the hows and whys of reverse cliff-diving

Chess is the opposite of clamor

He is an older, though no less optimistic Son of Thomas Magnum making his return today, complete with an additional half-inch of forehead, fifteen extra pounds and, most alarmingly, white hair in the temple region, all mine to return, through months of unnecessary work, back up the steep slope of potential energy.

That is the thing about cliffs, an old diver on Lanai once told me: no matter how terrifying, they tend to charm by exhilaration. The slow and deliberate slog back is where the real daredevilry comes in, flapping its cape at the neighbors and looking damned inappropriate. A dermatologist friend of the family informs me the rapid hair loss is likely stress induced, and will return. Though the resilient refugees are bound to emigrate soon after, I will not wince, being an old-fashioned sort of guy. Jason Statham, meet Jason Statham.

The weight, certainly, is mine to deal with, and six-day-a-week workouts will make short enough work of it. The bastard. If the worst of my own end is to come out looking like a melon-headed underwear model, I can hardly complain. Humility, etc.

Much thanks to Antonio for assisting me in learning a new game. All the loud noises this ugly, classless, disgusting city can throw are absorbed by three glasses of iced yerba mate and four hours of chess, I promise you.