Right when I thought I had everything sorted, like organizing a perfectly straight line of rubber ducks, life decided to pitch me a fast one—a positive COVID test. Embracing my inner champion, I dove headfirst into a marathon of doing sweet nothing, showcasing my dedication to anti-productivity. Zooming to the present, and I’ve turned into a walking billboard for the term “physical discomfort”: my head’s about to give any decent-sized basketball a run for its money in terms of size, my back’s throwing a major tantrum, and my lungs seem to have unofficially clocked out for a bit. Meanwhile, my to-do list has pulled a sneaky on me, morphing into what seems like Mount Everest’s long-lost twin, staring me down with tasks so intimidating, they’d exhaust my soul just by looking at them.

The saga kicked off back in 2002 (https://williammartin.com/2002/04/04/north-haven-bike/). There I was, just your average Joe trying to navigate through another whirlwind day at the office. Little did I know, the cosmos had a different storyline in mind, one that would thrust me into a whirlwind of escapades.

A few years later in 2008 (https://williammartin.com/2008/04/04/tnr-3-short-ride/), I found myself in chilly Missoula, Montana gearing up for some bike races despite the snow advisories. The thrill of those Thursday Night Rides was just the start of my appetite for outdoor pursuits.

The wanderlust continued to grow, like when 2011 (https://williammartin.com/2011/04/04/speedwagon-classic-2/) rolled around, and I was pedaling hard, running out of fuel, but loving every moment battling the windstorms on University Mountain.

With each passing year, the adventures got bigger and more daring. In 2012 (https://williammartin.com/2012/04/04/the-future-is-adventure/), I was trekking across snowfields, tempted by the glimpses of the wilderness that lay ahead, learning when to push forward and when to turn back.

There were classic memories too, like my 47th Birthday Party (https://williammartin.com/2013/04/04/party/) when friends surprised me after a long bike ride. Or that time in 2014 (https://williammartin.com/2014/04/04/circus/) when I was navigating a career mistake while my home life took me on a journey across the valley.

Even when the world went haywire with COVID in 2020 (https://williammartin.com/2020/04/04/shelter-in-before-covid/), I embraced sheltering in place, venturing outside despite the cold Montana spring to see what I could discover.

And then finally, after all those years of adventures big and small, 2023 (https://williammartin.com/2023/04/04/the-resident/) arrived. The snow began to swirl again, and I knew I had to escape Montana’s chill to find a new place to call home, somewhere sun-kissed by sea salt and warmth.

As April 4th, 2024, dawned, it seemed I had ambitiously plotted a day to stretch the bounds of human endurance, brimming with hopeful workouts and cryptic tasks like “River Wash” and “Prepare for Death,” topped with the universally adored chore of tackling “Taxes.” Throw in a few meetings, eco-friendly nudges, and the whimsical notion of becoming a nighttime vigilante, and my schedule was a masterpiece of overcommitment. Amid this delightful chaos, a moment of clarity struck—perhaps it’s high time to take a deep breath (a Herculean task in itself these days) and lighten the load just a smidge. Fingers crossed for a tomorrow that allows me to scratch off at least a couple of items from that ever-growing list, embracing the journey with a dash of humor and a pinch of hope for a less crammed yet equally adventurous tomorrow.