The title of this post suggests that I am going to wax poetic about my ongoing fisticuffs with the “black dog,” attempt to sell you some sort of $19.99 faux copper-infused compression stocking snake oil shit that will dull the pain of your torn rotator cuff, or talk at length about the greatness of the song Cure For Pain by the band Morphine.1 But I’m not, I’m gonna talk about my ass. Again!
Tag Archives | sorry attempts at humor
Note: This post has been edited from its original publication to reflect my current and final thoughts on the Sony RX10 III.
I found some extra miles somewhere this week and officially pushed over the 3,000-mile mark for the year. As mentioned in a recent post, undoubtedly I will be falling well short of my 5,000-mile goal, but I suppose 3,000+ miles are better than none. Of course looking at the raging Dad-bod I’m rocking right now, you would think I drove the 3,000 miles and hit every burger and pub I could find along the way!
Mile totals aside, I had a pretty good week on the bike, especially on Thursday when I headed south of town and did some dirt road ‘splorin’, hit some new roads (by accident) and had a good time shooting with the new to me electronic image making device (AKA a camera) I picked up via eBay last week.
The second cup of coffee is now down my gullet. There is still much work to be done in the getting awake department and even more to be done in the wanting to be awake department as a cold rain pisses down outside my window.
Back in early 2017 I had a doctor’s appointment in which I was encouraged to think about losing a few pounds. In turn, I cut back my liquid calories (beer), tried to control my portion sizes, upped my mileage on the bike, and flirted with the goal of 5,000 miles by January 1, 2018. That resulted in losing almost 15 pounds by my next visit in early May. I was stoked, at least for a little while.
After a horrible night’s sleep that involved various amounts of tossing, turning, numerous bladder emptyings, cussing, and restlessness, I was up at 6 AM to do all my normal Dad/husband duties, and prepare for another #blessed day (sorry, as you can see I’m #beingadick). Once all duties were complete I set my eyes on a quick ride before the meaty parts of the day kicked in.
You might not know it from the shit I type on this digital fish wrap, but these days I really do try to look on the brighter side of things. I’ve lived so much of my life ashamed, depressed, moody, and bitter that sometimes it’s easier just to be Moody Bitter Guy rather than someone who can legitimately weigh the pros and cons of a situation and then make a rational, sane judgment. In other words, I’m learning how not to be an asshole.
You can’t avoid getting sick. Sorry.
B was sick over the weekend, Wifey is sick right now, and just about every classmate, coworker, coach, teammate, friend, lover, enemy, and germ spreading, narcissistic Trump voting sycophant in the tri-county area has been, or is, currently ill.
I am not sick, but I have no doubt I will be soon.
IT’S NOT FALL!! Well, at least not technically, but it’s starting to look like it. Shit.
The week thus far has been void of major miles.1 There has only been one ride so far and that clocked in at just over 29 miles. There were also two 3 mile interval
runs lumbers on the treadmill due to time restraints, weather, and a twist of end of summer ennui.
Today as I readied my bottles for my ride I briefly thought about taking the PrOcal out. Then I remembered how packed down and fast the roads were yesterday morning and how well the Boone performed on said roads. “What could change in 24 hours?” I thought. It turns out the dumping of fresh gravel on just about every gravel road north of town is what. Cuss!