Hey, that's me! Do I look proud? Or do I look like a guy who's thinking, "My daughter goes to Colby, and all I got was this stinkin' sweatshirt?" I kid, I kid--and I could not be prouder. Jessie gave me the sweatshirt for X-Mas after I telegraphed my desire for it on our last visit. We always stop by the bookstore, where I stock up on clearance paperbacks. They have a lot of good stuff, and they're practically giving it away. Colby also has one of the most impressive college museums you could imagine, so check it out some time when you just happen to be cruising through Waterville.

Too bad we didn't bring the camera when we went on the walk from which we just returned. You could have seen a picture of me in my real crackpot attire: my 40 lb. weighted vest that makes me look like I'm on some sort of military operation. Fitting, I guess, since I'm reading Lone Survivor at the moment, a book about Navy Seals stationed in Afghanistan. The 4-mile slog through the snow with the weighted vest that just about got the best of me would be nothing to those guys. They run for miles with twice as much weight on their backs, then do enough push ups, etc. to make a grown man cry.

The author points out that during training it's the guys who are the most chiseled from the gym who drop out first. Sometimes, strange as it sounds, big muscles are just a drag on speed and endurance. Lance Armstrong once said in an interview that he didn't build a rock wall on his property when he was still riding because he was afraid he'd put on muscle he "couldn't afford to carry."

Lean and mean is the order of the day, I guess; but I'm going to finish out the weekend by laying on the couch watching football.