1. I was all set and ready to write a snide article about Canada and its struggle to decriminalize the possessing of 10 grams or fewer of marajuana, except that I kept laughing to myself about all the different ways that I could talk about it, and then I completely lost my shit when I had to drive for about 3 kilometers behind a guy who figured the new law meant he could openly smoke his joints while he was cruising through residential subdivisions.

The only thing more amusing was that he seemed to be waffling between making his proud statement about smoking doobs behind the wheel, and reflexively hiding it whenever he thought anyone might be looking. One minute, taking a long drag at a stop sign; the next, hiding it in his palm and looking nervously out his side window, in case anyone noticed. I started imagining an entire population of pot smokers hesitantly testing the boundaries of just what “legal possession” might actually be, and it gave me the giggles for the next fifteen minutes.

What a nerd I am, to be sitting in my car at an intersection, laughing myself sick at my national politics. I may still write something, but a guy self-consciously-defiantly smoking a joint at a four-way stop somehow says it all.

2. The annual Scott and Mike Campaign for Physical Fitness began and faltered already this week, despite the relatively friendly weather conditions. Our plan was to start getting up early in the morning, when we wouldn’t have any other social activities or excuses booked, and resume the brutal physical fitness regimen that we had initiated well over a year ago.

There was a time that I could get up out of bed at ten minutes to six, every other morning, and brave sub-zero Canadian weather to run five or so kilometers in roughly thirty minutes. I had special running gear, I went out and bought these awesome shoes that didn’t make my feet bleed, and I even bought an MP3 player for those times when Scott couldn’t make it out with me.

Everything was great — I actually found my physical condition improving remarkably, even if I also found myself actually gaining a considerable amount of weight. I could climb stairs without collapsing into sobs after two stories. I could breathe through not one, but both of my nostrils at the same time, a fabulous luxury that I hadn’t known since I was around twelve years old. Best of all, I could tell people how great I was because I ran five kilometers on a regular basis, unlike any of them.

In fact, I got so good at running five kilometers that I stopped doing it. Because, you know, it gets hot during the summer, and you can’t expect me to just get up early every other day, nor can you hold me to running the same stupid boring course when I do make it out the door. So very quickly it became five kilometers every couple of days, then every week, and then bi-monthly.

Now that I’ve worked myself down to semi-annually, and up to a weight that I think is proving to be far too stable for my liking, it was time to fire things up again. Tuesday morning we met as the sun rose, to make a lazy run around the local high school track and just spin up our motors for the far more ambitious runs to come.

Wednesday morning, I woke up at 6 AM with a crushing migraine. I rolled over in my sleep and realized, much to my horror, that I could be sleeping an extra hour and a half instead of outside running in the streets. It was so much to contemplate that as I sat there staring at my clock, I passed out on my pillows.

This morning I just slept clean through my alarm, again beset by head pain that I only wish I understood, and spent the entire trip to work considering exactly what excuses I could offer Scott for my failures. It’s one thing to just skip exercising on your own, but half the reason for the buddy system is to keep from disappointing your buddy — it’s all the miraculous powers of peer pressure, applied to the wonders of physical fitness. If you’re going to bail on your fitness buddy, then you either have to be desperately ill or incredibly apologetic.

I was still deciding which of those two tracks to take when I opened my e-mail, and saw a note sitting there from Scott, entitled Re: PT.

Hey there,

I discovered that, after getting home at around 1 AM, it’s surprisingly easy to find yourself hammering on your snooze button over and over again the next morning, only to realize later how far past 6 you’ve actually slept.

Sorry about that. I’ll try to do better this morning.

– Scott

Oh, sweet reprieve. This will make it all the easier when I bail on Friday’s run.

3. Finally, holy crap. Three Way Action is going out of business, if you can call it that. Way back when I wrote about the curse of popularity, I never really imagined it applying to a place like Three Way Action, which seemed to have a limitless supply of enthusiasm and community support behind it. I suppose that there is a point past which a site begins to buckle under its own weight, and it’s both interesting and sad to see that it’s happened to such a good-natured group of people.

Having absolutely no idea how they did it, I can only congratulate Sara and Stee on a job well done — I have never heard an ill word spoken about the site they built and the community they nutured, and if the anguish and heartbreak of their Three Way Orphans is any measure, I’m certain that all of their hard work won’t soon be forgotten.