This was a busy week of lumbering, living solo, and taking care of two fart-scented bulldogs while Wifey was off doing what she does while working in Baltimore most of the week.
What does that mean? Not much, other than an hour or so in the early evening, was spent cursing football’s international break, slacking, and goofing off rather than cooking Wifey one of my meatless white trash specialties.
This week, due to some home improvement duties, I was thrown multiple C-blocks in my bid to get in a 25-mile hiking week, but I somehow managed to get it done again in just four days, even with a couple days being 90˚ and humid before things cooled off. Hazah!
And with Labor Day and Fat Guy Summer now behind me and the days (actually 7 months) of darkness, cold temps, winter slop, and snow, if we’re lucky, around the corner, I have set my eyes on mental survival. Yes, I know that sounds hyperbolic, but that’s how my mind rolls: in extreme waves of perceived and actual misery, 24 hours a day.
In August of 2022, I was just starting to feel more like my old self (the one who enjoys pushing himself physically outside, preferably in the mountains woods, and doing so without wanting to take a dirt nap), but still not there yet.
Monday
After two days in a row off from lumbering, I was looking forward to getting back into the woods on Monday.
I felt refreshed, and my feet felt great over most of the 8.03 miles. However, I did need to deviate deep into the woods at one point for an emergency evacuation of what remained of the morning’s mug of coffee and veggie sausage, egg whites, and cheese breakfast burrito. So, that was less than fun. I knew I kept that plastic baggie filled with wipes in my bag for some reason. Seriously, you would think going multiple times before leaving would be enough, gahddamit.
In response to my last post:
At the risk of violating my 2023 resolution, I have been deep into a late summer funk brought forth by my ongoing battle with heel pain, B heading back to MSU tomorrow, a burning hatred for half the country (and 95% of mid-Michigan’s population), and my long-perfected loathing for myself and my extensive list of shortcoming and failures as a man.
Additionally, I have also been made aware by persons close to me that my lack of desire to “go out” for social interactions has become unacceptable.
June is one of my favorite times here in Michigan. Ma Nature flips her switch (yeah, that one, why not, whatever it takes) and deems our state worthy of sun and warm temps after months of cold, miserable weather.
As a bonus, the days are super long; the sun can come up before 5 AM and not fully set until after 10 PM some nights, which is also welcome after 6+ months of darkness and grey.
Then August comes, and it becomes increasingly difficult to drag my ass out of bed when the clock ticks 6:20 AM and the sun is just starting to peak over the horizon. Yes, we still have a couple of months before the time officially changes, but my rhythm method circadian rhythm takes note.
I promised to take 5 days off this week to help heal some ongoing plantar fasciitis. And I did, just not in a row, and not because I’m smart.
I started off last week with a 7.5-mile lumber that was both stupid (due to nursing an ongoing foot issue) and amazing because I can’t remember the last time, if ever, I covered 7+ miles on foot and did it in just over 2 hours.
My plantar fascia has been throbbing since early May, and I have tried everything to ease the pain except a steroid injection to provide extended, temporary relief or to ACTUALLY rest my foot for more than a few days, even though I know I should.
A while back, I even wrote some self-love-type stuff that sounded like I had been on a late-night bender with my therapist. All of it was true, only I didn’t follow a word for more than 48 hours. Why? Because I’m an idiot.
But I have more idiocy, of course.
