As I’ve documented here more than a few times of late, I haven’t been riding outside that much. Wait, reverse that, I haven’t been riding outside at ALL. I was beating myself up about that, but looking back at previous years, it seems that it’s not that unusual for me to sequester myself inside to do stuff this time of year.
In the past, that usually included running/lumbering on the dreadmill, lifting heavy things for no reason, hiking, and snowshoeing. This year, of course, I finally admitted that my mind and body are not made for running/trying to run, and embraced Zwift™, hiking, and I recently started lifting heavy things for no reason again.
Just as the mental flogging and beating myself up reached its peak, I came to the realization that I don’t give a fuck. It’s not as if I’m not doing anything, and if I don’t want to ride my bike, I don’t ride my bike. Simple, and I’m comfortable with that.
Then, as I was talking with my mind bender the other day, and she suggested that given my views on the holidays and the baggage I carry with them, I’m dedicating a lot of emotional energy to them, so it’s not that unusual that I sort of postpone happiness until the holidays are over. I didn’t even have the Fatterson up and running until early January of this year, so it’s not surprising that it’s currently sitting my garage with mud dating back to April and no seat post. It seems that the pre-holiday late fall/early winter is my “Sunday evening”— a Sunday evening that lasts for 8 to 10 weeks or more and drives Wifey batshit crazy.
Seen on my way to the top of Bundy Hill.
With all that said, there does seem to be something different about this year. These days I find that I’m drawn to my cameras the way I was once attracted to bikes and racing. I still love riding my bike, but now often view it as a tool to help me get to the subjects I enjoy photographing and to help keep me from having to wear sweatpants full time.
Top o’ the hill.
I continuously beat myself up about what I do and don’t do, and how I look as a result of that (you may have noticed I do that a lot), but I’m also learning to accept the change. Creativity has been the one constant through my entire life; drawing, design, crap writing, photography, being a goof trying to make people laugh, and even cooking to an extent. Whether I’m good or bad at any of those things is subjective, but it doesn’t turn off. Telle est ma vie.
Well balanced.
So, yesterday, with Wifey and B getting a head start back to WPA on me, I did not sit around beating myself up (or off, at least not right away). Instead, I did a quick half hour of the Hammer, lifted heavy things for no reason, ate lunch, watched footy, and then went for a hike at the Bundy Hill Preserve.
Ye ol’ cabin.
The air was crisp, there was a dusting of snow on the ground, and I enjoyed being out in the woods with my camera as per usual. With all the leaves off the trees, I was able to spot the old cabin down in the valley easily, so I went off the beaten path and hiked down to it for a few shots. I’m always intrigued by it, wondering if it’s leftover from the logging days or if it was someone’s hunting cabin at one time. Of course, I’m also always fearful that it’s occupied by an angry hobo that would have no problem beating me over the head with the old, rusted cast iron skillet that lies on the floor of the cabin and throwing my body over the nearby hill with the old car seats and beer bottles.
Saturday good day of doing stuff and shooting pics. I’ll be heading out to WPA come Monday morning and back mid-week with the holidays over, anxious to get back into doing stuff, clicking pics, and not beating myself up about what I do or don’t do. Until next late fall.
[ngg src=”galleries” ids=”70″ display=”basic_thumbnail” number_of_columns=”2″]
Later.