It’s My Life

Tag: skiing_legend

  • A Day in My Life | July 8, 2026

    Some days are packed with big accomplishments. Other days are stitched together with little victories, unexpected detours, and stories you couldn’t make up if you tried.

    I started the day by rescheduling an appointment online through a text message. Pretty cool, actually. They’ll be here Friday to replace the button that decided to call it quits last night.

    Even better, my left hamstring woke up feeling about 90%. After the last couple of weeks, that felt like a major milestone. I also got the backyard grass watered before the heat rolled in. The grass seed is looking pretty awesome after a good soaking yesterday and another drink today. It’s satisfying to see all that work starting to pay off.

    A V8 Energy helped keep the morning rolling, although by the time the can was nearly empty, I was feeling like I’d already put in a full day’s work… and it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m.

    I decided to sample a little of my Roxanne strain before settling in for a well-earned nap. Sometimes the best thing you can do for healing is simply get out of your own way and let your body recharge.

    The nap did its job.

    Of course, waking up somehow led to cleaning my one-hitter, because apparently that’s how my brain defines “taking it easy.” The moment I cracked it open, the old resin reminded me it had been waiting for some attention. During the cleaning, I managed to coat my left hand with a giant glob of sticky resin. It took a determined round of soap and scrubbing to win that battle, but eventually the tar surrendered.

    With clean hands, a clean one-hitter, and my dignity mostly intact, I wrapped up the afternoon watching Forged in Fire on the HISTORY Channel.

    Looking back, it was a good day. My hamstring is healing, the backyard is getting greener, the one-hitter is clean again, and I even squeezed in a restorative nap.

    Just another day in my life.

    BenJammin 🪨
    Rock Solid Since ’93

  • June 30, 2026: The Bud Run Debate

    Some days start with a plan. Other days start with an idea that keeps bouncing around your head until you either do it or talk yourself out of it.

    Today’s idea was a familiar one: a possible morning bud run to Green Cross in Cherry Creek.

    I’ve been making that trip for about seven years. That’s long enough to know the route, the rhythms of Denver traffic, and whether the drive is going to be worth it. Living in Castle Rock means it isn’t exactly around the corner, and most days the distance feels longer than the map suggests.

    Still, every now and then the stars line up.

    Under perfect driving conditions, I’ve made the trip door to door in about an hour. It doesn’t happen often, but when traffic cooperates, the Mini Cooper seems to know the way.

    Part of the attraction is the famous “$7 real meal deal.” Finding quality flower at a good price never gets old. A bargain always feels a little sweeter when it comes after years of knowing what works for you.

    The funniest part of the day had nothing to do with cannabis.

    My phone’s spellcheck decided to introduce someone named “Brian” into the conversation. There is no Brian. I have no idea who Brian is. Apparently, my keyboard thought he deserved a speaking role anyway. Technology keeps life interesting.

    Whether tomorrow becomes a dispensary day or not, today’s conversation reminded me that routines have value. Seven years of visiting the same place has taught me what I like, what I’m looking for, and when the drive simply isn’t worth making.

    Sometimes the journey matters.

    Sometimes the destination matters.

    And sometimes the biggest story of the day is wondering who invited Brian.
    :::writing

    If you’d like, I can also add your usual “Today’s Wins,” “Looking Ahead,” and “BenJammin’s Take” sections to keep it consistent with your other journal entries.

  • Shoelace Protest

    I tied my shoes this morning—
    double knot, like they taught me—
    tight, controlled,
    predictable.

    But halfway through the day
    they came undone anyway.

    Not dramatic.
    No speech.
    No sirens.
    Just a quiet unraveling
    against pavement.

    And I stood there—
    one lace dragging like a question—
    thinking how strange it is
    that the smallest failures
    trip us hardest.

    So I didn’t retie them.

    No kneel.
    No fix.
    No quiet compliance.

    I walked.

    Let them slap the concrete,
    whisper against the ground,
    announce each step
    like a soft rebellion.

    People noticed—
    or maybe they didn’t—
    but I felt it:

    Every loose thread
    a refusal.

    Every step
    a protest against the idea
    that everything
    must always be held together
    just because
    someone showed you how.

    By the time I got home,
    they were filthy, frayed,
    nearly undone completely.

    And I thought—
    good.

    Let them be.

    Not everything broken
    needs to be fixed.

    Some things
    just need to be seen.

  • ☢️ NEIGHBORHOOD EMERGENCY BROADCAST ☢️  

    ☢️ NEIGHBORHOOD EMERGENCY BROADCAST ☢️  

    Now here’s the part that stings a little:  

    That “strong smell” you’re reporting?  

    That’s not a problem.  

    That’s what top-tier quality weed smells like.  

    It’s the same reason:  

    – Good BBQ travels three houses down  

    – Fresh coffee hits before you open the cup  

    – And apparently… my garden introduces itself before I do  

    The difference?  

    Nobody files complaints about my brisket.  

    Let’s be honest for a second—  

    Some of you rev and idle engines at 6am and I’m cool with that. 

    Some of you run leaf blowers like it’s a competitive sport, which is all good.

    Some of you think “subtle” is a 12-foot inflatable in January, it happens.

    But the plant?  

    That’s where we draw the line?  

    Interesting.  

    Here’s the reality:  

    Nothing here is accidental.  

    Nothing here is out of control.  

    It’s dialed in  indoors, on purpose, and quite frankly—  

    operating at a level most people wouldn’t recognize if it introduced itself twice.  

    So if the breeze carries it your way, don’t panic.  

    You’re not being attacked.  

    You’re being exposed to excellence.  

    And if that bothers you…  

    you’re really going to hate next harvest season.

    Thanks for your time.

    #cannabis in my neighborhood

    #neighbor who smokes weed or #marijuana.

    #WhatdoIdo?

  • 4/20 Memories @ The Denver Diner

    Yay it’s finally April

    It’s funny how some 4/20 memories aren’t about massive crowds, smoke clouds over a park, or music blasting through the city. Sometimes, it’s just about where you land after work is done for fthe day.

    I’ve only really done one proper 4/20 outing, and it still sticks with me. My old ski partner and I ended up at Denver Diner—that perfect late lunch, early dinner window where you’re not rushed even though the Denver Diner was packed, everything slows down just enough to feel it.

    But the real story started long before we sat down.

    That day was all cutting and trimming weed. Hours of it. Hands sticky, senses overloaded, and that smell—fully locked in and happy. Not the casual “yeah, I smoke weed” kind of scent. No sir. This was the industrial-strength, been breathing weed all-day, loud-without-speaking kind of smell.

    There are levels to this game.

    Some people try to smell like weed.

    Some people are weed.

    I was firmly in the second category.

    By the time we walked into the diner, I was half-aware of it and half not caring at all because it’s 420. That strange mix of exhaustion and satisfaction had kicked in—the kind where you know you earned whatever’s coming next. Food hits different after a day like that. Not just better—earned.

    Now here’s the kicker: Civic Center Park—ground zero for Denver’s 4/20 scene—isn’t that far away from the old Denver Diner. We could’ve wandered over, jumped into the crowd, made a whole thing out of it.

    But honestly?

    We didn’t need to.

    It was already 4/20 on the calendar—and I smelled like weed… go figure.

    No big crowd. No spectacle. Just two guys, a long day behind them, and a meal that felt like a reward.

    And looking back? That might’ve been the best way to do it.

    Because sometimes, you don’t go to the event.

    Sometimes… you are the event.

    Denver 420

    Denver Diner

    Civic Center Park

    Denver Weed

  • Woodland Park Was Enough

    Gravity still sucks—and quiet still matters.

    We went to Woodland Park on Sunday morning, just outside Colorado Springs, and I didn’t get out of the car the entire time. That wasn’t a failure—it was the right call. Being there was enough.

    It was a totally awesome experience simply sitting in a real mountain town—no glitz, no spectacle, none of the polished urgency you get in resort-driven places. No pressure to participate. No expectation to keep up. Just mountains, quiet, and space that didn’t demand anything from me.

    After my stroke, public spaces take more out of me than they used to. Crowds, movement, unpredictability—my nervous system notices all of it. I don’t hate going out; I hate being overwhelmed. Knowing the difference matters.

    The point of this trip wasn’t errands or activities. It wasn’t about doing anything at all. It was about being somewhere that didn’t try to sell me an experience.

    Gravity still sucks. Crowds still jam me. But quiet mountain towns that let you exist without explanation? Priceless.

    Sometimes, enough is already enough.

  • My View From the Cheap Seats

    Watching Lindsey Vonn crash was a ⛷️brutal reminder of how unforgiving downhill skiing really is. She’s always preached “ski fast, take chances” and even “to turn is to admit defeat.” That mentality is exactly why she’s a legend—and also why the consequences are so violent when things go wrong.

    The irony? You earn a helicopter ride at full speed… and instead of a backcountry lap in waist-deep powder, you get strapped to a board and flown to a hospital.

    That’s downhill skiing. Inches matter. Gravity always wins. And the mountain doesn’t care about résumés.

    Respect to anyone willing to live by that code.

    If you want it sharper, softer, or spicier for the comment section warriors, say the word