The Story of Achilles: Get out, get down

I’m losing count of time again. Daybreak. Sunset. Moonlight. Repeat. I have tangible physical progress with my Achilles tendon, but with only abstract relation to previous benchmarks. February 2nd between five and six in the evening is the start, and since then every moment has been registered in history by the moments prior to it rather than by date. Days, weeks and months have lost their respective order. It is disconcerting only to the end that my goals are becoming abstract concepts of the future instead of a linear path of achievement.

I started riding again [recently].

I finally visited the origin of this particular journey [recently].

It’s Holy Week leading up to the most important event in my faith.