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The story starts with a mistake: a spur-of-the-moment zin and a stubborn first cigar that ends in a parking lot spiral. From there, the road opens wide. I head for Zion expecting Angel’s Landing and find something better—quiet miles beyond the crowds, a reminder that the best parts of a park often live past the famous lookout. In Moab, I trudge a sun-baked gravel road that turns into a rocky off-road climb where jeeps crawl and hikers fly, then step onto a cliff-edge viewpoint that makes fear and awe feel like the same breath.

Pike’s Peak brings a different kind of intensity. The summit is busy with cars and a train, but the descent is where things get real—dark clouds, fast choices, and that electric sense that mountains make their own rules. On the way out, curiosity shifts shape. I “rescue” tiny conifers, water them with cucumber-lime Gatorade, and start thinking about roots, survival, and the strange urge to nurture. Omaha is a softer gear: a date shake that finally lives up to the legend and a zoo day with baby elephants and giraffes that kick up my old fascination with animals and ethics.

Then the crash: a hotel parking lot cigar has me dry-heaving, the next morning’s drive turns dangerous, and a test back home names it—COVID. Two locked-down weeks turn into a blueprint. I dive into hardy-tree research, map out sun and shade, fence everything against deer, and start planting. Ginkgos for autumn gold, Dawn Redwoods that rocket skyward, cold-tolerant maple hybrids that bring color to a Midwest winter. Year by year, the yard fills in. What began as a chaotic road trip and a string of bad nicotine choices becomes a practice of growth you can see and touch.

If you like road stories, national parks, hard-won trail wisdom, and the slow satisfaction of building a living space you love, you’ll feel at home here. Listen now, share it with a friend who needs a nudge to take their next trip or plant their first tree, and tell us: which place—or project—changed you the most? Subscribe, leave a review, and join us for the next adventure.

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What if the problem isn’t a lack of passion, but too many? We dive into the exhilarating and exhausting place between choices: the pull of stand-up comedy after a Kill Tony binge, the logic of academics and medicine, and the practical joy of building a podcast from a bedroom tripod while plotting mountain-top recordings. It’s a tour of ambition in all directions, grounded by one rule that actually works: show up, get reps, and let the feedback shape the path.

I talk through what it really means to start comedy—open mics, writing tight minutes, accepting that bombing is information, and iterating toward a voice. Then I zoom out to the career map: the appeal of research without the funding grind, the stability of medicine balanced against time costs, and the question of whether a “dream job” loses its magic when it becomes the rent payer. Sports dreams and risk also show up as a mirror, from hockey nostalgia and CTE worries to the curiosity of ultramarathons—how far can you push without breaking what you need for the rest of your life?

There’s a practical creator thread throughout: upgrading audio, testing formats, inviting listeners to pitch topics, and maybe hauling the show outdoors for a visual edge. Language learning and travel add another kind of growth—Arabic, Spanish, and the joy of turning strange scripts into familiar signs—which doubles as a lesson for any pivot. If you’ve ever felt pulled in five directions, this is your sign to pick one small action, stack it daily, and let evidence—not anxiety—decide what’s next.

If this resonates, follow the show, share it with a friend who’s stuck at a crossroads, and leave a review with one topic you want me to tackle next.

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Darkness creeps earlier, the air turns sharp, and a craving for heat sets the tone—hot showers, outdoor tubs, and then, somehow, cold-water scuba certification in the Pacific Northwest. I walk through the comedy and pain of learning to dive where the ocean bites back: hands going numb in a dry suit, clumsy gear swaps on frozen beaches, and a one-gallon thermos of near-boiling water that becomes the only way to unlock my fingers between dives. Beneath the discomfort, the fundamentals click—buoyancy control, equalizing, breathing economy, safety stops, and the hidden math of pressure and nitrogen loads.

The reward shows up in small miracles and big moments. In murky water, a guide rattles a noisemaker and points out a tiny stubby squid; later, warm-water trips to Niʻihau flip the mood entirely with monk seals growling like nether mobs, rays ghosting overhead, and sharks passing with indifferent grace. We get into how underwater sound scrambles direction, why swimmers eat like furnaces, and what it takes to stretch a tank from 40 minutes toward an hour. There’s ocean lore too: resident vs transient orcas and their strict cultures, great whites that lose only their livers, and the bone-deep thrum of humpback songs that can rattle your chest.

Above the surface, we riff on storms as sleep music, the weird comfort of sea legs on land, and a burst of gaming nostalgia—from early Fortnite chaos to COD zombies marathons and the hype for GTA VI. It’s all one thread: seeking heat in cold places, trading comfort for curiosity, and finding perspective between pressure and pause. If short days have you dragging, consider this your invitation to explore—hot tubs, dive shops, or whatever pushes you into a new layer of the map.

If this ride resonated, follow the show, share it with a friend who needs a spark, and drop a review with your top marine creature you’d love to see.

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The ankle rolled, something crunched, and a strong ten-miler turned into months of limping, boots, and hard lessons. We walk you through the moment the fifth metatarsal gave way, the swelling avalanche after the shoes came off, and the confusing reality of x-rays that look worse even as the pain fades. If you’ve ever told yourself “it doesn’t hurt that much,” this story is a mirror and a map.

We get honest about noncompliance and its cost: daily miles on a fragile foot, flip-flops on vacation, and the seductive lie that function equals healing. Along the way, there’s real progress—from a podiatrist’s blunt advice to a smarter boot choice—and real-world context on bone biology: resorption, soft callus, and the slow path to hard stability. The thread ties back to a history of near-miss marathons, early-morning heat runs, and an MRI that once revealed a femur stress fracture and possible labrum issues. The fix that worked? Glute strength. Simple, targeted lifts that stabilize the hips and calm the chain.

Fueling turns from afterthought to advantage. A late-race bonk meets a perfect gel, and performance flips. We share why steady carbs and electrolytes shrink the post-run crash, and how sleep underwrites every adaptation. Cross-training steps in—yes to bikes, maybe to treadmills depending on your brain—and walking proves its quiet value in preserving aerobic base. Through it all, the tone stays candid and a little chaotic: Olympic daydreams, Strava art, and the stubborn optimism runners know too well.

If you want fewer injuries and better comebacks, you’ll find practical takeaways here: respect pain that changes your stride, let imaging guide load, build the glutes year-round, fuel before you’re hungry, and sleep like healing is your job. Enjoy the ride, share it with a friend who needs a nudge, and hit follow so you never miss a new drop. Got your own comeback rule? Tell us—your best lesson might save someone’s season.

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What starts as a chaotic college memory and a Gossip Girl tangent turns into a full-on, five-year experiment in building a proper home for two Aldabra tortoises. We go deep into the real work behind giant-tortoise care: why humidity beats hype for preventing pyramiding, how exercise ramps change growth and mobility, and where substrate advice collides with reality when you’re ordering a thousand pounds of bark by freight. If you’ve ever wondered what it takes to evolve from a cute starter setup to a habitat that respects biology, this one maps the terrain.

We trace the build from a humble wood box to a basement greenhouse tent, then scale up to a 10x10 microclimate with plants, heat, and carefully managed humidity. Along the way, we talk materials that mold, plastics that hold, and the subtle ways design choices show up in shell health years later. The garage chapter brings insulation, stall mats, ramps with rungs for traction, and a candid look at cleaning what no one wants to talk about: drains, shop-vacs, and odor control for animals that drink and, well, output like champs. Diet gets the same treatment—orchard grass hay as a staple, grass-based pellets for balance, and why alfalfa and sugar-forward treats don’t fit a tortoise gut built for fiber.

Beyond the build, we zoom out to the ecology: tortoises as ecosystem engineers, seed spreaders, and unintentional accomplices in invasive fruit takeovers. We share what zoos get right, where myths persist, and why first-hand data from keepers can be a quiet antidote to confident, outdated advice. It’s hands-on, sometimes messy, and always honest—because long-lived animals deserve long-view thinking.

If you love smart husbandry, DIY habitat design, and stories that admit the struggle, hit follow, share this with a fellow reptile nerd, and leave a review with your biggest tortoise-care question. Your feedback shapes the next build—and the next episode.

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Your host is back for another freewheeling session, dusting off the "nihongo" and questioning his decision to retire the OG episode. This time, he jumps from spontaneous social encounters—like walking up to a stranger on the beach for the first time—to a deep dive into the surprisingly intense world of turtles. He recounts his successful 10-for-10 hatching of Red-Eared Slider eggs that he "hit a lick" on from a college pond, detailing the MacGyver home-craft incubator he built out of a cooler and an aquarium heater.

The episode then shifts to his experiences raising his formidable Alligator Snapping Turtle, Godzilla, including the challenges of keeping a reptile that doesn't like warm water (at first) and can eventually grow up to 200 pounds. Learn about the brutal "Turtle Dojo" that led to a last-man-standing situation and the spill containment tank solution for housing a massive freshwater predator. From funny observations about the origin of the phrase "shooting the shit" to the emotional toll of sad dog videos and his chaotic late-night dancing with his own dog, this episode is a journey across life, pets, and the high stakes of reptile husbandry.