I thought that January broke me on Saturday when I looked out the window, saw heaps of rain-soaked snow, and said, “fuck it, I’m ‘running’ on the treadmill.” I was wrong.
No, January would save the real breakdown for Monday morning’s hike.
I was admittedly still a little sore from last week’s snowshoe efforts, as well as Saturday’s run on the treadmill, but for some unknown reason, I thought the trails would be way better on Monday, and I set out down the trail using hikers and trekking poles rather than snowshoes and threw a pair of traction spikes in my pack in case it got slippy.
As soon as I started down the main park trail, I was in hell; one step forward through the lumpy wet snow, pockmarked with footprints from seemingly every conceivable human, dog, and wild animal in the county, resulted in three steps back while using trekking poles just to stay upright. I thought it would get better; it did not.
I knew I needed to put on my spikes, but since I was surrounded by wet snow with no place to put them on properly without falling into the snow like a goof, I headed back to the car.
I got to the car, opened the trunk, and sat on the bumper, putting on my traction spikes. I looked at the snowshoes sitting beside me but STILL thought they would be overkill. So, I locked up the car again and headed down the trail, this time with a little more luck and I made it further than a tenth of a mile.
Flaccid tree, erect pinecone.
It still wasn’t easy, and I still needed my poles to keep upright through the slippery, wet snow, but I maintained that it would get better once I got into the trails in the woods. It did not.
I cursed and muttered under my breath as I stomped along, wondering why I didn’t put the snowshoes on. I can only think that I was so mentally done with winter that I was in denial.
My calves and Achilles ached, and I rolled my ankles so many times that I wondered if I even had functioning tendons, but I continued, hoping that, as I do with life, things would get better. And like life, they did not.
My second snow spider sighting (shit photo).
The first attempt was a futile .25 miles, and as I post-holed through the heavy, water-logged snow a second time, I made a deal with myself to take the next crossover trail and get back to the car for snowshoes and attempt to save the hike.
As I lumbered, stumbled, slipped, slid, and cursed down the trail, I mentally raged at Ma Nature for torturing me and myself for being so receptive to her tortures. To be fair, I do deserve it.
I arrived back at the car, swapped over to snowshoes, and started down the trail for a record third time.
Roughly 20 yards later, “Fuck this, it’s STILL sucks!!!”
Back to the car I went again, got out of my snowshoes, and looked at my watch to see I had spent over an hour of fucking around and had only gone 2 miles. [heavy sigh in anger here]
After a weekend of too much food, too much beer, and too much time spent watching FA Cup football, I needed to burn some calories and shame off, and gahdamnit, I was going to do it!!
So, I locked up the car yet again and did another 2 miles of lumbering on the park’s dirt service roads that were void of any snow from plowing. It sucked, and I probably only made any nagging injuries worse by doing so, but I did something to blow the stink off me, and some days, that has got to be enough.
It took 29 days for January to break me, and I almost made it, but break me, it did. Goodbye, January; you’re a bastard, and I hate you. See you next year. Asshole.
Later.
Note: water color doodle by me.
THE SOILED SOUNDS TRACK OF THE POST