In the past few weeks, I have found myself with a renewed enthusiasm for “doing stuff” outside. While that has done nothing for the barely noticeable gains I’ve made strength training in the gym, it has done wonders for my mind, which every year around this time takes a dip in a stank vat of “fuck everything and everyone; yes, even you.”
Last week was filled with near-daily lumbers through the woods with my camera, followed by a day off to let my 51-year-old body rest and recover; I was ready to get back at it on Monday and returned to Deerfield Park for a 4-mile hike in the cool, rainy woods.
The morning was dark with a rain that alternated between a steady drizzle and a refreshing misty spray that gave the woods a real Dagobah System feel (Google it, youngsters).
I spent the last few weeks moping around the house, letting my parts boss me into a state of misanthropy and apathy, but after some time with the O.G. Mindbender, a conversation with those pesky parts, and doing little things like avoiding the Bed of Torment for any reason other than sleeping and Sexy Time, I have bounced back harder than a Super Pinky off the skull of an annoying child. At least for now.
I usually try to get to the gym on Monday to lift heavy things for no reason and lumber on the treadmill; however, the weather was so perfect this past Monday that I just couldn’t bring myself to spend it inside Dysmorphic’s Gym™. So I headed to Deerfield Park for a hike/photo creep in the woods.
It’s been a while since I last threw anything up on these digital pages, so here you go.
The first week of Empty Nest Syndrome was everything I expected it to be and more. And by that, I mean that I had all the expected symptoms of missing B, but because Jason gotta Jason, I also threw in a few days of malaise, regret, self-loathing, ennui, self-flagellation (not the good kind), and learning to talk in the third person as I come to grips with now being what can only be described as virtually useless to society. I’m not sure why I needed my son to start college to point out the obvious again, but here we are.
I’ve been laying low on the posting as of late, mostly because I’ve done even less than I normally do. Sure, I made it to the gym a few times, but who cares if an aging, fat white dude goes to the gym or not? Actually, who cares if an aging, fat white dude does anything? I digress.
After a week filled with back spasms and shoulder issues, the next week greeted me with more bad luck and a slight summer head cold, followed a few days later by what I can only imagine was food poisoning; all I know is that my body felt like it was trying to expel a feces-covered demon via my intestinal track for 8 hours. I continue to digress.
After the last week’s physical debacle, I was stoked to wake up on Saturday morning to near darkness and rain pissing down. That meant I could sit around like the mentally challenged obese sloth that I am and rest my back and shoulder without guilt. And ditto for Sunday, thank you very much.
When Monday and the start of another week of fresh hell arrived, I was eager to do something physical and returned to the gym for some time on the treadmill and light strength training.
After Wednesday’s 5-mile hike at Deerfield (my second within a few days), I was feeling pretty good about myself. “So what if I’m older, fatter, and ‘on a break’ from my bike? I can still push myself and have fun in the woods in other ways,” I thought as I drove home.
Monday was one of those days that got away from me, and I never got around to “doing stuff.” So, I told myself that I would force myself outside Tuesday morning for a hike no matter what.
