well, our shoes let us get away with it.
Thick heel cushioning and a bit of forward momentum do a great job of masking the pain of repeated blows against every joint up the chain—for a while, anyway. Eventually, the chickens come home to roost in the form of stress fractures, meniscus tears, plantar fasciitis, “runner’s knee,” IT-band syndrome, and more.
Not to brag (and maybe to knock on some wood), I have never experienced any of these injuries in my three years of running.
Is this because I’m some kind of running genius with all of the cheat codes? Haha, I wish! It’s simply sheer luck that I started out with jumping rope before running—an activity that shares the same injury-preventing techniques.
So, are the shoes totally to blame? No.
It is possible to run with proper form in shoes with raised, cushioned heels. But it’s not as easy.
When your heel is totally cushioned, you will be able to run with a heel strike in the same way you can hit your head against a brick wall while wearing a football helmet. And in both instances, it will eventually become less about the forces outside of the foam and more about the forces inside the cushion against each other that do the most damage.
“So, how can getting a jump rope help me become a better runner?”
Jump rope is a tremendous training tool for runners for the same reason why running barefoot can also be helpful—the feedback is immediate.
Though running with inefficient and injurious form is possible, the feedback from doing so isn’t so immediate. When it comes to jumping rope, however, you won’t get through too many skips if you don’t learn to utilize the springs in your legs. The rope doesn’t pull punches.
So, get a rope and get started.
If you’re new to jump rope, I would recommend acquiring two pieces of equipment.
Firstly, find a jump rope with a little bit, but not too much, weight to it. The weight will help you feel the position of the rope during it’s entire rotation and remain in better sync with your wrist spins
My favorite rope for this purpose is a 7mm PVC model called the Hererope, which costs a whopping $15. If you find this to be too thick or heavy, a cheap 5mm PVC model will work as well.
Secondly, to protect your rope and provide a nice jumping surface, I would recommend a large foam-rubber exercise mat. My favorite is a massive 78” mat for $32—which is probably the cheapest jump rope mat you will find.
When it comes to footwear, barefoot is ideal. This will help strengthen and mobilize your feet—including your likely overly-supported neglected arches.
And just how does one begin to jump rope?

• Keep a tall posture—imagining a string pulling you up from the crown of your head.
• Your chest should open, elbows back, hands about a fist’s width from your pockets.
• Jump from the balls of your feet, only high enough to clear the rope. When landing, let the skin of your heels “kiss” the floor—touching without taking on weight.
• Keep your knees slightly bent, using every landing to load your springs for the next take-off.
• Keep the cadence quick to maximize spring recoil. To help, listen to a song that’s at about 160 beats per minute, such as the song “Hey Ya” by Outkast (or a song of similar tempo) to get a feel for the speed for skipping rope. (For running, many recommend using “Rock Lobster” by the B-52s for cadence tempo reference.)

Start with short seasons hopping with both feet—maybe 30 seconds on, 30 seconds rest. Aim for minimal muscular activation, instead, using the recoil of your tendons and ligaments for suspension and launch as much as possible.
From jumping with both feet, move onto learning an alternating leg bounce—essentially a jog skip. Right, left, right, left—all while keeping an imaginary belt level with the horizon.
By now, you’re essentially running in place with an extremely efficient technique.
Now, apply your jump rope skills to your running!
This is going to seem quite bizarre, but it is possible (and even beneficial) to take your jump rope for a run.

• Start skipping rope on a road or path with the alternating leg bounce. Remember to keep your elbows back, shoulders relaxed, head pulled up as if tugged skyward by a string from your crown and your imaginary belt level with the horizon.
• Then, as though leaning forward just enough to give someone a kiss or have an imaginary umbilical cord lightly tugged, begin to jump rope forward.
• Remember to continue to land and load on your mid-foot—aiming to keep your weight under your pelvis just like skipping rope. Landing on your heels will likely snag the rope and keep your foot on the ground too long.
• As you proceed with this, remember how it feels—the quick foot turnover, the posture, the recoil in your leg springs, the core stability, and the lightness of it.
• In the middle of doing this, simply toss the handles behind you and keep running as though it was still there—still pretending to spin the handles.
• At a comfortable stopping point, run back to your rope—now using your hands in a wood-chop motion to counter balance your leg bounces while keeping your pelvis (imaginary belt) level and stable.

And there you have it!
You may find it quite helpful to return to this drill once or twice a week. Also if you find your form slipping a bit or becoming slugging mid-run, feel free to skip imaginary rope to try to correct your technique mid-stride. It will restore lightness and springiness to your running.
I still find myself bringing my wrists to my pockets and spinning imaginary jump rope handles if I feel my technique is collapsing a bit or if my running is becoming less springy.
And remember, most importantly—have fun. 👍
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Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1bgxwgm/i_found_a_set_of_blank_cassette_tapes_at_the_junk/
Growing up as a young kid in the late 1980s, I was always terrified by the stories I'd hear of people who'd go to the grocery store, take a hike in the woods, or even a trip to a crowded beach, and would disappear, never to be seen again.
Whenever I'd see their faces memorialized on the back of milk cartons, their last photographs forever immortalized in the macabre medium of ink on cardboard, it would send shivers down my spine.
But the truth is, by the mid 1990s, I had overcome my fears, too preoccupied by the distractions of an adolescent life.
That is, until one day, in 1996, when, at the age of fourteen, a mere freshman in high school, during my weekly pilgrimage to the junk store, I made a discovery in the cassette pile that would change my life forever.
"You're still listening to tapes?" My best friend Jess asked, rolling her eyes, a nerd in the truest sense. "Get with it, dude. CDs are the future. Higher dynamic range, superior sound quality. It's not even a question."
"Yeah, yeah." I replied, ignoring her criticism, as I rummaged through the store's now mound of cassettes, its collection having significantly accumulated since the dawn of the compact disc just a few years prior.
"Look at that thing. It just looks... not cool." My friend Mike added, as he pointed to my cassette player, which was clipped onto my belt, its black plastic headphones draped around my neck. "I swear, if you wear that to school, and the football team asks, I'm denying that we're friends."
Somewhere between elementary school and high school, he'd been converted to an athlete and, by association, became popular. But I didn't care about being cool. Or acting cool. Or dressing cool. I just liked what I liked, and to me, cassettes were functional, and cheap. And that, to me, was really cool.
"Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never-" I began to say to them, before something caught my eye at the bottom of the box.
It was a stack of eight homemade cassette tapes, each with a number scribbled onto it, bundled together by a flimsy old rubber band, that looked like it would break at any moment.
There was just something about them. Something so nondescript, so unapologetic, so mysterious, that I felt compelled to buy them, without even knowing what was recorded onto their magnetic tape.
"What are you guys doing later?" I asked Jess and Mike, as we left the store, and began our walk home, the ocean's waves showering us with mist, as they crashed along the seawall of our small South Shore town.
"First game of the season tonight." Mike replied, "Wouldn't miss it."
"You should check it out. Even I'm watching," Jess added, "We signed Walker in the draft. I just have a feeling about this season."
"No thanks." I declined, "I just can't get into sports. Despite my blue collar dad's continued attempts to convert me."
"Your loss." Mike replied, as we parted ways, each of us heading off in different directions.
—
Later that night, I was lying in bed, fantasizing about a world where Jess confessed her undying love for me, when I suddenly remembered that I'd bought the cassette tapes earlier that day.
So, I found the one labeled "1," popped it into my cassette player, and hit the rewind button.
After a minute, I heard it stop, and pressed play...
CLICK.
...Expecting to hear some grunge, britpop, or maybe even ska music. But what came out of the speakers was something... else.
"If you're listening to this..." A man said, his ominous voice crackling over the magnetic tape, "...You've found my instructions on where to find the bodies in the marsh."
What the heck? I thought to myself, nearly spitting out my soda. This must be some kind of prank. But for some reason, I couldn't stop listening.
"Bodies that, if discovered in the correct order, will provide clues to who I am. And why I did what I did."
Okay, maybe it's some sort of audio game? Like a detective thing, Yes, that must be it.
"As this is the first cassette in the set of eight, for this tape I'll be providing step by step instructions on how to find the first body. So, when you're ready, please proceed to the marshes on 139, where the bend of the road meets the sharp turn sign. You'll want to pause the tape now, until you get there."
CLICK.
I did just as he instructed, and paused the tape.
139. That's an actual street, not far away. Wait a minute. Could this be... real?
I wasted no time, picking up the plastic rotary telephone that I'd begged my parents to let me keep in my room, and called Jess' house.
"What the heck, dude!" She answered, "You just booted me offline. I've been downloading this song all day, and it was at 95%."
"Sorry," I replied, "But there's something I need to tell you."
I proceeded to tell her about the tape, and its instructions, and asked her to skip school with me the next day, to accompany me on my search for the bodies. Naturally, she laughed off the request, citing a presentation she had to give at school the next day, but offered up going right then and there.
"At night? Are you crazy?" I asked.
"I mean it's not real. So what's the worst that could happen?" She reasoned.
"Okay, let me call Mike."
I would have bet a million dollars that Mike would have declined the invite, and called me an idiot for even entertaining the idea, but when he picked up the phone, he was so upset that the boys in green, as he called them, had lost, that he jumped at the chance to get out of the house.
"Really?" I replied.
"Yeah, I can't listen to my old man make up excuses for them anymore. It's much too early in the season."
—
About an hour later, Jess, Mike, and I met at the marshes on 139, where the bend of the road meets the sharp turn sign, just as the narrator, as I'll call him, had described.
"Where to now, genius?" Mike asked, gesturing to the immense stretch of marshland that lay before us. A stretch of marshland that was so expansive, in fact, that our town was even named for it.
"One second." I said, before putting on my headphones and pressing play on the cassette player.
CLICK.
"If you're listening now, it means you made it to the starting point. Next, you'll want to turn to the marsh, and scan the horizon for an old scarecrow. Once you find it, walk across the top of the marsh, careful not to fall into its trenches, until you reach the scarecrow. Until then, pause the tape."
Once again, I did just as he instructed, and paused the tape, before returning my headphones to my neck, and looking off into the distance.
Sure enough, about a football field's distance away, was the scarecrow, its body illuminated by the moonlight, its arms open wide, as if calling us over to join it.
"Follow me." I said to my friends.
—
A few minutes later, I was trudging through the grassy surface of the marshlands, my flashlight in hand, as Jess and Mike lagged behind me, bantering away as usual.
"It's up, up, down, down, right, left, right, left, A, B, and start." Mike said.
"No, you idiot, it's up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, and start." Jess corrected.
"Will you two shut up already?" I called out, as I forged ahead, too annoyed to look back at them.
"You know what, Tyler? I'm really starting to worry about you, dude." Mike said.
"Oh yeah? Why's that?" I replied, rolling my eyes.
"You're really changing. Hanging out at the comic book store. Listening to metal. And worst of all, wearing those flannels around your waist."
I stopped in my tracks, and turned back to him.
"Me change? Dude, I saw you bullying Shea in the locker room, with the other football players."
"So what? The kid deserved it."
"Did he? Why?"
"For being a nerd. That's why. And you know what?"
"What?"
"Maybe you deserve to be bullied too."
I dropped my flashlight and stormed over to him, before we both locked eyes, fists clenched.
That's when we heard Jess, call back to us from up ahead.
"Hey guys..." She said.
We both looked over to her.
Jess simply pointed a few feet away, where we saw...
...A giant scarecrow, towering above the marsh, its wooden body barely keeping it standing, nearly all of its hay having fallen off.
—
CLICK.
"If you're listening now, it means you made it to the scarecrow. Next, you'll want to look out at the Y-shaped ravine before you, separating you from two different patches of marsh. Jump to the one on the left, take about five steps, and dig there. That's where you'll find the first body, and a clue. After you find it, you'll want to switch to the second tape."
CLICK.
I relayed the recording to my friends, who had very different reactions.
"I'm not jumping-" Jess said.
"Stand back." Mike interrupted, as he took a few steps back, crouched down, ran...
...And cleared the ravine, his boots splashing into the muddy marsh on the other side.
Jess and I simply looked at each other, then over at Mike, then down at the ravine, and finally back at each other.
—
A few minutes later, Jess was helping me up from the ravine, she too, having just crawled up from it after falling in.
Meanwhile, Mike was laughing so hard at us, that he stumbled backwards and tripped over something.
Seeing that Mike, too, was now covered in mud, Jess and I joined in on the laughter, and before we knew it, all three of us were all uncontrollably howling under the moonlight, all three of us, dirt caked onto all of our clothes.
But then Mike stopped laughing.
"Hey guys..." He said.
Jess and I looked over at him.
"...What the heck is that?" He continued, pointing to an object that was protruding from the marsh.
I turned on my flashlight, shined it onto the object, and was shocked to find...
...A human hand, long decomposed, its digits collapsed into the mud, its wrist bones sticking up through the grass.
Jess screamed at the top of her lungs.
Mike, having just stood up, fell back to the ground, his eyes wide in horror.
And I, I took it the worst of all, immediately turning to the ravine and gagging into it, as if that was the polite place to do it.
"But wait," Jess began, "That means..."
"...They're real. The tapes are real. And there are seven more bodies out here." I muttered, my body beginning to tremble.
"Cool." Jess said, before taking a closer look.
"We've gotta go tell someone. The cops. Let's get out of here." I said, still in shock.
"Are you kidding, dude? We have a once in a lifetime chance here, to find these bodies. Now let's find the clue and play the other tape." Mike said, his voice excited, but his body shaking.
"He does have a point, as disgusting as it is." Jess added.
"You can't be serious?" I yelled out to them both.
"Hey, you're the one that found the tapes. And wanted to come out here." Jess replied.
"The way I see it, there's only one way to decide." Mike called out.
"Oh yeah? What's that?" I asked.
"We vote." He said, with a smile.
—
A few minutes later, Mike and Jess were digging through the mud, searching for the clue, as I watched on in horror, switched tape "1" for tape "2", and pressed play.
CLICK.

Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1b5iszd/my_wife_and_i_got_cast_in_a_reality_show_pilot/
I had just wrapped work on a Friday night, when my wife, Cara, first told me about the ad.
"I don't know how long I can work for this guy anymore." I said to her, closing my laptop for the weekend.
"Alan?" She replied.
"Yeah. He's such a prick. Everything's urgent, and everything's a fire drill. Until he doesn't care about it anymore."
"You know what you should do?"
"What?"
"Kick his ass."
"I wish. But you know full well that I don't have a threatening bone in my body. I'm a lover not a fighter." I said with a wink.
"Oh, that reminds me! Speaking of lovers." My wife said with a smile, pulling out her phone. "Look at this."
Taking the phone from her hand, I saw that she had saved a job posting.
"New Reality Series Seeks Married Couples For Chance To Win Once In A Lifetime Prize."
At first, I scoffed at it. Having been happily married for a few years now, and both of us gainfully employed, I was pretty confident that neither my wife nor I sought money or fame. We already had everything a couple could ever want.
"Why would we ever go on a reality show?" I asked.
"Keep reading," Cara replied, pointing to the bottom of the posting.
I did as she suggested.
"The winning couple will receive a once in a lifetime chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child."
Okay, maybe we didn't quite have everything a couple could want.
I looked at my wife. "Enticing, yes. But I mean, what are the chances we'd actually get cast?"
"Hey, you can't win if you don't play, right?" Cara replied, "And what other choice do we have?"
She had a point. We'd been trying to conceive for a few years, but no matter the approach, whether natural, IUI, or IVF, you name it, the outcome was always the same.
It was the one thing we didn't have. The one thing, save for surrogacy or adoption, that money couldn't buy...
...Having a child of our own.
And so...
...The next day, we reached out to the production company's nondescript email address...
...A couple days later, we heard back...
...And a week later, we found ourselves on a video call with a casting director, attempting to sell her on why they should choose us as one of the five couples competing in their pilot, and why we deserved the prize.
But my wife and I both left the meeting thinking we botched it, each of us walking away with the same feeling that one gets after a flubbed job interview.
And so, we both resolved to go back to our lives. Back to being realistic about the situation. And even started looking into some adoption agencies.
That is, until a week later, when Cara and I received an email from the production company...
...Informing us that we were selected to participate in the reality show pilot!
A few signed contracts, NDAs, and talent release forms later, and my wife and I were off on an all-expense paid trip to Los Angeles.
I remember pulling into the parking lot of the production studio that first day, and finding it a bit strange that a TV show would be filmed in such a rundown, dilapidated warehouse. But I knew nothing about production, and chalked it up to budgetary constraints. And, after all, we had already traveled too far, and there was too much on the line, to turn back now.
Upon entering the building's lobby, we were immediately welcomed in by the show's producer, Phil, whose warm greeting through his medical mask, quickly turned sour, "You're late! Literally the last couple to arrive! Hurry, hurry! Follow me! We're about to start!"
I thought it a bit rude, and noticed a concerned look wash over Cara's face. But then I remembered it was our fault, after all, that we underestimated LA traffic, so I bit my tongue.
Phil then confiscated both of our cell phones, before escorting us out of the lobby, down a long hallway, around a corner, and into a massive lounge, lit by professional lights, with five couches scattered about. Four of which were occupied by other couples, who were sitting there, patiently waiting, when we finally entered the room.
"So sorry!" I called out to them, while simultaneously waving "Hello," as I sat down in one of the loveseats.
"Thanks for your patience!" Cara added, as she took a seat beside me.
But our peers and competitors didn't even have a chance to react, as Phil suddenly ran into the room with a similarly masked production crew of about ten individuals, and got right down to business.
I thought it strange that they were all masked, assuming that covid regulations had long ended, but before I could dwell on the details too much, Phil yelled out, "Alright, places people! Sound!"
"Speed!" A few masked sound guys yelled back, as they hit record on their audio devices and aimed their boom microphones at the front of the room.
"Camera!" Phil continued.
"Speeding!" Several masked camera men replied, in unison, each carrying a broadcast camera on their shoulder.
"Slate!" Phil added, as a masked production assistant ran up to the front of the room, where there was a set of two doors on the far wall, and a door to the side that must have led offstage. He then opened his clapboard, for all of the cameras and microphones to see and hear.
I wondered why they hadn't filled out the section on the clapboard where the first take would go, but my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of it clapping.
CLAP!
Then Phil gestured to what must have been the director, who was hanging back in the shadows, his features hidden in the dark, outside of the set's bright lights.
"Action!" The director yelled out for all to hear.
And then...
...There was silence.
All of us couples looked at each other with a smile, literally on the edge of our seats, when suddenly, we heard the voice of a middle aged man ring out over the speakers that had been mounted to the ceiling of the lounge. "Ladies and gentlemen! Who's excited to make history?"
The cameras turned to the ten participants, including Cara and myself, and we all immediately started clapping and whistling, before they turned back to the man.
"I'm your anonymous host, four time husband, and five time divorcee!"
The group erupted in laughter, cheering him on, as they looked up at the speakers.
"And you know what? I'm not proud of that. Cause, much like you, deep down inside, I want to love and be loved. To have the fortitude, the patience, and the will to fight on through good times and bad, all in the name of love. Which is why I've brought you all here. Yes, you! Give yourselves a round of applause!" He said, before pausing to allow us all to react.
And so we did, all the couples clapping and smiling.
"Yes, I'm here, hosting and watching remotely, to learn from the five happily married couples before us, what the secret is to persevering through the challenges that life throws our way. To see what ends you'll all go to in support of your marriage, and if you'll do... anything for love. Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome... to Anything For Love."
Everyone let out a nervous laugh, but kept applauding anyway.
"And now... it's time for the rules. In this reality competition, the first of its kind, you'll be split up into two groups, five men and five women, and separated from each other for the duration of the game. Over the course of the show, both teams will compete in four challenges, with each challenge resulting in one loser, who will be promptly eliminated. At the end of the game, the winning player from each team will be revealed. If those two players are not members of the same couple, then no one wins. But if those two players happen to be members of the same couple, they win the game, and a once in a lifetime prize... The chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child. So before we begin, let me ask you this... Are you prepared to do anything for love?"
His voice blasted out from the speakers with so much enthusiasm, and so much energy, that in that moment, every single one of us hopped up out of our seats, and began cheering and clapping.
Eventually, the applause faded, and our host continued, "Now, will the men please line up on the left side of the room, and the women on the right?"
The couples did exactly as he asked, and when we had finally split up into two groups, men and women, our host simply said. "Now goodluck! And I can't wait to see who makes it to the end!"
Suddenly, the two doors at the front of the room opened, and each group was escorted by a masked production assistant through one of the doors, separating the husbands from the wives, until that fateful moment at the end of the show, when only the two winners will be reunited.
For the first couple games, I didn't know where they took the wives, or what kind of challenges my own wife was facing. All I knew were the games they presented to us husbands.
Games that were, let's just say...
...Utterly fucked.
As all five men entered the room for the first game, we all saw before us, a massive open factory space, that had been adorned with only one simple piece of art direction at its center... a small wooden table.
"Will the contestants please make their way to the table." The host called out over this room's ceiling-mounted speakers.
We did as he said, as the masked camera crew followed us to the center of the room.
"The rules of game one are simple. In marriage, you must sometimes sacrifice a piece of yourself, for the greater good. Today, that sacrifice... is your wedding ring. But not just your wedding ring... your entire ring finger!"
The five guys and myself all turned to one another and chuckled, assuming he was kidding.
But suddenly, a door opened into the factory, and a masked crew member proceeded to walk over to the table holding a steak knife.
He didn't say anything, and simply stared at us through his mask, as the host continued.
"The last person to cut their finger off, or the first to give up, is the loser. And will be promptly escorted from the premises."
What the fuck. I thought to myself, realizing the host wasn't kidding.
"Wait a minute," a few of the men mumbled.
But one of them, the most obnoxious in the group, could not have been less afraid, puffing out his chest and yelling into a camera, "Fine! I'll go first. I aint afraid."
He then slammed his hand down on the table, clenching his fist in a way that only exposed his ring finger.
There was a brief moment of silence until...
...Suddenly the masked crew member grabbed the husband's hand and brought down his blade so hard, that it cut the man's finger clean off, blood spraying all over the table.
It took the arrogant man a moment to process what had just happened, before he started screaming in pain, a scream that turned into a maniacal laugh, as medical staff ran over to tend to his wound.
Meanwhile, the rest of us guys looked on in horror, as we saw blood pouring from his hand, and realized we were next.
The wounded husband then looked directly into one of the cameras and defiantly said, "That was nothing." Before turning back to us and asking, "Come on. Who's next fellas?"
Two more of the men begrudgingly followed suit, each of their ring fingers being severed from their hands, leaving just myself and one husband left.
We were both shaking in fear, but the other guy was terrified, that he started begging the producer for a way out. "Wait you can't be serious? We really need to do that? Please. Please don't make me.
"The show is called Anything For Love." Phil replied. "And you signed paperwork that warned you things like this would come up."
"I didn't read that!" The nervous man yelled back.
But before he even had a chance to consider participating, I must have accidentally leaned on the table with my hand.
"Wait!" The nervous man yelled out...
...But it was too late. Before either he or I noticed, the masked man had already amputated my ring finger, blood spraying everywhere, as I let out a great scream that echoed throughout the factory.
And as the medical staff ran over to me, just as they had done for the others who had gone before me, I heard the host's voice on the speakers again. "Congratulations, gentlemen! Four of you have shown that you'll do anything for love. While the fifth, did not have what it takes, and must now return home."
And like that, a couple masked production assistants grabbed the nervous man by the shoulders, and escorted him out of the room.
It was in the aftermath of that first game, that I realized the title of the show, "Anything For Love," was not just a play on words, but the literal description of what we would need to do to win.
And then, the host continued.
"Will the remaining four husbands please walk through the open door, and into the next room."
We did as he asked.
On the way there, I looked down at my missing finger, its stump wrapped in gauze, and couldn't help but wonder if Cara had also been forced to make the same choice, and if she had gone through with it.
When we entered the second room, we all saw another giant warehouse space. Except this time, instead of being sparse, it was completely overgrown with shrubs of thorny vines, separating where we stood, from the other side.
"Love is both a rose, but also has thorns." The host called out over the room's speakers. "It can make you feel euphoric pleasure, but at the same time extreme pain. In game two, you'll need to prove that you can overcome that pain to get to the other side, and make it to game three. The last person to crawl through the thorns, or the first person to give up, will be promptly eliminated from the show and removed from the premises. Will you do anything for love? The game starts... now."
The four husbands all looked at each other, then back at the thorns, then back at each other, before the arrogant man, who was standing beside me, made me a proposition. "Let's team up. If we follow the same path, we can take turns, one of us pushing forward for a while, then the other, and it'll save us half the pain.”
But I didn't like the idea of cheating, or supporting such an asshole, so I politely declined. "Sorry man."
"Fine, have it your way, idiot. I don't need your help, I was just trying to help him out." The arrogant man said to one of the cameras, before he turned around and charged into the thorns.
The rest of us husbands, including myself, still in shock from what had happened in the first game and clenching our wounded hands, looked at each other, and then back at the production crew. But a group of them were standing behind us, ready to push us into the thorns, should we decide not to comply.
So we all proceeded to follow the arrogant husband into the thorns, and began a race, through what felt like a football field's length of sharp vines, each of us doing our best to avoid what we could, but inevitably getting scratched over and over and over again, to the point where our bodies were covered in blood.
And when I finally crossed the finish line, and stepped out of the thorny shrubs bloody and exhausted, I was relieved to find that only two husbands had beat me there. The arrogant man, of course, and another.
We all looked back, to find the fourth pour soul still halfway through the shrubs, his clothes caught in the thorns.
"Wait for me!" He called out. But it was too late.
"Congratulations, winners!" The host's voice called out over the speakers. "You've proven you would truly do anything for love, and can proceed on to the next game. And as for the loser, please remove him from the game."
Then, a couple crew members wearing rubber suits and carrying shears, cut their way through the thorns, freed the fourth husband from the thorns, and escorted him out of the factory.
As the three remaining husbands left the second room and entered the third, my thoughts once again returned to my wife, and wondered whether she too was faced with the same challenge, and had made it through the thorns.
Game three is where things... escalated.
When we entered the next factory, I saw three beds in the center of the room, each with a TV next to it.
"Remaining contestants, welcome to the semi final challenge." The host bellowed out over the room's speakers. "Will you each please choose a bed."
The three of us did as he asked, and walked to the center of the room, each of us standing in front of one the beds.
Then, a door opened and three masked women emerged, making their way to the center of the room, and each lying down on one of the beds.
"The rules of game three are as follows." He continued. "You simply have to sex with the stranger before you..."
The arrogant husband looked at me and smiled.
"...While watching your partner do the same."
Suddenly, the three TVs turned on, each displaying our wives in the very same situation. And lying on each of their beds, was a masked man.
"First off, we assure you that the women and men before you complied consensually, and have been tested for STDs. So the test of this game is not about morality, or safety, but fidelity. Would you cheat on your significant other, for the greater good of the relationship? The last couple to have sex, or the first to refuse, will lose. While the others, will proceed on to the final challenge."
I looked at my wife on the TV screen, relieved that she had made it this far, but started in shaking fear of what we both have to do to win.
Meanwhile, the arrogant husband started unclipping his belt button and turned to one of the cameras. "You call this a semi final? My wife and I are in an open relationship. Bring it on!"
While the third man, simply stared at his TV screen, sweating and pacing, clearly terrified to go through with it, and watch his wife do the same.
"The game begins... now!” The host called out.
As the arrogant man began to have sex with the woman on his bed, his naked body still littered with fresh scratches from the thorns, I thought about trying to escape, but then I saw the timid husband, and realized his hesitation was an opportunity for me to make it to the next round.
And so, I too removed my clothes and exposed my wounded body, crawling into bed with the masked woman, as my wife did the same with the masked man.
Before long, it was over, the arrogant man laying there naked and smiling into one of the cameras, while I, also naked, hung my head in shame for what I had just done.
I looked at the TV screen, and saw my wife put her clothes back on too. We had both made it.
The same could not be said for the nervous man and his wife, who both stayed true to their values, neither engaging in the act, before masked crew members promptly escorted them out of the factory.
And then there were two. Well, two couples that is. Myself against the arrogant man, my wife against his.
Masked production assistants then brought myself and my competitor into the room where the final challenge would be held.
It, much like the first room, was completely bare save for a dinner table at its center, where two plates and sets of utensils were set out.
"Finalists. Welcome to the fourth and last challenge. Will both contestants please take a seat at the dinner table."
We followed his instructions, as we had done previously, and sat down at the table, before a couple production assistants ran over and helped us tuck bibs into our shirts.
"The rules of game four are perhaps the most simple of all. You'll be presented with an item that you must eat. The first to finish eating it, is the winner." The host said over the room's speakers.
That's when a door opened and two masked PAs came out holding trays, and began rushing them over to us.
As they approached us, I began to panic, knowing that whatever it was that they were about to present to us, would likely even be more terrifying than anything we had encountered in the previous games.
"Sometimes you have to break a heart, to win another." The host called out, "In this challenge, the item you'll need to eat is..."
At that exact moment, the two PAs each removed a pair of tongs from their pocket, uncovered their tray, and placed the item on our plates.
"...A human heart."
I gasped, and nearly threw up in my mouth, as I saw the disgusting bloody organ lying there on my plate.
"May the best husband win! Goodluck, the game starts... now!"
For a minute, I hesitated, disgusted by the challenge set before me, but then I thought about what was on the line, and saw the arrogant husband immediately biting into his heart, blood pouring down his face.
I hurried to catch up, briefly fumbling my own heart, before chomping into it, and attempting to eat it as fast as I could, as blood sprayed all over my own face.
But the arrogant husband had gotten a head start, and was moving too quickly. No matter how fast I ate it, it was becoming clear that if nothing was done, he would surely beat me..
So, not knowing what else to do…
…I slammed what was left of my heart onto the plate, removed my bib, stood up, and proceeded to tackle the arrogant man out of his seat, sending his heart sliding across the concrete floor.
"What the fuck are you doing, man?" He asked, likely surprised that I was capable of such an act.
"I'm doing what needs to be done for love." I replied, before pummeling him over and over in the face with my fist, as I channeled my innermost frustrations, ranging from the traumatic experience we had just gone through, the arrogant husband’s obnoxious behavior throughout the game, years of belittlement from asshole boss, and my wife and my countless failed attempts at getting pregnant over the years.
I kept pummeling him, until he had completely shut the fuck up, and was simply mumbling incoherent words, his face a bloody pulp, blood bubbling out of his mouth.
I then stood up, walked back to the table, sat down, put the bib back on, and took the last bite of my heart.
"Congratulations, you’ve proved that you'll truly do anything for love, and have won the show! Please remove the loser."
Rather than celebrate, my mind once again returned to my wife, worried about her well being and wondering if she too, had mustered up the courage to eat the heart, and had become the winning wife.
A couple masked production assitants then ran over and dragged the arrogant husband away, as he simply stared at me in shock.
I looked down at my hands, which were still covered in blood, then up at one of the cameras, which was now right up in my face.
“How do you feel?” Phil asked, prompting me to speak to the camera.
But I couldn’t bring myself to speak any words.
I tried to think of something to say, but before I could, a door opened, and the masked PAs grabbed me by the arms and escorted me out of the last room and into an adjacent hallway, which led to a huge set of double doors.
"Winners,” the host said over the hallway’s speakers. “You stand here before us, victorious, each of you on one side of the doors. Now it is time, to find out if the person on the other side… is your partner… and if you both had what it takes, to do anything for love."
I took a deep breath, expecting the worst. Expecting to see the arrogant man’s wife on the other side. After all that.
But when the doors opened, I simply saw…
...My wife, standing there on the other side.
We ran to each other and embraced, both of us missing our ring fingers, littered in scratches, emotionally exhausted, and with faces and hands that were covered in blood.
"Congratulations!" The host continued, "You're the winners of Anything for Love!"
Both crying, we smiled at each other, but our smiles quickly turned into looks of sadness.
We'd won. But at what cost? I wondered, before the thought was overshadowed by that of the once in a lifetime prize that awaited us.
The producer, Phil, then brought us into yet another room, where we met a doctor, his face covered by a surgical mask, and both shook his hand.
"When you two showed up late,” Phil began, “I never thought you'd be the ones to win. But you did. So we stand by our promise. After you return home, you’ll be contacted by the doctor, who will provide you with the guidance and resources to hopefully have a baby of your own. That part, is obviously not guaranteed."
"Thank you." My wife replied, clearly torn by saying those words. “Understood.”
"Thank you." I added, also torn, before realizing that the camera crew didn't follow us into the room with the doctor. "But can I ask, why aren't you filming this part?"
"Oh, our audience only cares about watching the games." Phil replied with a chuckle.
"Audience? But we just filmed it."
"Oh, yeah we were livestreaming the whole time."
"I thought it was just a pilot. Who was watching?"
"The subscribers."
"Who are they?"
"A very small, very privileged group of people, who can't be bothered by pedestrian entertainment. They desire something more... elevated."
"Will this ever be a real show?"
"This? Of course not." Phil laughed, "No one else will ever watch this again. And no one but the small group of contestants and this crew, will ever know of what went on here."
"What happened to the other couples?"
"Oh they're fine. Aside from missing fingers, and being a little physically and emotionally scratched up. We'll do with them exactly what we'll do with you. Drop them off somewhere just far enough away that after we give them their phones back, if they choose to call the police or tell anyone about this place, by the time they come here to investigate, they'll find this factory abandoned, without a trace of what went on here today. The same goes for you. By the way, we better get you ready to go, your car will be arriving any minute now.”
Neither my wife nor myself had the energy to conjure up a reply.
"Thank you again for playing!" Phil said through his mask, "And on behalf of the subscribers, please enjoy your prize!"
He then led us out down a long hallway, through a back door, and into an alley, where a car was waiting to take us away.
"The chauffeur will provide you with your phones upon your arrival."
An hour or so later, the driver pulled over on the side of a highway, and let us off, handing us our phones just as Phil had promised.
But rather than call the police, we just stood there for a while, still horrified by the terrifying experience we had just been put through.
And ultimately… we decided that since we had won, it'd be best to leave it alone.
We hitched a ride back home, and sure enough, about a week later...
...We received a call from the doctor...
...And less than a year after that, my wife gave birth to our baby boy.
Sometimes, I think back to that day, and the terrible games they set before us, and wonder if my wife and I went too far to win…
...But then I look at my newborn son, and all the doubt, all the shame, all the horror, washes away.
And as for the subscribers. Every once in a while, when a car drives suspiciously slow past our house, or I get the feeling that my baby monitor might have just moved on its own, I wonder if they're still watching us, and if this is just the next episode of their reality show.

05 Focus 2.0 Duratec ZXW, Auto trans 133kms.
Recently replaced the engine mounts, and did some exhaust work. With warmer weather, Ive noticed the engine vibrates when the temperature controls/AC are turned on. Its much worse at idle. Also got a slight smell of burning rubber under the hood, and it seems the intake manifold is ticking slightly.
Serpentine belt looks okay, seems tight enough and is probably about a year old. Spark plugs seem good, no sign of an oil leak. No knocking noises, or squealing sounds. Any advice on next steps?

Not too sure if this is the correct sub. If not I'd appreciate knowing which sub is best.
I have the option to get a second-hand Sony DUP cx985U 500 dvd player.
Issue is that the picker only picks from location one, not any other. I imagine it's a plastic gear or a rubber belt that needs replacing.
But if someone has any knowledge of this it would be appreciated.
Thanks in advance.

THE BEGINNING
The exclusive Fiat 147, which was directly derived from the European success 127, launched in 1971. The new car, according to the Italians, would fit like a glove to the needs that Brazilians had to get around in a country of continental dimensions: the small 147 was robust, with easy and simple mechanics and, at the same time, provided a low cost maintenance. Furthermore, it had significant fuel economy when compared to other national cars of the time.
Perhaps due to its very compact external dimensions in relation to what was known, the new Fiat car left Brazilians with some insecurity, because, when looking at the national market, it was really compact, which made people think it was a frail and unreliable car.
THE ENGINE AND OTHER THINGS
Initially the compact received the FIASA engine (Fiat Automóveis S.A) which had a displacement of 1,050 cc yielding 55 hp (SAE) which led it to having a 0 - 100 km/h or 0 - 62 mph time of 18,8 seconds and a top speed of 135 km/h or 83 mph but most importantly, the fuel consumption was incredible: 12.3 km/l or 28.9 mpg in the city and 18.8 km/l or 44.2 mpg on the highway. In relation to the Italian 127, the Brazilian car had a more robust body, with more welding points, a fully independent suspension, being independent McPherson strut with coil springs at the front and transverse leaf spring at the rear, things that were necessary to face the harsh and mostly unpaved Brazilian roads. To showcase the new car and shut down the doubts of potential buyers a bold marketing campaign was launched where the little car descended and ascended the 365 steps of the staircase of the Penha church (RJ), famous for the promises of its faithful, without any type of special preparation, showcasing its reliability. In 1979 the ethanol version was launched, making this the first car to use this fuel type in the world, due to the modifications necessary to use this fuel the horsepower increased to 62 hp. Thanks to the burning of ethanol, this version let out a smell that resembled distilled drinks, which earned the car the nickname “Cachacinha”, which is the diminutive of the word “Cachaça” Brazil’s national distilled beverage.
SMALL EXTERIOR, BIG INTERIOR
The 147’s external size was very deceptive, measuring 3.62 m or 11’10” long, 1.54 m or 5’ wide, 1.35 m or 4’5” tall and having a wheelbase of 2.22 m or 7’3”, the car was smaller than the VW Beetle, but thanks to its masterful use of space and and the engine mounted in a transverse position, something never seen in any Brazilian car up to that time, made the interior space and trunk larger than that of its competitors, the trunk had a 352 liter or 12,43 cubic feet of capacity, which was helped by the fact that the spare tire was placed on top of the engine and thus didn't took any space away from the luggage.
DESIGN / FACELIFTS / NEW GENERATIONS
EUROPA FACELIFT (Picture 2): In 1980, the Fiat 147 underwent its first visual restyling, which was concentrated especially on its front. The new front of the hatch had a look that followed the trend of the time, marked by the wedge-shaped hood, the new slightly inclined engine cooling grille, and the polypropylene plastic bumpers that, depending on the version, could be painted in black or grey, the steering lights are now integrated next to the headlights, meanwhile, the side stripes of the sports versions are replaced by side rubbers, while at the rear the only novelty is the new license plate lighting set. With this update, the front of the car became known as the European Front. On a side note, the basic trim level still had the same visual style as the first version up until 1982.
SPAZIO FACELIFT (Picture 3): In 1983 the Spazio restyling brought new features such as new plastic bumpers with a wraparound design, new headlights, new amber direction lights, a new brand logo, on its side it featured new direction repeaters on the fenders, new plastic moldings and new wheels, at the rear the Spazio version had a larger rear window and new, thinner and longer tail lights. Inside, the new features included a new dashboard with a more modern design, a new instrument panel with information such as: speedometer, coolant temperature and fuel level, as well as warning lights.
VARIANTS
FURGONETA: This was the cargo version of the 147, which was nothing more than a 147 without the rear seats and rear windows. On the inside, this version gained a dividing grille to prevent objects in the cargo compartment from being thrown against passengers in the event of an accident or sudden braking.
147 PICK-UP / FIORINO: In 1979, the first compact pickup truck derived from a passenger car, the Fiat 147 Pick-Up, was launched. The pickup used the same platform as the 147 hatch, which resulted in a small bucket with a curious lid that opened to the side. Despite being small, the pickup can carry up to 420 kilos of cargo and could either be equipped with the 1050 cc engine or the 1300 cc one. In 1981, the Fiat 147 pickup was updated, now called Fiat Fiorino, the pickup uses the same platform as the recently launched Panorama, and with the old front, the pickup became larger and had its suspension reinforced to support the new capacity of 500 kg or 1102,31 lbs of load. Other than that, it's worth highlighting the new vertical taillights that allow the pickup to have a larger lid that can open downwards.
FIORINO CARGO VAN: In 1981 the cargo van version was launched, based on the pickup truck, this version was called Fiat Fiorino Furgão. This van stood out for several reasons, including its good load capacity of 2700 liters or 95.34 cubic feet, the two large doors that opened to the sides and the small cargo compartment above the cabin.
PANORAMA STATION WAGON: In addition to the restyling, 1980 was marked by the launch of the Panorama station wagon. Available only in the C and CL versions and equipped with the 1300 cc engine, the Fiat Panorama stood out for its appearance, which already had the restyled front, the large glass area, and the great internal space, thanks to its length 18 cm or 7 inches greater than the hatch, another detail that increased its internal space was the projection on the roof that increased headroom for rear seat occupants. Regarding luggage, this station wagon had a trunk with a capacity of up to 669 liters or 23.62 cubic feet, which could be increased to 1440 liters or 50.85 cubic feet by folding the rear seats.
OGGI SALOON: In 1983 the sedan version of the 147, the Oggi, was launched. Being only available in the CL version, it had qualities such as good interior space and a spacious trunk of 450 liters or 15.8 cubic feet.
TRIM LEVELS
Initially there was only one level available, L but just a bit later two new trim levels were added, the basic version that didn't have a denomination and the top trim level called GL, leaving the L version as the middle of the road level.
147 GL: The GL level had things such as chrome exterior details and new special wheels, a velvety lined interior, front seats with reclining backrest and headrest, tilting lid for the trunk, new exclusive steering wheel and new gauge cluster that had a coolant temperature marker in addition to the speedometer and fuel gauge.
147 GSL: In 1979 a new, more sophisticated version was unveiled, the GLS, the GLS version had external details such as a thin black stripe marking its entire side, the name of the version on both sides of the hood, black door handles, a new brand emblem in the center of the engine grille, as well as chrome bumpers with large rubber bands and rectangular headlights located above the front bumper. Inside, this version featured velvet upholstery, three-point seat belts on the front seats, headrests for rear seat occupants, three-spoke steering wheel, more complete instrument panel with tachometer as well as speedometer, temperature gauge engine and fuel level marker and two more circular markers in the center of the panel with an oil pressure gauge and analog clock. The Fiat 147 GLS had the new 1.3 engine that developed 61 horsepower.
147 RALLYE: That same year the Rallye version with a sporty appeal was released. This version differed from the others by presenting details such as side stripes with the name of the version, wheels painted in black and silver, black bumpers with a spoiler on the front bumper and a small black air intake on the interior cooling grille. Inside, it featured an all-black interior with wraparound front seats that had headrests integrated into them, a sports steering wheel and the same instrument panel as the GLS version. The engine was the same 1.3 as the GLS version, however, thanks to the double barrel carburetor, its power increased to 72 horsepower.
FIORINO CITY: In 1982, Fiat Fiorino gained a new version, the City, a version that was not aimed at work but aimed at a younger audience, it had a touch of sportiness, this one had the new Europa front and a better interior finish.
147 C: This was the new naming for the previous basic version, this version had the novelty of having the same front as the other trim levels.
147 CL: This is basically the previous L middle trim levels version.
147 Top: This is the new name for the GLS version. This was the only version changed. It had details such as plastic appliqués on the sides, the name of the version on both sides of the hood, wheels painted black and silver, front bumper with spoiler, fog lights, rear window wiper and as an option: sunroof. Inside, this version brought even more luxury and sophistication with the same dashboard and steering wheel as the Panorama CL, reclining front seats and a split rear seat.
147 Racing: The 147 rallye version was replaced by this version called Racing. This version had basically the same look as the Top version, with the addition of a small wing at the rear of the roof that brought improvements in performance and fuel economy. Inside, this version differed by having a lower steering column, resulting in a more vertical steering wheel position, in addition to the new four-spoke sports steering wheel, the front seats with high backs and covered in black vinyl with the front part in gray flocked velvet.
147 TR: In 1983 the new sports version of the 147 was launched, the 147 TR. The Fiat 147 TR's appearance was marked by long-range headlights and a rear with two spoilers, one on the roof and the other on the trunk lid below the glass. The interior had high backrest seats, and a dashboard with a rev counter, voltmeter and oil pressure gauge.
OGGI CSS: In 1984, the performance version of the Fiat Oggi, the Oggi CSS, was launched. This version had an exclusive 1400 cc engine powered by ethanol that developed 78 horsepower and 11.2 kgm of torque. The look received several changes such as front deflector, side skirts, wing over the trunk lid, deflector at the end of the roof, as well as auxiliary headlights, exclusive stickers and new aluminum wheels. Its ride height was also lower, the rear suspension was firmer and its clutch was new and made to make the sedan more sporty. Inside, the Oggi received the dashboard and four-spoke steering wheel from the 147 TR.

Timestamp
Moving, so please buy my stuff so I can buy more of y’all’s stuff.
All prices are shipped, PayPal F&F. Dibs rules apply.

For Sale

• Magpul MOE Midlength Handguard $25
• Samson Midlength Evo rail, all mounting hardware and some attachable pic rails, VG condition, free floating, lightweight $100
• PTR 91 / HK91 Rubber Cheek Riser $20

Bundle of Garage Sale Stuff

• Holosun micro red dot/T2 riser
• x2 Glock Gen 1-4 slide releases
• 1” scope ring (used for a flashlight)
• x2 magpul 5.56 pmag dust covers
• x2 streamlight scout mounts
• x2 streamlight Protac clicky caps
• cheap double pistol mag belt holder
• sling swivel bipod
• x2 basic nylon slings (black and FDE)
• Wolf Tactical Medium Velcro belt (used briefly until I got my HC belt, actually pretty rigid/low profile)

GARAGE SALE STUFF ALL FOR $25

I hope this will be pinned as I want to provide a upto-date full-scope info dump on critical things that have changed over the last few years that people binging YT videos and old threads will be out of the loop on.
The Decode Wiki has a massive amount of information thats proacticly updated and mantained, so here is just a more camcorder format biased summary of a lot info there.

Rule 1

There is a thing called SAVE or LOCK tap on tapes, enable it on all your tapes before playing with them, this will save your ass from careless or just mistakes and stop your from erasing your tapes.

Cleaning & Service

Please do not treat mechnical kit like magic, it requires care and maintaince like a car or a rifle it has a lot of parts that need cleaning and oiling once and awhile or outright replacing like belts and capston rubber wheels.
Paper & 99.9% IPA never 60% etc (water + elecronics just no.) for VHS & Beta head cleaning.
Chamois Sticks (overpriced waste for all but camcorders) for small head cleaning.
Brush, Airblower, Super-Lube, Sowing Machine oil - Genreal cleaning & service.
Lens cleaning should always be with microfibeswabs to clean rims, UV Filters are your dust/shatter protection friends caps are also adviced during sunlight use!

PAL & NTSC

We are not all united in this world of standards per region, never forget the diffrances it can cost you time and suffering.
PAL 625-line (25fps 50 fields "25i") is Europe/Middle East to Russia 50hz grids
NTSC 525-line (29.97fps 59.94 fields "29.97i") is USA/Canada/Japan 60hz grids
Digital active area is 720x576i PAL and NTSC is 720x480i or 488
(there is also 608/512 height called IMX standard for preserving the VBI area both are in analog world sampled at 4fsc or 1135x625 PAL & 910x525 NTSC but only vhs/ld/cvbs-decode provide acesss to the full signal frame.)
NTSC-N/PAL-M/NTSC-50/PAL60 etc (South America and outhers who could not just stick to one unifyed system or slowly migrated with existing kit)
Recorded Media only has 3 flavors in common world use, NTSC/PAL then the french have SECAM or MESECAM for recorded tapes before moving to PAL.
Digital you will use and or encouter i.e 2000s era will only be NTSC/PAL (then flavors of HD in interlaced or progressive 25/24/29.97p) to keep things simple.
PAL decks (most 90's & 2000's decks) will play most MESECAM tapes, will play NTSC tapes also but the standard video output will have 4.43Mhz instead of 3.35Mhz colour subcarrier so NTSC native kit will not like it, such as Time Base correctors or NTSC CRT TVs so you will get B/W video out of a lot of PAL kit with native NTSC support too or it will be just PAL converted by a PAL DMR-ES10 for example.
The decks however are reading full NTSC or MESECAM signal off the tape so the video boards internally are converting the signal, but with direct RF capture will get you a native capture to work with and preserve analog tapes.

Digital Tapes

Massive Guide Here with full scope breakdown
Do NOT HOT PLUG, FireWire is 12v turn kit off hook up cable turn it back on, unless its a adapter from TB2 to TB3 to FW800 with low power data only then its most likey a full spec port with 12v 5A that can kill kit if ports are not clean and you hot plug it.
MiniDV/HDV/Digital8 FireWire Camcorders fall under

• FireWire/IEEE 1394 (4pin FW400 / 6pin FW400 / 9pin FW800)
• Apple Replaced this with ThunderBlot TB3 to TB2 then a TB2 to FW800 adapter is commonly used for MacOS users.

StarTech and 101 china brands make cards, I like DVgrab on Linux, but WinDV still works for most Windows Boxes & Final Cut still works on MacOS.

Digital Pro Tapes

HDCam / HDCam SR / DVCProHD / DigiBeta (digital betacam) / MPEG IMX etc
Some decks like DVC do have FireWire but HDcam and Digibeta flavors are all SDI
HDCam falls under SDI - Digital to V210 or FFV1 4:2:2
This applys to decks and camcorders you will be using SDI most likey but some had HDMI 8-bit 4:2:2 output like later HDV camcorders did.

Analog Tapes

VHS-C/SVHS-C/BetaMax/Betacam/Video8/Hi8
SVHS may have VITC timecode in VBI space, Hi8 can have PCM digital audio if shot with pro kit and RCTC data like time and date code on pro and prosumer models.
The best possible method for preserving tapes in the 21st century for analog Video and HiFi signals is The FM RF Archival Method then decoding it to S-Video/Composite in software then chroma-decoding it to YUV digital data all in software, no hardware TBC or this capture card is better then that capture card nightmare or limted codec support, it cuts through the noise (littorally) and plight of inflated hardware markets, VHS-Decode gives you a alternative for all analog tape formats dispite its name.
This is direct sampling of the orignal signals as the deck reads the tapes before its internal processing, this is the most affordable and technologically high quality preservation workflow that anyone can use today, cost of entry is sub 100USD and virtually all decks have test points. (but later decks will not have easy HiFi test points so 90s decks with a good cleaning first are your go to.)
You may even already own a CXADC compatible Hauppauge/WinTV or outher brand of capture card with CX chips the driver can use.
Sony 8mm or Hi8/Video8 and Digital8 with backwards playback support have test jigs that are plug and play for test points.
The older more well known method is deck with S-Video Time Base Corrector "TBC" ADC/Capture Card or a capture card with a TBC, this will cost you 2-20x the cost of a FM RF archival workflow thats with a basic office PC out of the skip basically added to the shopping list.

Making a Camcorder tapeless

Analog - S-Video/CVBS or Compoosite (Yellow RCA or 4-Pin Din for S-Video)
Digital - HDMI (but only HDV MiniDV camcorders had this so S-Video would be the best output in 16:9 squesse mode this applys to Digital8)
Cheep Analog SDI coverters off eBay using a 12v to USB-PD adapter will be the most powerful plug and play clean signal converting kit you can put into a Molle belt pouch or backpack with PD power adapters.
SDI is just HDMI with some more specs and piped over Coax cable orignally it replaced all the Coax copper lines that ran Composite or CVBS in studios and now its good solid locking interface for A/V world using the BNC connector from the 1940s and HDMI converters are a dime a dozen for SDI.
Digital8/MiniDV you can buy little off shelf USB adapters, but for later prosumer kit with NPF mount etc just buy a new 18650 cell based chinese battery they last all day long.
Recorders, Atmos, Blackmagic are your 2 go to brands today, but if you have a laptop just get a Magewell or GV-USB2 based setup and encode with VirtualDub2 or OBS if you like crunching stuff with realtime de-interlacing (its terrible for recorded media never should do it, but for live feeds you can get away with it in most cases as long as your system can keep up and use a codec like ProRes LT)

Power & Power Adapting

You can use 9v with stepdown or 5v with step up to power the 6-7.1v to 7.1 to 8.5v voltage range of camcorders, common batterys today are NPF, BP, V-Mount or Gold Mount with ARRI B-Mount slowing getting adaoption, but USB-PD or 20v 3A PD65W and 20v 5a PD100W power banks are now very cheep and provide more then enough to power most field portable kit.

Codecs & Containers & Chroma Sampling & Bit-Depth

Codecs and Cotainers is fun, but MP4/MOV is banned for archival, you will lose files, they break if the recording/encoding fails midway, do not trust them to store your audio and video memorys forever.
MKV/MXF are the only containers you should keep masters in if not DV/AVI at worst for HD and SD media today very much so if you have a home server with Jellyfin for example header dependent containers like MP4/MOV are poor for streaming locally and over the the internet on demand headderless don't care and are very relisaint if currupton happens you lose frames/seconds not your whole file.
(Note: you can easily re-mux a file from these safe containers for use on outher devices that require avi or mp4 etc its just a wrapper to hold the data, its easy to convert between the two without loss)
Codecs range from lossy compressed like AVC/H264 or HEVC/H265 (in MP4/MOV etc) to Lossy DV25 used for MiniDV/Digital8, to visually lossles like ProRes HQ, and the V210 for uncompressed and FFV1 today for lossless compressed.
Chroma Sub-Sampling is how much colour range data is stored per pixel, 4:2:2 is enough to use green screens and preserve the full range of live from camara Composite NTSC or PAL, ware as 4:4:4 is the same for HD era kit in very lay terms here but this is only for master recordings and for digitisaion.
Bit-Depth is simple 8-bit 256 range 10-bit 1024 range of colour, you want 10-bit almost always for inital capture in digital HD era and in Analog SD archival but can drop it to 8-bit 4:2:0 with careful encoding after the fact many videos on this that are clear and demo this.
For example though in this community DV is 4:1:1 NTSC and 4:2:0 in PAL so if using a Digital8 camcorder to ingest tapes from Video8/Hi8 your not saving the full range of colour and also using a lossy compressed codec at 25-30mbps great for 1995 but for 45-50mbps you can use lossless compressed FFV1 8-bit 4:2:2.

Deinterlacing

101 ways hardware and software converters, personally if your camcorder does not have a progressive or progressive pulldown mode, shoot in interlaced, use Hybird or StaxRip with the QTGMC filter via Vapoursynth or Avisynth its 3-5 clicks today and some copy paste at worst, dont use BDWIF or YADIF if you can help it, and always bare in mind lossy compressed interlaced footage will almost always have artifacts to fight with.
All Analog media in consumeprosumer world is interlaced and should be delt with in post for recorded media.

Final Notes

This is a fun subject that without basic EE/Cine/ENG world info being ingrained into your mind, its not very well condenced for people to get into without making massive mistakes or just ones that are sad to see due to lack of ah heres a nice list of key points to go and google and look into or sticky note on the kit.
I hope this has got you on the path of understanding key info in this era!

Timestamp
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Surefire KE2-B LED Head SOLD This is a NEW Surefire KE2-B 1,000 lumen head. I am the original owner. The head was removed from a new Surefire Scout. It is has not seen any live fire. $125.00 shipped Surefire KE2-B
Surefire Z68 Tailcap This is a NEW Surefire Z68 tailcap. I am the original owner. The head was removed from a new Surefire Scout. It is has not seen any live fire. $40.00 shipped Surefire Z68
HSGI Extended Pistol / Baton Taco MultiCam with ABM (adaptable belt mount). Will fit up to a 2.25 inch belt. Mounted and removed. Did not work for my purpose. $25.00 shipped HSGI Taco
Hogue HandALL Universal Grip Sleeve This is unused and still in the package. $10.00 shipped Hogue HandALL
M&P OEM Sights These were take-offs from a new M&P pistol. $15.00 shipped M&P OEM Sights
Design Machine PS90 T1/T2 Mount This is a Design Machine PS90 T1/T2 Mount. It will accept any red dot that has the T1/T2 footprint. It was mounted to my PS90 with the above listed T2. It includes screws to attach a red dot and screws to mount to a PS90. $100.00 shipped DM PS90 Mount
Sig Sauer P220 OEM Parts I am selling a vintage Decocking Lever, Sear and Safety Lever for the Sig Sauer P220. These are all unused OEM parts that were removed from a 2001 manufactured P220. This is NOT the SRT kit. $20.00 shipped Sig P220 Parts
Microtech Glykon D/E This is a NIB Microtech Glykon D/E OTF Auto (184-10AP) in Apocalyptic finish. Unused and Uncarried with factory edge. $510.00 shipped Glykon
Kershaw Bowie Hunter SOLD This is a Unused and Uncarried Kershaw Bowie Hunter(1015). Textured copolymer rubber grip handle over red hard plastic with Japan made full tang AUS6A stainless steel blade and leather sheath. Discontinued awhile back! Does not have the box. $55.00 shipped Bowie Hunter
Kershaw Roughneck SOLD This is a Unused and Uncarried Kershaw Roughneck (1010). Textured copolymer rubber grip handle over red hard plastic with Japan made full tang AUS6A stainless steel blade and leather sheath. Discontinued awhile back! Does not have the box. $55.00 shipped Roughneck
Kershaw Kenai Skinner SOLD This is a Unused and Uncarried Kershaw Kenai Skinner (1011). Textured copolymer rubber grip handle over red hard plastic with Japan made full tang AUS6A stainless steel blade and leather sheath. Discontinued awhile back! Does not have the box. $55.00 shipped Kenai Skinner
I WILL SELL THE 3 KERSHAW FIXED BLADE KNIFES AS A BUNDLE FOR $150.00 SHIPPED

This week I wrote an autobiographical account of my history with sleep paralysis, RLS, and hypnagogic hallucinations.
I was not sure where to share it. I added it and deleted it from a few subs. The only place it ended up was the creative writing sub, though.
And this appears to be the right spot! There are several themes but the hypnagogia is the focus. So it's quite long and probably no one reads it and that's fine. I just wanted to find somewhere to put it in case my experience could benefit someone.
⚠️ ⚠️ WARNING first part is scary and a bit gory... ⚠️ ⚠️

Childhood

The first time that I encountered sleep paralysis was when I was nine or ten. I woke up screaming, my mind gripped with the sensation of searing pain radiating from my left big toe. Though my mouth wasn't moving, I could hear my own blood-curdling cries, echoing through the darkness. An eerie orange glow spilled into the room, illuminating a sinister cauldron at the base of my bed, around which stood three squat witches. Their dark, smoky faces shifted and morphed constantly, eyes glowing red like embers recessed deeply into the shadows of their crawling flesh, jagged teeth gnashing along with their discordant laughter as roaches crawled from their mouths and disappeared into their black straw hair.
Each witch held their own dainty knife and fork, shaking along with their trembling bony hands, and one was slicing expertly down the center of my big toe with the impossibly sharp blade of their knife. I struggled to move my arms and legs, feeling as though I had freedom of movement, but my physical body remained paralyzed. Unfathomable terror washed over me as I realized that I couldn't scream for help; my mom wouldn't hear me, and I was powerless to stop these witches from feasting on my toes.
I lay there, unable to break free from the oppressive paralysis, forced to endure the excruciating pain as my toes were sliced off and consumed. The air buzzed with the witches' terrifying, joyous laughter, as if they delighted in my agony more than the taste of my flesh. Eventually, my body in a full state of terror jarred itself awake, heart beating more wildly than I had ever experienced, my lungs struggling to gasp more than the tiniest breath. After perhaps a full minute of gathering myself, I drew a deep breath and screamed into the night.
My mother came, of course, but was unable to understand the depth and terror of my experience. Her own reality did not include anything close; for her, it was an exaggeration born of childhood fear, and she became exasperated after a time with my refusal to admit that it was a dream, despite being an extremely caring parent.
The witches appeared to me several times between the ages of 10 and 15, their ghastly faces returning to torment me with each episode of sleep paralysis. Every time, I would be trapped in that terrifying limbo, my body frozen while my mind drowned itself in screams of agony and horror. I knew that they would feast on my toes, the slicing of their knives relentless, inexorable. They would smack their lips and toast each other with my blood-covered flesh as I watched.
During those years, restless legs syndrome (RLS) also began to plague my nights. As soon as I began to drift off to sleep, a discomfort would arise in my legs, like there was a swarm of fat round beetles exploring, searching for an exit. A quick kick would settle it down, but it would rise again in a cycle of building tension, acutely uncomfortable climax, and brief relief of a second or two would follow before it began again. My mother, again meaning well but busy and unfamiliar with RLS, told me it was leg cramps and made me eat more banannas. This didn't help.
It became an increasing problem, stealing precious sleep that my young body needed to thrive. The frustration of RLS merged with the terror of a potential visit from the witches. Without medication, I would lose entire nights to the relentless discomfort.
By the age of 15, the sleep paralysis episodes had occurred at least 10 times, each leaving me with the gut-wrenching memory of being eaten alive that I would carry all the next day in my gut like a sack of bricks. As I lay sleeping, every single night, I wondered if they would visit, and braced myself for an encounter.

Early adulthood:

I can't remember how many times the witches visited before I finally stopped panicking. It was after countless God awful nights when I finally accepted that no matter how terrifying or painful the ordeal felt, I would be whole once it was over. I had survived the agony a hundred times before and could endure it again. One night, when the eerie glow of the cauldron illuminated their shifting faces, I felt a calm settle over me. I saw the witches, but for the first time, I wasn't afraid.
They noticed my defiance, their laughter fading into an uneasy silence. Without fanfare, they stood up, collected their cauldron, and retreated into the darkness of my room. Though I still saw them occasionally at the foot of my bed, they became more present than threatening. Sometimes, at the start of an episode, they'd appear briefly before disappearing altogether. They had become inconsequential, and I couldn't even be sure if they were there half the time.
In my early 20s, I discovered that I could almost guarantee a bout of sleep paralysis simply by sleeping during the day. At first, nothing particularly unusual happened, but the paralysis always returned whenever I dozed off, particularly between the hours of 11am and 2pm. I was often sleeping during the day because by then, the restless legs syndrome (RLS) had grown so severe that many nights passed without sleep at all. My body felt like it was full of angry snakes now instead of beetles, desperate to escape. The sensation soon crept upward from my legs to my arms. The cycles of build up, climax, and agonizly brief relief increased in frequency and magnitude. I would often resort to sitting in the shower, flipping the water from icy cold to scalding hot all night, simply to keep myself alert enough to avoid the twitching and spasming until the blessed relief of dawn arrived.
With the daytime paralysis came a variety of hallucinations. Sometimes the witches stood at the foot of my bed, other times they'd disappear, leaving behind benign apparitions like tickling gnomes. There was nothing threatening about these visions, and I began to find a strange sense of comfort in them. I would relax into a dark place where I felt my own energy burning like a sun, present but without physical form. In this state, I felt euphoric, fully aware yet separate from myself. I started taking naps during the day and eagerly anticipated this odd experience.
Yet at night, my sleep remained troubled as RLS tormented me. Eventually, I began taking ropinirole to manage the symptoms, and it brought much-needed relief, helping me reclaim my nights and giving me several years of mostly not worrying about RLS unless I forgot to take my medicine, or the odd night where it bothered me but was still less severe.

New experiences:

I spent several years relishing those euphoric moments of peace, where I could feel the pure energy of being alive without a personal history or identity. In those moments, everything else faded away, and all that remained was a brilliant, infinite energy. My waking life was absorbed by study of comtemporary and historical teachings of non-duality, and with my family and progressing my career as a software developer. I was absorbing Eckhart Tolle and Gautama, Meister Eckhart and Seuhn Sang and integrating their teachings into my daily life. The feeling inside of me that reality ultimately made no sense had found an expression, and I dug in every waking moment for a clue as to the true nature of experience. Given this context, I especially looked forward to and found solace in the experience of being impersonal, boundless energy.
In my late 20s, I also experienced a new type of sleep paralysis hallucination. One day it began that there were no visions or hallucinations; instead, I simply lay in a state of paralysis, aware of the room as a darkened and monochrome version of itself. I entertained myself by trying to move my arms and legs against the paralysis, and developed the idea that I had two bodies; my physical body lay on the bed, while my energetic body struggled and flailed. It was like my energy body could move separately, creating a phantom limb sensation. I felt my energy arms and legs extend out, yet my physical body lay still. As my energy body reached further from my physical self, it would snap back as if held by a rubber band.
Intrigued, I began experimenting with this phenomenon, managing to build enough momentum to "pop" out of my body one afternoon. Suddenly, I found myself looking down at my own sleeping form, resting on my back and breathing gently beside my wife, who was playing a game (probably Candy Crush) on her phone in the bed. It was surreal, and I wasn't sure whether I was hallucinating or truly perceiving my own body from a different perspective. Regardless, it was a revelation, and I felt a new sense of exploration as I gazed down at myself.
That first time, I found myself drifting through the house, checking on my two young stepdaughters as they slept. I had recently married, and it was a quiet weekend afternoon with everyone napping peacefully. Once satisfied, I ventured outside, where I took to the sky and flew around the neighborhood, spying on my neighbors. Though it felt like I was limited in speed, I seemingly had no constraints on the continuity of this hallucination. Everything appeared as a perfect physical representation of Earth, and I could travel without interruption.
The landscape was strikingly accurate, but it appeared in monochrome hues — grays, blacks, and whites — with no bright colors. Letters and numbers were unreadable, reduced to blurred nonsense. Despite these distortions, the sensation of soaring above the rolling hills and rooftops was pure euphoria. I sped along at hundreds of miles per hour, basking in the freedom of movement, and immersed in the stunning view that stretched out below me. There did seem to be some sort of very generous limit to how far I could travel, but I thoroughly explored within the boundaries for hundreds of miles around my home.
Over the years into my early 30s, I tried to pursue this opportunity of flight and exploration every chance I could. But during that time, my restless legs syndrome also became more relentless. In the past, no matter how agonizing the night had been, dawn would bring relief like a cold bath washing over me. I would sit outside and watch the sunrise, and the sensation of snakes slithering through my body would finally calm down, perhaps due to circadian rhythms and dopamine regulation. The cycles now began to climax in totally involuntary movement, spasms that caused me to tense my whole body and draw in a sharp breath every time. It would be 5 seconds of rapid buildup, spasm, a second or two of relief, repeat.
Eventually, even the dawn failed to provide respite, and I struggled during night or day whenever I relaxed too long or became even a bit drowsy. Napping became impossible, depriving me of the euphoric dreams I had learned to look forward to. I switched from ropinirole to pramipexole, hoping for relief. The medication helped me sleep five or six hours a night on good nights, but I still missed one or two nights of sleep entirely each week and rarely could nap during the day, because I took the medicine only a couple hours before bed.
Even though my restless legs syndrome worsened, one out of every ten times, I'd still manage to avoid twitching and drift into that state of peaceful paralysis during the day when I dozed off involuntarily. I gradually lost interest in pursuing out-of-body travel and instead sought every time the burning energy of the sun inside of me — the sensation of being infinitely powerful and formless simultaneously. I would retreat into this boundless feeling whenever I had the opportunity.
During these rare occasions when I could sleep during the day, I stumbled across a third type of experience. It felt like I was being sucked into space at impossible speeds, zooming past the planets of our solar system and beyond until I reached a darker patch of space. This spot seemed like a vast, corrugated sewer pipe that swallowed me whole. I rocketed through the universe, traveling at what could only be the speed of light. Eventually, I would break into the atmosphere of some unknown world, drifting down to its surface sometimes, others crashing painfully into terrain. Sometimes, I would hear a loud sound like an explosion in mid travel, and suddenly aterialize on another distant world without any sort of entrace.
These journeys were exhilarating, and each new landscape presented a mystery, revealing worlds unlike anything I'd ever seen.

The Traveling Years:

One of the first journeys I had involved zipping through space before drifting down through a hole in the top of a greenhouse. The world was painted in shades of orange and brown, its dirt swirling in powerful winds like clay cyclones. The greenhouse itself was dirty and grimy, almost opaque with crusted dirt, and filled with dense green plants — ivy and other dark green foliage that covered every inch inside. Outside, the orange sky churned with the swirling clay, making visibility nearly impossible.
I made my way down a ladder and emerged outside, where I found a man and a boy standing beside a white pinto horse. They both wore hardened leather over rough potato sack-like clothing, their long hair dotted with bone jewelry, their noses and eyebrows profusely pierced with other fragments of bone adorned with feathers. The man seemed to be instructing the boy on something to do with the horse. I approached them cautiously, fully aware of my lucid dreaming state and retaining all my memories, reasoning, and thoughts. Everything about the scene was vivid, from the clay dust swirling around to the squinting struggle to see in the wind.
Unlike the man and the boy, I had no long hair, no mouth covering, and no leather visor shielding my face from the swirling clay-dust. As I tried to speak, it seemed like they couldn’t hear me, and I wondered if I might be invisible to them. Unconcerned, I reached out to pat the horse on its nose, but before I could make contact, the man swiftly drew a long knife from his belt and stabbed me. He struck again, and the intense pain and feeling of my own scalding hot blood streaming down my pants legs snapped me awake.
Not long after my experience in the greenhouse, I found myself learning more about the worlds I could explore, though the opportunities remained rare. One day, I was transported to a beautiful blue tropical world, crashing into the dunes of a pristine white beach. There, I encountered three women, each towering over me at seven or eight feet tall. Their long black hair framed their pale faces, with blood-red lips striking against their alabaster skin. But what stood out most were their fingernails — long and crimson, curling back upon themselves dozens of times like spiraling ribbons. They were two or three feet in length and added a surreal menace to their presence.
They asked me my name and the name of my father, along with other odd questions, and seemed absolutely intriqued with me. There was a certain sort of heavy molasses quality to their voices that was more than sound and impossible to describe. It had the effect of making me feel drowsy and stupid and slow to move.
As I stood there, they began touching me with their nails, tracing them across my body in elaborate, almost ritualistic patterns. I felt my energy drain with every stroke, a profound exhaustion seeping into my core. The sensation was so intense that I woke up feeling completely drained, my limbs heavy and my spirit sapped.
Another time, I appeared without explanation after my space travel in a cavern brimming with glowing fungi and luminescent crystals. I wasn't myself in this world but instead had taken the place of someone else. My father stood beside me, guiding me through the luminous landscape. He taught me how to identify the bizarre and fascinating flora surrounding us — lessons that etched themselves into my mind and last to this day despite the surreal, made-up nature of this world. The glowing crystals and fungi cast eerie shadows across the cavern walls as my father explained the properties and uses of each.
In real life, these experiences would last for about five to eight minutes, but in the dream realm, the passage of time was different. What seemed like mere minutes could stretch into hours or even days, and in rare cases, the dreams spanned much longer.

RLS becomes terrible:

I had a new busy career, an infant daughter, two active growing stepdaughters, and a wife with a hectic job, and I struggled hard through the years between 35 and 39. Each night was pure torture, as restless leg syndrome robbed me of sleep. Days of sleep deprivation left me barely functioning, often teetering on the edge of collapse while the disease gnawed away. The unrelenting discomfort made it impossible to fall asleep, even as my body craved rest. I had no choice but to continue, as I had yet to find a doctor that knew how to move past the ropinirole and pramipexole stage of treatment, and these medicines had almost entirely ceased to be effective for me. My love for my family drove me to conceal the intense effort that day to day living had become. I managed to keep up with my career by farming a prescription for Adderall. I don't have ADHD, so it had the effect on me of methamphetamine and allowed me to push through the God awful existence that life had become.
The toll became overwhelming. I couldn't escape the agony, even after days of desperate attempts to sleep. More than once, I ended up in the emergency room after going four or five nights without sleep. For some people, this will seem like an exaggeration; I assure you, it is not. I would be nonsensical, having conversations with people tha weren't in the room, drifting in and out of intense 1 second dreams before snapping awake with painful spasms. At the hospital, they would give me percocet, and the painkillers provided brief reprieve from RLS for some reason, allowing me one solid night’s sleep, but the relentless cycle quickly resumed, leaving me struggling once again.
Eventually, I found a neurologist who prescribed Neupro patches that provided temporary relief. For a few months, I managed to sleep more consistently, but the patches quickly lost their effectiveness. It wasn't until I added methadone to the treatment that I finally found more lasting relief.
During those difficult years, I immersed myself in non-dual philosophy. In that crucible of suffering, my conviction solidified: my true nature was more aligned with the energy hallucinations I experienced than with a body made of skin, bone, and brain. That transcendent energy, more real and enduring than the physical form I occupied, became my identity in daily life, watching peacefully as my body and brain navigated the situational complexity of life.
Approaching my 40th birthday, I found that I could sleep at night and dream during the day. My life was in good shape, I lost 60 pounds without effort, and I felt fundamentally and imperturbably peaceful. Suddenly, life was in the palm of my hands, every moment pristine and still and perfect. I felt weightless without the burden of needing to endure trauma every night.
Most importantly to this story, I worked from home and could nap on my lunch breaks.

Rapid learning through iteration:

Rarely, I would fail to nap at all due to RLS. Sometimes I would simply doze off and wake up 10 minutes later to my cell phone alarm. But three out of five times, I would travel.
I visited dozens of worlds in a matter of a few short months and quickly was able to confirm some rules that I had suspected were true from my previous adventures.
One rule is that no one I know in real life ever shows up in the travelling dreams. No matter the place or circumstance or strange beings that I encountered, there was never a familiar face.
Another rule was that no dream person ever had a name or a father. The absence of both seemed to be an unspoken universal truth among these dream world inhabitants. Once I had internalized the significance of this, I began introducing myself to most beings that I encountered as "John, son of Michael." It left a strong impression. My name and lineage seemed to set me apart, bestowing an almost mythical quality upon me that earned me a peculiar reverence among all that I met. This knowledge became the key to navigating the dream worlds with confidence and a consistent purpose of discovery.
I learned accidentally of a unique ability during my travels: a form of telekenesis that allowed me to project force from the palms of my hands. This development led to many episodes of paralysis spent ignoring exploration and instead hilariously and painfully attempting to master this ability for the purpose of travel. Over time, I refined my skill, learning to fly much like Iron Man, but solely through the focused propulsion from my hands. Without stabilization from my feet, I had to carefully control the angle of projection and the amount of force applied to control my trajectory and speed.
Mastering this ability took significant practice, but eventually, I could navigate obstacles with ease and travel great distances in short amounts of time. I also no longer crash landed, thankfully. Importantly, I could harness this power to overcome any threatening beings that I encountered. Previously, my best option was to hide or flee, and that did not always work out. Now I had this amazing sense of fearlessness and confidence that simply cannot be rivaled by real world experience. Every time I heard the buzzing sounds and felt the WUM WUM WUM of energy as I prepared to launch into space, I embraced the journey with eager anticipation, confident in my ability to protect myself and learn about whatever strange world awaited me.

To Present Day:

As I grew more confident in my ability to travel almost at will, I began to incorporate spirituality into my experimentation. One day, on a whim, I expressed to the universe that if there were a being that had my best interests at heart and loved me fully, then I gave them permission to guide my dreams and lead me to greater truths, even if they were uncomfortable. This openness led to a new experience immediately, and I began to preface many of my journeys with a similar, simple prayer.
That first time, I fell down instead of up -- into myself, into the infinite dimensionless darkness where I could spin and burn and bathe in the euphoric sense of my own eternal nature. But my peace was quickly interrupted by an intense feeling of pressure at the base of my spine, though I couldn't have pinpointed where the body was that the spine inhabited. Very, very slowly, with a CRUNCHA CRUNCHA CRUNCHA noise for every milimeter of ground gained, it crawled upwards towards my head.
As it climbed, the energy below it intensified, growing exponenentially as the surface area covered grew. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it was terrifyingly intense. That first time, I managed to stay calm long enough for it to reach my shoulder blades before it became unbearably frightening and I jerked myself out of it, sure that I would die if I allowed it to continue upward. Over the last few months I have vowed to myself that I would endure any level of discomfort to see what happens at the end, but I keep chickening out. I have let it go as far as the base of my skull, at which time my head started vibrating so much that I could feel my teeth chattering violently even in my paralysis.
Another time recently when I made this prayer, I went to space as usual, but when I entered the atmosphere of a lush Earth-like world, my telekenesis failed me for the first time ever. Instead, I was pulled like in a slow tractor beam down beneath the perfectly round canopy of a giant, unfamiliar kind of tree. I felt a great sense of calm and peace and simply meditated there for quite some time, maybe 9 or 10 hours of relative time, before I heard a voice from behind the tree.
The man who stepped out from there had his face hidden in shadows. He wore a long dusty leather coat and a huge cowboy hat that shrouded him. As I write this, I find that I am not yet prepared to write about what he said to me, or how I responded. But when we had spoken, he walked solemnly over to me and lay his hand upon my head, and I jerked awake in a state of perfect bliss, despite some conflicting emotions surrounding our conversation. I call him Cowboy Hat Man, and maybe I will write more about him later.
A third time with the prayer, right before I sped off to my normal adventures, I felt a cat jump onto my bed and snuggle against my left leg, purring. It curled up there, and I assumed that it was my actual cat in real life, although it would be very uncharacteristic for him. I actually thought to myself, "Wow, I guess Buddy Socks is my spirit guide today." However, when I awoke, I realized that my door was shut and the cat was not in the room. On that trip, I went to a world that was reminiscent in quality perhaps to 15th century Europe, except on a world where the surface was far more underneath water than on Earth.
I followed the invisible cat to an old man and asked him, "Do you know the truth?" He answered, "No." I followed the invisble cat to young boy and asked him, "Do you know the truth?" He also answered, "No." It was an odd one, really.
Every time I do this, I am setting an alarm for ten minutes. Sometimes the dreams last days in relative time, but I have never yet failed to wake up before that alarm goes off.

Present Day (like seriously earlier this week is what me want to write this):

I lay down eagerly for my lunch break nap, hoping to avoid the disappointment of an off-day. I flew into the atmosphere of a world that seemed to made of rock, with nothing growing on the surface. However, I caught glimpse on the surface of a bright spot, and when I descended, I found that somehow there was a relatively thin crust of sorts around a hollow inside-world.
I lowered myself slowly through a great opening in that crust, down into a lush jungle. It was beautiful but uncomfortably humid, and I quickly found a cool and dry cavern complex to explore rather than dealing with sweat and unfamiliar insects.
As I navigated through the cavern system, able to see somehow with dim light despite no obvious light source at times, I broke out into a very large open cave with a huge exit out into the jungle. I saw that it was dawn and realized that I had spent the night, however long it was on this world, in the caves.
Suddenly, my four year old daughter, Curly, with her naturally bleach-highlighted rings of long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, drifted slowly over my left shoulder and out towards the exit. She moved at a brisk adult walking pace, her back to the cave opening, her expression curious yet slightly concerned. She called out, "Dada?" in a tone that suggested wonder and slight confusion, but no real alarm in the presence of her father.
Reacting instantly, feeling my gut clench solid into a fist of rock, I used my telekinesis to close the gap between us and gathered her into my arms. She wrapped her legs around my waist and settled her butt onto my forearm, a ritual that we have practiced every day of her life. The force gripping her evaporated instantly, and suddenly, my darling girl was there in my arms, as real as any physical embrace. I could feel the tickle of her hair on my neck, the beautiful warmth of her skin, and was enveloped in her familiar scent.
Initially, I was filled with white hot rage, fueled by my instinctive reaction to the thought that some idiotic dream world inhabitant had decided to mess with my family and harm or kidnap her. But as I held her and she nuzzled her nose into my neck, the anger gave way to sheer amazement. For the first time in a decade of navigating these dreamscapes, someone that I knew from my waking life had entered the dream. This was a rule-defying moment that really rocked me, a serious breach of the established norms of these experiences.
A group of maybe 8 or 10 small winged goblins flew down from out of sight above the top lip of the exit and fluttered into the room, laughing in a very non-threatening way. They radiated a sense of innocent mischief, and my fear and anger subsided and gave way to annoyance. I whipped my right hand out and blasted a huge hole in the cavern wall to my right, startling Curly into a yelp. Unphased, I raised my voice and demanded, "Who is your King? I am John, son of Michael, and this is my daughter and she WILL NOT BE TOUCHED AGAIN."
The goblins scattered, their merriment giving way to concern that I might blast them into dust. Behind me, a deep chuckle seemed to rise from the ground itself. A voice echoed in the cavern, neither kind or cruel, full of what felt like wisdom, though that doesn't make sense in the waking world.
It spoke: "I am Eloxman, and I am their King." At hearing him announce his name, my head whipped around in the dream and in real life so hard that I woke immediately with a sprained neck that is still bothering me. I looked at my phone and saw that there were two minutes and fourteen seconds remaining in my ten minute window. I lay on the couch in shocked disbelief: Curly was in my dream, and someone had a name. As I replayed it over and over in my head, I realized that Eloxman was still speaking. I think he may have been preparing to provide the name of his father.

The End:

Sorry, that's actually it. I am going to just see if this continues somehow, but if it does not, then I might get creative with it and make up my own ending. I hope that you enjoyed this if you read this far!

I know about the timing belt. It has 77k miles, some bodywork flaws and needs new seat covers but that's cosmetic. Engine runs well as far as I can tell.
I smelt fuel in the cabin recently, only when starting cold but I've just changed the fuel cap. The rubber was cracked so hopefully that will take care of that.

Hey everyone my wife has a maker that was under warranty and has since been replaced but in order for that she had to cut the belt so on..
I'm quite handy and have a knack for working stuff out, if I'm to replace the belt and roller rubber that initially caused the problem would the machine work or would the serial number have been flagged from use on the cricut program?
Just wanting to find out before I spend a couple hours tearing it down and spending a cpuple bucks to fix it.
Thanks!!