Please note that this post contains a good deal of satirical opinions. So, like, don’t be getting your panties in a bunch, man.
— Thanks, Management
The first week of July was lackluster to say the least. Intense heat and crazy high humidity made being outside for more than a few minutes pretty miserable. That, along with a mild stomach bug that hit me Thursday morning and lasted off and on again until Saturday morning (I blame shredded hoagie lettuce from the night before; no pun intended, but you can’t trust that shit), made the idea of being in the woods an unappealing prospect to say the least.
However, I woke up Saturday (AKA the 4th of July) with my stomach feeling 99.9% normal, but still, I was left with a self-inflicted mental conundrum; not only is it Saturday, but it’s also a damn holiday. “So what!” you say. And I say, “So this!”— Weekends and holidays mean one thing to dirt-worshipping, mile-hungry, woodsy introverts such as myself: people. And not just people, “Civilians.”
Civilians are people who say, “Hey hon, it looks nice today, let’s go for a walk in the woods with our four kids, two unleashed dogs, finest Jingo-Wear®, and a pack of Marlboro Reds.” Civilians are the ones who talk loudly, scream, squeal, and toss their bottles, cans, and dog turds wherever they please in the blessed sanctity of the forest.
Civilians are the people who don’t have the gahdamn common sense to be obsessed with all things related to the acts of hiking, cycling, or running in the woods. Civilians are those who don’t take the time to just stop, listen, take it all in, and cherish the finite amount of public green spaces left in modern America.
Civilians just want to “get outside for a bit,” and don’t think about the beauty of a hike or ride that takes them out of their comfort zone. They will stroll or ride along for a mile or maybe two, wreak havoc among the forest critters, get in their cars, and go home, saving their next outdoor adventure for another long weekend.
Civilians are the folks who are completely ignorant of the absolute, hell-bound mortal sin of hiking or riding with a Bluetooth speaker blaring. And civilians are also completely ignorant of my desire to slam said speaker into their skulls as they pass. Take that, “alt-country, TikTok famous, AutoTuned, stadium-hack!”
So, as you can see, there is NO way I could go into the woods on a July 4th Saturday morning. There are some things that one just does not do in today’s society (according to Aunt Augusta).
Pot, Kettle, Black, Throwing Stones, Glass, etc.
With it morally impossible to allow myself on the trails amongst such outdoor bottom feeders, I committed an Outdoor Mortal Sin of my own; I got on the treadmill. In the summer, for no other reason than to avoid busting anyone’s Bluetooth speaker over their head, stepping in leashless dog poo, hearing fireworks, or being aggravated by seeing trails damaged by drunken mulleted hicks on illegal electric motorcycles “America 250! FUCK YEAH!” (throws beer can into woods)
Of course, I also wanted to burn some damn calories, get a sweat on, and work on my Fat But Fit™ lifestyle. And I don’t regret it!
As everyone in the world knows, I DON’T RUN! And I still don’t, but I love me some high-intensity intervals to shake things up, and despite my hesitation after a long break from “running” as well as being a hulking, lumbering oaf, Saturday and Sunday’s 3-mile morning interval sessions did not disappoint. Or maybe I should say, I didn’t disappoint myself! In fact, I was quite pleased.
As per usual with me, running (c’mon, you know it’s just jogging) doesn’t bother me cardiovascularly at all, but knees, feet, hips, and groins can often get a rude awakening. However, this time, nothing. Sure, I woke up Sunday with my muscles letting me know I did something, but during the act, I was fine. This is something I COMPLETELY credit with the several thousand miles of lumbering I’ve done over the past four years, because even in my fittest cycling days, a run would crush me; my body just couldn’t “get it.”
I highly doubt I’m going to be doing any real runs soon, but whatever the hell it is I am doing feels pretty good, and it was awesome to pay a visit to Heartrate Zones 3, 4, and 5. Especially since in roughly 9 days I will be fifty-five-fucking-years old.
Sadly, indoor workouts mean no photos to document the activity, so I’m posting some pics from lurking around my pollinator garden. However, I do have to admit I’m itching to set up a camera to see just how ridiculous I look “sprinting” at 7 miles per hour! On second thought, maybe not.
Hoping to get to bed a decent time after the England game tonight, and back in the woods with my camera for some miles tomorrow morning; hopefully free of civilians.
Later.