I fully admit my posts have taken on an opinionated, dark tone lately. This is not the person I’ve been working hard for the past few years to become, and I’m committed to trying to get back to my normal goofball shenanigans where for no good reason, I write about crap outdoor fitness activities done by a 53-year-old moron, and other stupid shit that nobody but me cares about.
— Management
I got out Wednesday for a crisp, chilly 5-mile lumber at Deerfield just as the sun was getting up over the trees. A lumber that I was briefly delayed in getting to as I stopped to take a photo of some deer in a field along a dirt road shortcut to the trails.
The morning was the coldest we’ve had in a long while, and I was completely underdressed for the 40˚ occasion; shorts, a ball cap, no gloves, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I hadn’t planned on running, but I almost started just to warm up!
I planned on doing my 6-mile loop, but when I arrived at the parking lot, I noticed that the only other car there was one belonging to a slightly odd dude with a ponytail and a mild speech issue who had “just moved here with his dog” and asked me for info on trails the day before as I finished up.
His car was still parked in the exact spot, and when I say “spot,” I mean that rather than the lot, he had his quite nice white Subaru backed into a carved-out spot in the hillside that the county uses to get dirt to fill in holes in the park’s service road.
Then, a mile into the lumber, I was about to head down the little used Covered Bridge trail when, through the dark, misty woods, I saw him and his dog going in the same direction. And with that, I did a U-turn and went the other way, missing out on a mile of trail.
24 hours later, and I still don’t know if I was creeped out by a friendly enough stranger who may or may not be living in his car at the park or if I’m just so opposed to talking to anyone these days that I gave up a mile of lumbering. Let’s call it even, OK, Steven?
Thursday was a day off from lumbering, for an early morning appointment with Doctor Bob; as I thought, my shin is fine, just some blood pooling, which is slowly improving.
Also, unbelievably, despite my raging anxiety about what life will be like if/when Project 2025 fucks the lives up of many thousands of non-partisan federal employees not willing to suck Trump’s dick, such as my wife, my blood pressure is stellar.
Oddly, my weight, while down nearly 40 pounds since September 2022, has barely changed in the past six months, down only four pounds; despite some clothes being way too big to wear any longer, being able to “run” 5 miles of trail in under an hour, and perfect blood work, I am still technically obese [insert heavy fucking sigh and two middle fingers up in the direction of the BMI chart that every doctor knows is crap, but uses anyway because it’s cheap and easier than saying, “you look way too fat, maybe don’t eat” to a patient].
After seeing Doctor Bob, I mowed and trimmed the lawn, which continues to grow despite what the calendar says, had a late lunch, and then made time to watch some of Spurs’s 2-1 Europa League victory over Nemzeti Bajnokság I table toppers Ferencváros. I can’t wait ’til Spurs play some teams I can pronounce from a league with more than 12 teams in it. Oh, the Europa League.
Now, as I type this, it’s 7 AM, still dark, lightly raining, and I’m waiting for my stomach to empty the last of its caffeinated stank before I change and head out for what is my first “run” of the week.
Fast Forward >>>
I was back on the trails for my first “run” of the week just as the rain stopped and the sun rose.
There was thankfully no sign of that dude’s Subaru in the lot, just an old car belonging to two friendly aging hippies I see often and two $80,000 SUVs that just pulled in belonging to a couple of Chatty Cathy soccer moms that loudly walk the main trail every Friday morning; “Did I tell you what my Brayden did to Kayden Smith at Vacation Bible School?” “No! Do tell!!” NOTE: After 2+ years of lumbering, running, and riding these trails, you start to pick up on things. Plus, I’m nebby, notice way too much shit, and have an imagination that never turns the fuck off.
I digress.
With this being my first run of the week, the knowledge that I’m still technically fat, and already having 17+ miles in my feetz, I expected the worst, but it wasn’t too bad.
The fallen leaves continue to really fuck with my eyes, and any lapse in concentration can lead to falling, or almost falling, in today’s case. However, even with the leaves, I wasn’t slowed down too much by anything other than my own apparent obesity.
With just under a mile to go, I saw a woman walking her dog in the distance. As I prepped my face for passing by, wiping the gobs of snot, phlegm, and sweat from it, I could now see that it wasn’t a woman; it was the dude and his dog!
“Fuck it, I’m too tired to deviate!” I thought as I approached.
I let out a “Good morning!” as I got close, and it seemed to startle him.
He quickly pulled his dog closer to him so I could safely pass and proudly said, “Oh, hey, I just did two and a half.”
I smiled and, between gulps for air, said, “Cool! Have a good day!” and continued on, stopping short of saying, “I’M ABOUT TO FINISH 5, AND THE BMI CHART SAYS I’M FAT AS FUCK! ALSO, SORRY, I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE A MURDERER LIVING IN YOUR CAR OR SOMETHING! BUT IF YOU ARE LIVING IN YOUR CAR, HAVE YOU CONSIDERED LOOKING AT ONE OF THE LOCAL SHELTERS?!”
Truthfully, I did feel bad for letting my imagination get the best of me. Even if the dude is a murderer, and at some point in the future, I “go missing,” I had no right to assume that. I mean, I would be outraged if people saw me running on the trails and just assumed that because of my BMI level, I must be running to a special at Little Caesars or something.
I need three miles to get my 25 in for the week, and I hope to make that happen early Sunday before the day’s matches kick off.
I’m looking forward to Beer O’Clock, watching some Friday footy, and trying not to let my mind think any further ahead than need be.
Later.