Stalking the Elusive Mojo

Weekly weigh-in: 210.6
Loss: -0.5
Total loss: -81.4
Emotion: On the scent

I am a hunter.

The game I stalk these days isn’t the lynx or the wildebeest or even the hard-to-track (and even harder-to-kill) unicorn.

No… my prey has the there-and-gone speed of the cheetah, the whoops-where'd-it-go camouflage skills of the chameleon and the legendary elusiveness of the fabled cheetah-chameleon.

I hunt the Mysterious Mojo.

There was a time when my den was strewn with Mojo hides, and my freezer stocked top-to-bottom with shanks of Mojo meat. That’s because each week I went out there into the wild woods and bagged my limit.

I ate with purpose and exercised with passion, and it seemed as though there was sweet Mojo always dead within my sights.

But like the buffalo on the Western plains of yesteryear, it seems as though the herd has been thinned to the point where it’s hard to find much Mojo these days.

I still don my hunting gear and go out in search of game, but I find myself consistently coming up empty in my quest to bring home my prize. I have days when I feel like I’m thisclose to capturing some, only to see it all slip from my grasp…

I’m out of town most of this week, out on a business trip where I’m pretty sure Mojo will be an endangered species.

Still, I’ll keep my guns loaded and my eyes peeled.

And if I get my shot, I’ll take it.