Journal
I'm writing a book about seven years that took me from 155 kilograms and meth to where I am today. This is where I put down what comes out of that process.
Three kinds of texts.
From the book. Moments I lived through and suppressed for years. Some will make it in whole, others will be cut and stay here only.
On writing. Where I get stuck, and what happens when I have to go back to years I don't want to go back to.
On publishing. What it takes to publish a book on your own. What it costs, what I didn't know about it, and exactly where I am right now.
None of this is a guide. It's just what's happening while the book is being written.
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How much does printing a book cost? 14 quotes
The book will exist physically, so someone has to print it. And since I'm self-publishing and the campaign needs an exact target amount, I needed exact prices upfront — not estimates.
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The Myth of Silence at the Mountain Hut
On Saturday, August 15th, I walked from Medvedzie up to the Útulňa hut below Magurka. A laptop in my backpack, one goal in my head: to write a piece of the book somewhere other than my own desk.
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The Day I Pretended to Be a Writer
January 6, 2025, Monday, 11:11. That's what it says in the corner of the screen in the photo I took in the cafe that day.
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Bib number 29 — first race
17th September 2017. Beh Zubrohlavským chotárom, second edition. I have bib number 29 and in the finish photo I'm holding a medal in my hand.
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The Third Subchapter
This week I wrote one of the most difficult subchapters in the entire book. In the final chapter I am currently writing, there will be more like it — it is a chapter where everything I have described so far begins to come together.
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Aunt Majka and the Hole in the Ice
In January 2021, I stood waist-deep in the cold water of a frozen lake, holding a piece of ice, surrounded by people I regularly met with that winter for cold-water swimming. In the photo, it looks simple — a guy in the ice, a somewhat amusing shot. But behind it lies a journey worth telling.
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An Idea That Came Twice
Eight years ago, colleagues at work told me I should write a book. We were sitting together and I was telling them what I had experienced until then — life on the street, half a year without a salary, how I taught myself to program, although I was failing school to become a chef. I was totally lost back then, occasionally taking meth. Despite that, the idea seemed good to me, even though with the life I had back then, it would have been a complete fiasco.
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First Step
June 8th, 2020. At half past eleven, the box was sitting on the staircase. By five in the afternoon, the treadmill was in the living room.
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First Entry
19th August 2021, 16:06. I'm sitting in the Fabia, I turn around and someone takes a photo. Belly against the steering wheel, seatbelt across it. I wasn't posing, wasn't expecting it. That's how the photos come out where you actually see a person.
