Day 6 The Breakfast of Champions

Shuffling to the refrigerator early Saturday morning I opened the door and started rooting around thinking maybe I’d have a bowl of Wheaties. Images of what Bruce Jenner meant to me in 1976 when he won the gold in the decathlon swam in my head. Bruce, my hero, taught me that if I ate Wheaties (along with juice, toast and milk) I could be going for the gold too. My personal decathlon for that day was probably going to be a six-pack of Yuengling Lager, a maduro cigar and three episodes of Restaurant Impossible. Needing fuel for the journey to the couch, my attention focused to the bright interior of the  fridge. No milk. Cold pizza. Leftover Thai.  Hung over and discouraged I almost closed the door to settle on a granola bar and some french pressed coffee. Then it caught my eye.