Sub Zero Quotes

The more New Yorkers like something, the more disgusted they are. "The kitchen was all Sub-Zero: I want to kill myself. The building has a playroom that makes you want to break your own jaw with a golf club. I can't take it.

I'll travel the sub-zero tundra I'll brave glaciers and frozen lakes And that's just the tip of the iceberg I'll do whatever it takes To change

Love? The Doctor Sneered. What do you know about love? I read it in the mind of this creature. He has such love for you. They all do. And you for them. Yeah, well, that's what happens when people play Twister in sub-zero temperatures. They stick together. Sometimes literally.

Even ducks need warmth in sub-zero weather. Here's a winter tip for you for the next time the power grid gets intentionally knocked offline: Wooden furniture is just decorative firewood.

Finally I caught on that what you buy today is ready—picked or dug this morning at its peak. This also explained another puzzle; I never understood why Italian refrigerators are so minute until I realized that they don't store food the way we do. The Sub-Zero giant I have at home begins to seem almost institutional compared to the toy fridge I now have here.

But as I sat in that bed, the book in my hands, the city outside silent, I had reason to feel as if a hand from some sub-zero hell had reached up and laid itself-oh, very gently-upon my heart.

Remembering Mom's Clothesline -- There is one thing that's left out. We had a long wooden pole (clothes pole) that was used to push the clotheslines up so that longer items (sheets/pants/etc.) didn't brush the ground and get dirty. I can hear my mother now... THE BASIC RULES FOR CLOTHESLINES: (If you don't even know what clotheslines are, better skip this.) 1. You had to hang the socks by the toes... NOT the top. 2. You hung pants by the BOTTOM/cuffs... NOT the waistbands. 3. You had to WASH the clothesline(s) before hanging any clothes - Walk the entire length of each line with a damp cloth around the lines. 4. You had to hang the clothes in a certain order, and always hang "whites" with "whites," And hang them first. 5. You NEVER hung a shirt by the shoulders - always by the tail! What would the neighbors think? 6. Wash day on a Monday! NEVER hang clothes on the weekend, Or on Sunday, for Heaven's sake! 7. Hang the sheets and towels on the OUTSIDE lines so you could Hide your "unmentionables" in the middle perverts & busybodies, y'know!) 8. It didn't matter if it was sub-zero weather... Clothes would "freeze-dry." 9. ALWAYS gather the clothes pins when taking down dry clothes! Pins left on the lines were "tacky"! 10. If you were efficient, you would line the clothes up so that each item. Did not need two clothes pins, but shared one of the clothes pins with the next washed item. 11. Clothes off of the line before dinner time, neatly folded in the clothes basket, and ready to be ironed. 12. IRONED??!! Well, that's a whole OTHER subject!

The effect of the weather on the inhabitants of Provence is immediate and obvious. They expect every day to be sunny, and their disposition suffers when it isn't. Rain they take as a personal affront, shaking their heads and commiserating with each other in the cafes, looking with profound suspicion at the sky as though a plague of locusts is about to descend, and picking their way with distaste through the puddles on the pavement. If anything worse than a rainy day should come along, such as this sub-zero snap, the result is startling: most the population disappears... But what did everyone else do? The earth was frozen, the vines were clipped and dormant, it was too cold to hunt. Had they all gone on holiday?...It was a puzzle, until we realized how many of the local people had their birthdays in September or October, and then a possible but unverifiable answer suggested itself: they were busy indoors making babies. There is a season for everything in Provence, and the first two months of the year must be devoted to procreation. We have never dared to ask.

Don't expose your Kindle to extreme heat or cold. For example, don't leave it in the trunk of your car in sub-zero or high-heat conditions.

Quit your whining, powder puff. In the marines we trained in sub zero temperatures. Do you want me to fetch you a dressing gown? How about some slippers too?

The house is eaten by cold. We hear its bones crack in the jaws of sub-zero.

February 16: Marilyn flies to Seoul, South Korea, to begin entertaining the troops at ten different sites. Her outfit for her performances includes a skin-tight, low-cut, plum-colored crepe cocktail dress, with bugle beads and thin spaghetti straps, and high heeled sandals, with a matching long-sleeved bolero jacket she only wears when not on stage. Other than hoop earrings and a diamond brooch and bracelet, she wears no jewelry. Between performances, she covers over two hundred miles, wearing a flight jacket and combat boots. Neither snow nor sub-zero temperatures seem to impede her enthusiastic shows.

Sub-Zero I am a genteel wretch, not without gaiety or self-respect, a ‘ragamuffin top’, so to speak,dining daily off an eclectic tasters menu culled from hunter green dumpsters of Zagat 29s. It’s really not a bad life, a bit of an adventure too, like the time I went fishing for bream from a mokoro in the Okavanga Delta and a hippo nearly tipped my dugout because I inadvertently came between the mom and her calf. I pissed my pants and returned for a change of wardrobe and cocktails to my five star safari tent at Camp Moreni,a charming hideaway with a teak wardrobe, designer linens, woven rugs and en-suite bathroom. Lately, I’ve sought shelter in a Sub-Zero cardboard box which I’ve accented with freshly plucked Lilies of the Valley. Sure, it’s smaller than the GE 25 cubic but you can’t compare the stiffness of the corrugation, the A-fluting and 400# test strength. Hey, without our standards what are we?

Sub-Zero I am a genteel wretch, not without gaiety or self-respect, a ‘ragamuffin top’, so to speak, dining daily off an eclectic tasters menu culled from hunter green dumpsters of Zagat 29s. It’s really not a bad life, a bit of an adventure too, like the time I went fishing for bream from a mokoro in the Okavanga Delta and a hippo nearly tipped my dugout because I inadvertently came between the mom and her calf. I pissed my pants and returned for a change of wardrobe and cocktails to my five star safari tent at Camp Moreni, a charming hideaway with a teak wardrobe, designer linens, woven rugs and en-suite bathroom. Lately, I’ve sought shelter in a Sub-Zero Pro 48 cardboard box which I’ve accented with freshly plucked Lilies of the Valley. Sure, it’s smaller than the GE 25 cubic but you can’t compare the stiffness of the corrugation, the A-fluting and 400# test strength. Hey, without our standards what are we?

Goose bumps rose and I ran my hands up and down my arms. I was always cold now. It was this bizarre feeling, as if I’d been in sub-zero temperatures, constantly shivering, and my body unable to get warm. It had been two years since I’d been intimate with anyone. No wild sexual encounters, no erotic flings, no dating. And I certainly didn’t do relationships.

Seeing lights and merriment without snow and without sub-zero temperatures just doesn’t feel as festive.

În speranța unui viitor mai bun, m-am înscris la un curs de germană. A patra oară. Sunt la nivelul A2.2, care înseamnă elementar. Săptămâna asta, doamna profesoară a început să ne predea declinarea grupului nominal, ne-a umplut de foi cu tabele și pe mine de angoase existențiale. Văd cuvinte în fața ochilor de sute de ori și tot nu știu ce înseamnă, iar terminațiile pe cazuri, genuri și numere îmi vâjâie în cap ca biletele la loto când pornește instalația să le amestece. Mă simt tot mai puțin inteligentă, mi se cojește inteligența de pe creier ca vopseaua de pe un lemn vechi. Limba germană la treizeci de ani mă face să mă simt consumată. Otilia mă asigură că mai e speranță, mai am încă timp să emigrez, s-o iau de la capăt. Oare asta e soluția? Mă gândesc după ce trec de B2. Grupa e plină de studente la Medicină. Vreo două dintre ele zbârnăie. Când avem de alcătuit propoziții, ele fac fraze complexe, când avem de compus mesaje, ele fac scrisori. Am și astăzi curs, de la șase, și n-am apucat să-mi fac tema. Avem de completat cuvinte în mici dialoguri, sub imagini cu omuleți la restaurant. Omuleții comandă diverse mâncăruri, au păreri, cer nota, își iau rămas-bun. Omuleți în creion.

Astăzi sunt trist şi tu eşti scuza perfectă pentru tristeţea mea. E surprinzător cât de repede se pot schimba lucrurile. Totul era bine. Se putea simţi atâta fericire. Nu ştiu când s-a rupt destrămat totul. Dintr-odată, într-o dimineaţă m-am trezit fără tine. Fără îmbrăţişările tale ce purtau numele de nu tecare-mi spuneau: nu te îngrijora pentru că totul va fi bine, fără puterea pe care mi-o dădeai ca să înfrunt lumea. Nu înţeleg ce s-a întâmplat. Poate a fost trecerea timpului sau simplul fapt că lucrurile au şi un final. Aveam totul şi acum nu-mi rămân nici măcar cuvintele că o să te aştept dacă ai să te întorci într-o bună zi. Există pe lumea asta persoane care au slăbiciuni. Tu eşti a mea. Sunt sigur că aş lăsa totul dacă drumurile noastre s-are vor intersecta din nou. Amândoi ştim că încă te iubesc. Poate am găsit femeia perfectă, dar îmi lipsesc imperfecţiunile tale, stilul tău de a face lucrurile prost şi zâmbetul tău capabil să repare distrugerile provocate de cuvintele tale. Privirea ta... Cum reuşeai să vorbeşti fără să deschizi gura. Modul de a striga te iubesc în linişte. Poate din toate aceste cauze nu sunt fericit, deşi am nenumărate motive să fiu. Fericirea mea a fost ascunsă mereu sub aşternuturile tale. Nu ştii cât de trist este să dorm cu cineva şi să te visez. Vreau să te uit, dar mereu termin sfârșesc prin a-mi aminti de tine. Nu ştii cum mă simt când caut printre oameni ochii tăi, când mi se pare că te aud şi când inventez mângâieri cu mâinile tale. Chiar şi atunci când cineva sună la uşă, îmi imaginez că eşti tu. Şi când îţi -am deschids îmi spui să lăsăm deoparte orgoliile prosteşti şi să începem de la zero. Dar nu eşti tu. Aş vrea să am suficient curaj să strig că încă te iubesc. Şi că fiecare te iubesc este un glonţ trimis cu speranţa că-ţi va atinge inima şi-ţi vei da seama că mă gândesc la tine. Rămân cu speranţa că, într-o zi, ne vom întâlni şi că trecerea timpului nu ne v-a fi afectat câtuşi de puţin. Şi dacă îţi voi spune că te-am uitat, să nu mă crezi. Inima mea gândeşte invers. Nu ştii de câte ori mă învinovăţesc pentru acea noapte când m-ai rugat să mă întorc la tine. Ar fi trebuit să alerg în braţele tale. Însă, mi-am lăsat permis ca orgoliul meu să iasă triumfătorînvingător. Poate în acel moment am crezut că voi fi capabil să te uit, dar nu. Acum sunt eu cel care nu mai are dreptul să-ţi spună că de când te-am pierdut sunt capabil să mă regăsesc doar în amintirile noastre, în acea iubire ce ar fi trebuit să dureze o veşnicie. Nu ştiu dacă îţi vei mai aduce aminte de mine sau de acea după-amiază în care ţi-am jurat că nu voi înceta să te iubesc. Nu ştiu dacă mai cauţi printre lucrurile tale resturile unei iubiri ce s-a terminat înainte să ne aducă împreună. Poate asta a fost greşeala. M-am speriat când am văzut că sentimentele îmi fug printre degete. Că nu mai puteam controla ce simţeam în preajma ta. Pentru că erai tu erai cea care- îmi dirija paşii. Într-un final a fost teama că într-o zi te voi pierde şi de aceea te-am pierdut. Ne-am pierdut. Astăzi nu mai am certitudini, dar sper ca atunci când ne vom reîntâlni, să am suficient curaj să-ţi spun că încă te iubesc. Că există iubiri ce vor fi mereu prezente, indiferent dacă vor trece câteva luni, câţiva ani sau o viaţă.

My office is over here—” He stopped. Frowned. Looked about. Had to backtrack to the kitchen in order to find the various parties. Sola’s grandmother had her head in the Sub-Zero refrigerator, rather as if she were a gnome looking for a cool place in the summer. “Madam?” Assail inquired. She shut the door and moved on to the floor-to-ceiling cabinets. “There is nothing here. Nothing. What do you eat?” “Ah . . .” Assail found himself looking at the cousins for aid. “Usually we take our meals in town.” The scoffing sound certainly appeared like the old-lady equivalent of Fuck that. “I need the staples.” She pivoted on her little shiny shoes and put her hands on her hips. “Who is taking me to supermarket.” Not an inquiry. And as she stared up at the three of them, it appeared as though Ehric and his violent killer of a twin were as nonplussed as Assail was. The evening had been planned out to the minute—and a trip to the local Hannaford was not on the list. “You two are too thin,” she announced, flicking her hand in the direction of the twins. “You need to eat.” Assail cleared his throat. “Madam, you have been brought here for your safety.” He was not going to permit Benloise to up the stakes—and so he’d had to lock down potential collateral damage. “Not to be a cook.” “You have already refused the money. I no stay here for free. I earn my keep. That is the way it will be.” Assail exhaled long and slow. Now he knew where Sola got her independent streak. “Well?” she demanded. “I no drive. Who takes me.” “Madam, would you not prefer to rest—” “Your body rest when dead. Who.” “We do have an hour,” Ehric hedged. As Assail glared at the other vampire, the little old lady hitched her purse up on her forearm and nodded. “So he will take me.” Assail met Sola’s grandmother’s gaze directly and dropped his tone a register just so that the line drawn would be respected. “I pay. Are we clear—you are not to spend a cent.” She opened her mouth as if to argue, but she was headstrong—not foolish. “Then I do the darning.” “Our clothes are in sufficient shape—” Ehric cleared his throat. “Actually, I have a couple of loose buttons. And the Velcro strip on his flak jacket is—” Assail looked over his shoulder and bared his fangs at the idiot—out of eyesight of Sola’s grandmother, of course. Remarshaling his expression, he turned back around and— Knew he’d lost. The grandmother had one of those brows cocked, her dark eyes as steady as any foe’s he’d ever faced. Assail shook his head. “I cannot believe I’m negotiating with you.” “And you agree to terms.” “Madam—” “Then it is settled.” Assail threw up his hands. “Fine. You have forty-five minutes. That is all.” “We be back in thirty.” At that, she turned and headed for the door. In her diminutive wake, the three vampires played ocular Ping-Pong. “Go,” Assail gritted out. “Both of you.” The cousins stalked for the garage door—but they didn’t make it. Sola’s grandmother wheeled around and put her hands on her hips. “Where is your crucifix?” Assail shook himself. “I beg your pardon?” “Are you no Catholic?” My dear sweet woman, we are not human, he thought. “No, I fear not.” Laser-beam eyes locked on him. Ehric. Ehric’s brother. “We change this. It is God’s will.” And out she went, marching through the mudroom, ripping open the door, and disappearing into the garage. As that heavy steel barrier closed automatically, all Assail could do was blink.

MEGAN PIERCE WAS LIVING THE ultimate soccer-mom fantasy and hating it. She closed the Sub-Zero fridge and looked at her two children through the bay windows off the breakfast nook. The windows offered up “essential morning light.” That was how the architect had put it. The newly renovated kitchen also had a Viking stove, Miele appliances, a marble island in the middle, and excellent flow to the family-cum-theater room with the big-screen TV, recliners with cup holders, and enough sound speakers to stage a Who concert. Out

Creating Lenses with Excel If you wish to use Excel radar diagrams to simulate lenses, follow these steps: Open a new Excel spreadsheet. Type the word Headers in cell A1 Type the word Score in cell B1 Type your chosen header from cell A2 downwards. Use as many headers as you like. Usually 6 or 8 headers are sufficient. Fill the corresponding B cells with zeros Select cells A1 through B… (as far as you went) Click the Chart Wizard button (the one that has a tiny bar chart on it), or use the menu  - Chart – Chart Type Select the radar type from among the options in the left side of the action box. Click on the Filled Radar chart sub-type on the upper right part of the box. Click Next Make sure that the series choice is Columns. Ignore the way the chart may look in the example. It often looks too small there, but it comes out all right. Click next Add the chart title, if you want. And clear the "show legend" box in the legend tab. Click finish. Click OK to put the chart on the same sheet. When you are with your client, you can type in his chosen scores against each header in the list (replacing the zeros).  Excel will automatically update the chart. If needed, you can print the charts using the file-print

Some people smoked when they were upset, some did yoga, or drank, or paced, or picked fights, or counted to one hundred. Georgia cooked. As a small girl growing up in Massachusetts, she'd spent most of her time in her grandmother's kitchen, watching wide-eyed as Grammy kneaded the dough for her famous pumpernickel bread, sliced up parsnips and turnips for her world-class pot roast, or, if she was feeling exotic, butterflied shrimp for her delicious Thai basil seafood. A big-boned woman of solid peasant stock, as she herself used to say, Grammy moved around the cramped kitchen with grace and efficiency, her curly gray hair twisted into a low bun. Humming pop songs from the forties, her cheeks a pleasing pink, she turned out dish after fabulous dish from the cranky Tappan stove she refused to replace. Those times with Grammy were the happiest Georgia could remember. It had been almost a year since she died, and not a day passed that Georgia didn't miss her. She pulled out half a dozen eggs, sliced supermarket Swiss and some bacon from the double-width Sub-Zero. A quick scan of the spice rack yielded a lifetime supply of Old Bay seasoning, three different kinds of peppercorns, and 'sel de mer' from France's Brittany coast. People's pantries were as perplexing as their lives.

While my heat burns me to ash, one sub-zero thread of ice cuts into my chest, all ragged, bloody shards that slice a little deeper with every pump of my shattering heart. I could step inside. Force my perfume on them. My pheromones would change this game in a caramel-soaked second. But I already have their answer.

Happiness Habits I have a series of tricks I use to try and be happier in the moment. At first, they were silly and difficult and required a lot of attention, but now some of them have become second nature. By doing them religiously, I’ve managed to increase my happiness level quite a bit. The obvious one is meditation—insight meditation. Working toward a specific purpose on it, which is to try and understand how my mind works. [7] Just being very aware in every moment. If I catch myself judging somebody, I can stop myself and say, “What’s the positive interpretation of this?” I used to get annoyed about things. Now I always look for the positive side of it. It used to take a rational effort. It used to take a few seconds for me to come up with a positive. Now I can do it sub-second. [7] I try to get more sunlight on my skin. I look up and smile. [7] Every time you catch yourself desiring something, say, “Is it so important to me I’ll be unhappy unless this goes my way?” You’re going to find with the vast majority of things it’s just not true. [7] I think dropping caffeine made me happier. It makes me more of a stable person. [7] I think working out every day made me happier. If you have peace of body, it’s easier to have peace of mind. [7] The more you judge, the more you separate yourself. You’ll feel good for an instant, because you feel good about yourself, thinking you’re better than someone. Later, you’re going to feel lonely. Then, you see negativity everywhere. The world just reflects your own feelings back at you. [77] Tell your friends you’re a happy person. Then, you’ll be forced to conform to it. You’ll have a consistency bias. You have to live up to it. Your friends will expect you to be a happy person. [5] Recover time and happiness by minimizing your use of these three smartphone apps: phone, calendar, and alarm clock. [11] The more secrets you have, the less happy you’re going to be. [11] Caught in a funk? Use meditation, music, and exercise to reset your mood. Then choose a new path to commit emotional energy for rest of day. [11] Hedonic adaptation is more powerful for man-made things (cars, houses, clothes, money) than for natural things (food, sex, exercise). [11] No exceptions—all screen activities linked to less happiness, all non-screen activities linked to more happiness. [11] A personal metric: how much of the day is spent doing things out of obligation rather than out of interest? [11] It’s the news’ job to make you anxious and angry. But its underlying scientific, economic, education, and conflict trends are positive. Stay optimistic. [11] Politics, academia, and social status are all zero-sum games. Positive-sum games create positive people. [11] Increase serotonin in the brain without drugs: Sunlight, exercise, positive thinking, and tryptophan.

When people say they don’t have a choice, they’re lying. Of course you have a choice. The consequences of the alternatives aren’t acceptable to you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice. You can still choose to walk away and not be a Dom. You can opt to train at Sub Zero. Move somewhere else and find a club there.

Flatline Materialism. The Crypt is nothing outside an experiment in artificial death, hyper-production of the positive zero-plane – neuroelectonic immanence – invested by a continually re-animated thanatechnical connectivism. This fact carries inevitable consequences for the cultures that populate it, uprooting them into Unlife – or the non-zone of absolute betweenness – whose spirodynamics of sorcerous involvement are alone sufficient to reach the sub-mesh tracts of cybergothic continuum. Flatline Materialism designates the objectless Crypt-voyage itself, as Lemurian body-fusion at matter degree-zero.

Guide Note: Zaphod Beeblebrox’s two heads and three arms have become as much a part of Galaxy lore as the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast’s cranial spigot, or Eccentrica Gallumbits’s third breast. And though Zaphod claims to have had his third arm fitted to improve his chances at ski-boxing, many media pundits believe that the arm was actually fitted so that the President could simultaneously fondle all of Eccentrica’s mammaries. This attention to erotic detail resulted in Miss Gallumbits referring to Zaphod in Street Walkie-Talkie Weekly as the “best bang since the Big One.” A quote which was worth at least half a billion votes in the presidential election and twice as many daily hits on the private members section of the Zaphod Confidential Sub-Etha site. The origin of Zaphod’s second head is shrouded in mystery and seems to be the one thing the President is reluctant to discuss with the media, other than claim that two heads are better than none. A comment which was taken as a direct jibe by Councillor Spinalé Trunco of the Headless Horsemen tribe of Jaglan Beta. Zaphod’s response to this accusation was “Of course it’s a jibe, baby. Dude’s got zero heads. Come on!” Early images do represent Zaphod with two heads, but in many shots they do not appear to be identical. In fact, in one vidcap, which has famously come to be known as the “I’m With Stupid” shot, Zaphod’s left head appears to be that of a sallow female, attempting to bite the right head’s ear. A Betelgeusean woman later surfaced claiming to be the original owner of the “sallow female” head. Loolu Softhands told Beebelblog that “Zaphod wanted us to be together, like all the time, so we conjoined. After a couple of months he found out that he liked the two-headed thing more than he liked me. So we went out for a few Blasters one night and I woke up back on my own body. Bastard.” Zaphod has never refuted Miss Softhands’s story, leading to speculation that his second head is a narcissistic affectation, an allegation President Beeblebrox claims not to understand. Related

Down the wide, cool center hall I head to the shadowy, high, tin-ceilinged kitchen that smells of garlic, fruit and refrigerator freon, where I unload my wine into the big Sub-Zero.

Revenge was a dish best served cold and I planned on serving hers up at sub zero.

It’s all schlock,” the impresario railed. “Chazerei for pubescent sub-mentals.

High on its flanks is a complex of caves where the kings and heroes of the Mountain Kingdoms have been laid to rest, their bodies preserved by the sub-zero temperatures and thin, high-altitude air.

We don’t simply have a problem when it comes to the amount of tax collected. We have a huge problem when it comes to the way we collect taxes. Take corporate taxes as an example. We impose taxes at the second highest rate in the rich world (35%), yet the corporate tax code is riddled with incentives, subsidies, exemptions, and loopholes.13 The result is crazy. We give firms a huge disincentive to earn money at home (because our basic tax rate is so high), while giving them huge incentives to play the system. And remember: the United States boasts some of the world’s most innovative and entrepreneurial companies. If we give those guys an incentive to find ways around our tax code, they’ll turn out to be world-beaters. World-beaters like General Electric, for example.14 GE earned $14.2 billion of profit in 2010, of which $5.1 billion was generated in the US. I’m guessing that you earned less than $5 billion that year, but I’m damn sure you had a more painful settlement with the taxman. In 2010, GE’s net corporation tax obligation to the US government was sub-zero. The firm actually derived a net benefit from the government. In the five years to 2010, GE accumulated $26 billion in American profits and booked a net benefit of $4.1 billion from the IRS. That’s completely insane. You don’t, however, need to be GE to outperform in this way. Big Oil can play the same game to almost equal effect. According to a Citizens for Tax Justice report out in 2011, ‘Over the past two years, Exxon Mobil reported $9,910 million in pretax US profits. But it enjoyed so many tax subsidies that its federal income tax bill was only $39 million‌—‌a tax rate of only 0.4%.’15

57. Every Time You Surprise Yourself…You Inspire Yourself SAS selection is designed to test you. Any mental flaw, any physical failing will be exposed by the relentless series of challenges aimed at finding your breaking point. Lung-bursting cross-mountain marches through the snow, uphill sprints, carrying another recruit in a fireman’s lift up and down steep hills, often in driving rain, sometimes in sub-zero temperatures. As selection goes on, these ‘beasting’ sessions get harder and harder. And yet I also found that the more of them I came through in one piece (albeit exhausted and battered), the more easily I could cope with them. It was the SAS way of testing our mental resolve through physical battering. Selection is all about realizing that the pain never lasts for ever. And every time I was tested and I hung on in there, the better I understood that it was just a question of doing it again - one more time - until someone eventually said it was the end, and I had passed. I now know that unless you really, truly test yourself, you’ll never have any idea just how capable you can be. And with each small achievement, your confidence will grow. Most people never reach their limit because they are never sufficiently tested. This means I’ve got two good pieces of news for you. The first is that whenever you do something beyond your ‘comfort zone’ and realize you are still standing, the more you will believe that the impossible is actually possible. And on the road to success, belief is everything. And the second piece of news is that we all have much further to push ourselves than we might initially imagine. Inside us all, just waiting to be tested, is a better, bolder, braver version of who we think we are. All you have to do is give it an opportunity to be unleashed. So pick big targets and surprise yourself with how capable you really are deep down. Remember David and Goliath? Rather than David, the young shepherd boy, looking at this giant of a warrior and thinking, ‘Yikes, he’s huge, I’m beat’ - he thought, ‘With a target that big, how can I possibly miss!’ Success, in life and adventure, is dependent on the retraining of our mind.

I remember once in the Arctic, when we were attempting to cross the frozen North Atlantic in a small, open rigid inflatable boat (RIB), that I heard that voice very clearly. We had been caught out in a monster, sub-zero, gale-force 8 storm, 400 miles off the coast of Greenland - and we were struggling. We were reduced to a crawl as we battled up and down huge, freezing waves and crashing white water. It felt like only a matter of time before we would be capsized to our deaths in the black and icy sea during this longest of nights. Each time one of us handed over the control of the little boat to another crew member to do their shift at the wheel, we had an especially frightening few minutes as the new helmsman fought to become accustomed to the pitch and character of those freak waves. If ever we were going to be capsized, it was during these change-over times. We got lucky once. We were all thrown off our seats after the RIB had been tossed up and landed on the side of her tubes, only to topple back, by luck, the right way up. We then got lucky a second time in a similar incident. Instinct told me we wouldn’t get so lucky a third time. ‘No more mistakes. Helm this yourself,’ I felt the voice saying to me. As I prepared to hand over to Mick, my old buddy, something deep inside me kept repeating, ‘Just keep helming for a bit longer - see this team through the storm yourself.’ But we had a rota and I also knew we should stick to it. That was the rule. Yet the voice persisted. Eventually I shouted over the wind and spray to Mick that I was going to keep helming. ‘Trust me,’ I told him. Mick then helped me all through that night, pouring Red Bull down my throat as we got thrown left and right, fighting to cling on to the wheel and our seats. By dawn, the seas were easing and by the next evening we could see the distant coast of Iceland ahead. Finally. Afterwards, two of the crew said to me quietly that they had been so terrified to helm that they were praying someone else would do it. I had been exhausted, and logic had said to hand over, but instinct had told me I should keep steering. Deep down I knew that I had been beginning to master how to control the small boat in the chaos of the waves and ice - and that voice told me we might not get a third lucky escape. It was the right call - not an easy one, but a right one. Instinct doesn’t always tell us to choose the easier path, but it will guide you towards the right one.

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