I’d bet that if I imbibed alcohol, scotch would be my pick of poison.  Alas, I am not (yet) a gambler, or (yet) consumer of alcohol. But everyone has a vice (as they should), and polar bears and I happen to share the same beverage of choice: Coca-Cola.  It’s not something I keep on hand around the house, because I can’t.  Not for lack of trying.  If there is coke to be found in the house, I will consume it. This makes keeping it around the house an impossible task (even for someone whose restraint is as finely-tuned as my own).

Recently however another fluid has been filling the hole in my heart, and it was least expected (is this how it always works?).  Many years ago, when I was a younger and more active version of my current self, I used to try drinking Gatorade and Powerade but they would usually result in headaches.  Too sweet, too many electrolytes, who knows?  I swore them off for a decade.  Flash-forward to several months ago. I found myself half-way up a mountain and out of water, so I was left with no other option but to hydrate with the Gatorade that Aimee had brought with her.  This was my first mistake.  Like Jesus and his AA, Gatorade is designed to prey on the weak.  Not only is it intended to hydrate you when you are in dire straights, but it is designed to do it so well that it replaces your urge to drink the fundamental element of life: water.

Several months later, and I am sitting here with neon yellow fluid surging through my body.  In a glass, on the rocks, with a splash. I get lost somewhere between the Lemon and Lime. And it feels so good.