MILE APOCALYPSE 2026 – DISPATCH FROM THE RUINS Mile 0 | Midnight, January 1, 2026 Death to 2025
The parties are over. The last slice of pizza devoured, the final beer guzzled, champagne fizzing into a hollow toast as the ball dropped. Midnight struck, and the world pretended everything reset with that magical countdown.
We all know the lie. Nothing changes in those ten seconds. Millions whisper resolutions into the dark, only to shatter them before the hangover fades.
Not me.
I'm burning it all down to build it back.
2025 lies in ashes behind me—old habits torched in the fires of one final night of debauchery. I rose from those embers this dawn, systematically rebuilding. Day by day. Decision by decision.
Thirty pounds already sloughed off like dead skin from the corpse of the old year. More to burn. Miles stretching ahead like scorched earth, forging me into something sharper, harder, unbreakable by journey's end.
I enter 2026 debt-free, a pilgrim with nothing but a backpack heavy with jerky and tuna pouches, a gallon jug of water, and this device to broadcast from the void.
Either I complete the 2026-mile exile north along US-95—through atomic ghosts, surreal sculptures, and the gates of the Bunny Ranch—or the Nevada desert claims me, coyotes picking clean the bones of the man who dared too much.
At 12:01 a.m., under a swollen moon mocking the revelry below, I stepped off the porch of [REDACTED] into the graveyard of suburbia. Confetti corpses littered the streets like fallout. Solo cups rolled in the wind, rehearsing for the tumbleweeds ahead. The neighborhood slept off its sins, unaware one soul had just incinerated his past.
Pack slung—sustenance for the wasteland. 75 Hard ignited. No cheats. No retreat.
The old world died with that door click. From its cinders, the exile rises.
The road north opens like a wound. Red Rock fringes loom as the first arena. Goldwell ghosts wait mandatory. Temptation beacons from the horizon.
Burn it all. Rise reborn.
Mile Apocalypse Total: 0 / 2026 75 Hard Streak: Day 1 Weight Lost Pre-Exile: 30 lbs Mercy Bank: Empty—for now.
The ashes cool. The pilgrimage ignites at first light.
What remains to incinerate? The desert will decide. 💀🏜️🔥
No comments:
Post a Comment