NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
Instead of spreading all my errands out over the week—because every day is an open book of pandemic sameness—I chose to spend Friday doing a week’s worth of errands in one day. I’m an idiot.
I dropped the Escape off for new tires, and an oil change then walked home from town. After that, the stump grinder guy stopped by to finish grinding stumps, clean up, and haul away all the emerald arborvitae I cut down. After lunch, it was time to cut, trim and clean up the grass of the vast (not really) grounds of the Cul-De-Sac-Shack. I took a quick shower and then convinced Wifey to actually leave the house and drop me off at Jack Meoff Tire to fetch my Escape.
Then it was on to the pharmacist, the store to pick up a few things, and finally home to sit my ass on the back porch curse my lower back before making dinner.
At least my Saturday would be wide open to do whatever the hell I wanted within federal, state, and local Pandemic-A-Go-Go social distancing protocol.
Sadly, very little happened due to my intestines disagreeing with something I ate or drank on Friday night. I spent a good portion of the day listening to my stomach gurgle, growl, and pop, followed by wondering just how much fecal matter one body can hold because the amount that came out of me in 5 hours was borderline ree-goddamn-dick-ulous! Sigh.
Once I harnessed my sphincter with some Imodium, I rolled the “shit myself dice” and drove over to Meridian Park.
The warmer temps meant that there was more activity in the swamps. The frogs were out in force, and a few snakes were seen slithering about.
I spent a couple of hours walking around and got some shots I really liked before my stomach gave me the 5-minute poop warning.
I spent more time sitting and staring at the bathroom door before taking a short nap, hanging out on the back porch listening to The Sword, having a few drinks, and making dinner.
Given the amount of Pandemic-inspired refreshments I had on Saturday night, I was up by 8:30 on Sunday, and after some coffee, I started feeling some tingling in my nether regions. So I hauled tingling bits upstairs to visit Wifey and tell her that I was heading out for a dirt road ride.
I knew full well that the wind was supposed to be blowing upwards of 30 miles per hour, but at ride time, with the sun still making its way higher, it didn’t look too bad.
Looks were apparently deceiving, and the first half of the ride was spent coaxing my completely out of shape, hulking body into the westerly wind, struggling to go even 12 miles per hour.
I rode 12 miles cursing all of the shit I dump in my body every evening, fat-shaming myself, and making promises to higher powers that I would immediately begin backtracking on as soon as I turned east and was now soft-pedaling at 25 miles an hour.
I ended the ride with about 23 miles. I was happy I forced myself out for a ride, but not happy about how shit I felt.
Once home, I sat out in the sun with the dogs as the wind blew, and my brain kicked into full-on shame mode. I thought about the races and rides I used to do, and the fantastic shape that allowed me to be in. I sat in contempt with a bottle of water perched on my generous belly as I remembered back to the days when I actually considered myself an athlete and enjoyed riding my bike for well over 2 hours every day instead of less than 2 hours every now and then. Now I don’t know what the fuck I am.
I’m sure after a shower, telling my will power to take a hike, and more porch time, I will start feeling better and start formulating a plan to return to physical mediocrity. Tomorrow is another day to make things right and find my path to self
love tolerance. Or stroke the fuck out and die in a puddle of my own sick and shame.
MONDAY UPDATE: My arms look and feel like two giant sticks of bologna that were whipped and spanked like pay by the hour, misbehaving buttocks. In other words, I got myself a hell of a sunburn. Oh well, it beats frostbite.