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 took a self-imposed break from the gym, only going once to do a quick 1-mile warmup on the treadmill and a round of weights to remind my pecs of our mission, and instead opted for multiple hikes (not to be confused with slower, shorter photo creeps) in the woods of Deerfield Park.
At this point in my life, I have pretty much given up on ever being the thin crap bike racing guy I once was, and most of my fitness efforts now are long pisses in the ocean, but I am happy to end a week with 20 miles of “doing stuff” in my legs, with 17 of those miles being in the woods hiking with my camera. And as a bonus, this time, I racked up a big (for me) mileage week and DIDN’T injure myself!
It felt great to be outside doing stuff instead of in the gym or hunkered down under the covers of my bed, lamenting my perceived failures as a man. The week’s photos weren’t the greatest, but they’ll do fine to illustrate my time stomping around the woods. Most were taken with my Nikon z6, but there are a few from Saturday’s misty hike with a “vintage” 12-year-old Canon s95 point-and-shoot.
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The coming week looks a bit more jammed with stuff, but I hope to continue “doing stuff” and avoid the siren’s call of the Bed of Torment and those pesky parts that bring me down while trying to “help.”
Later.
SOILED SOUNDS TRACK OF THE POST:
I’m really digging the first Album by Zig-Zags. It has a great mix of punk, trashy metal, seedy glam, and garage rock. Subsequent lineup changes on future albums have them sounding a bit different for my tastes, but their self-titled debut album from 2014 is perfect for drinking shit beer and smoking cigarettes as you drive your shitty-ass van through town, egging houses, and wreaking havoc. Or, in my case, sitting in my comfy chair in a middle-class neighborhood watching soccer on T.V. and drinking a Founder’s Juicy IPA.