Thursday was a “celebration of me” (does rainbow hand gesture), but on Friday, it was back to reality and a 6-mile lumber through woods whilst hoping for good pics.
My trip to the trails was waylaid when I forgot my watch and had to turn around, all while dodging the tens of asphalt trucks that showed up in the neighborhood to repave our streets unannounced to anyone, including the guy who set the whole damn thing up, resulting in H.O.A. chaos. First-world problems, am I right?
On Wednesday, I got out for a low-key 4-mile lumber, mostly sticking to main paths, before coming home to cut the grass, which adds another 2 miles of walking behind a mower.
Despite the summer-like temps, the woods are becoming increasingly fall-like with each passing day, and while the fall colors are definitely better than the “brown season,” which lasts from November to May, I get a sick feeling in my stomach knowing the psychological torment that I’ll soon be putting myself through over the next few months as well as the omnipresent darkness that will spread over Michigan like a fat man’s nugget sack until the sun returns in May.
After Friday’s 10-mile lumber at Mid, I spent the weekend doing next to nothing. NOTHING. I ate lots of carby goodness, watched too much footy, and drank some excellent beer.
However, despite completing a week filled with many firsts for me (my fastest ever 5-mile run and completing my first 10-mile lumber), I found myself in an unexplained, deep, misanthropic funk on Sunday that I could not shake.
I ended my last post with this:
“I’ve got 8.9 miles to go to meet my 25-mile weekly goal, and IF I feel good in the morning, I might try to do a long lumber somewhere tomorrow and get it done early.”
Saying that I would attempt a 9-mile (minimum) lumber the next morning was a pretty ambitious statement written by a 53-year-old doofus who was still riding the high of his fastest 5-mile “run” ever earlier in the day. But I put it out there, and I somehow felt accountable for making it happen, even though I am the ONLY person in the world who would give a shit.
I took Wednesday off from Lumbering to cut the grass of the vast (not really) estate of the Cul-De-Sac-Shack, laundry duty, and my Wednesday appointment with the OG Mindbender.
With that, I was hopeful for good feetz during today’s “run” at Deerfield.
After yesterday’s “run” and no quality photos taken, I was eager to return to the woods on Tuesday morning to lumber with my camera.
I have to say, Ma Nature really came through for me and presented me with multiple photo opportunities that I promptly missed, either due to photographer error or lack of a clear shot. Girl was lobbing me big ol’ softballs, and I was whiffing at every chance!
Photo is NOT good enough, but all I got today.
The weekend consisted of one day of active rest and one day of absolute slack other than Sexy Time, and both were great. And when you add in the Chamois Mood Tax that was enacted during the first Trump administration, that brings it down to “pretty darn not bad.”
I only needed just 2.75 miles to hit my 25-mile goal for the week, so with no club football on,1Wifey and I went out to the Hall’s Lake Nature Preserve to stomp a few low-key miles.
Somedays, you just know something is going to hurt, and other days you don’t. I thought today would be just another “run” and be consistent with other recent runs. Sadly, it was much less than that. But it was still something.
I wrote a bunch of stuff today but deleted it because it violated the guidelines I’ve been TRYING to keep in place regarding the shit that goes on in my brain, aiming to keep me miserable. As the saying goes, “Not today, Satan. But I’m free tomorrow around 3; bring beer.”
Instead, let’s talk lumbers.
