I don’t know how it happened. Nor do I know if it should have happened, but this week, I finally hit my 25-mile minimum weekly goal for only the 3rd time this year. I don’t know whether to be happy or take a sad nap.
Tag Archives | being a michigander-burgher-ite
Lumbers and White Whales
It was a week ago today that I celebrated the fact that I was finally able to get 3 lumbers in a row in my feetz, and I was eyeing up my first full week of outdoor fitness activities this month. Sadly, along with the strange feeling of low-grade happiness, I also felt like I was coming down with a cold, which actually ended up being the flu, which kicked my ass like a football made of fevered, achy, sagging, man-flesh.
Fast forward to today, and I have once again completed three lumbers in a row, and HOPE to to get in a full 25-30 mile week of lumbering. There has been no celebrating, just a longing for normalcy and a blessed routine.
Did You Think I Was Dead?
Content with my own thoughts in my own head
That’s because I thought you was dead.
Remember when I did three lumbers in a row last week, and I was stoked to be getting life back to normal and hopeful of hitting my 25-mile weekly lumbering goal for the first time in weeks? Me neither; it seems like years ago.
Three In a Row?
After just two lumbers and 12.21 miles, I have had my best week of hiking in roughly 3 weeks. That is no reflection on how good this week is going but more on how freaking bad the previous three have been.
The snow that we got Sunday night into Monday was completely gone by Tuesday morning, and the woods were back to their pre-spring meets rotting garbage palette of browns, blacks, tans, and greys.
A Much Needed Return
I am quite used to dealing with large gaps for such things as my résumé, my memory, and the distance between pants buttons and their holes, but in my “fitness” calendar, not so much.
I know, the sentence above makes it sound like I am some whispy fitness junkie who has 2% body fat, runs like a gazelle, and eats like a bird. But as we all know, or should know, I fill my calendar with lumbers, snowshoes, hikes, walks, runs, and rides as much as I can to make up for the fact that I am a 53-year-old man who loves to cook, drink IPAs, and works like a dog just to limit my pounds overweight to 50 and to keep my mind centered and in the present rather than racing with self-loathing, doubt, depression, and anxiety.
Getting Worser
Part I Things Got Worser
After nearly 20 years of writing this bullshit, I still don’t consider myself a writer. Mostly because I have zero formal training as one, and often, my posts are an unintelligible scrambled mess of thoughts. So, to say I have “writer’s block” sounds stupid, but I really have been at a loss for words this week, and I have tried writing this post about 4 times. Mostly because the past week has been a whirlwind of travel and, unfortunately, more sadness.
Ice and Fancy Free
I skipped a lumber on Wednesday due to heavy rain on potentially still icy trails. I should have got on the magic Whoosh machine in the basement, but alas, I did not, ’cause fatty gotta fat.
Lumbers and Breaks
After I got home from running some errands last Friday, I shut the garage door and didn’t leave the house again until 7:40 AM on Monday.
I have little desire to go out of the house if it’s not a hike, groceries, or beer shopping. I have little need for the American public, and the American public has little need for me. It’s your classic win-win sitch between a couple of assholes.
Crunchy Lumbers
With temps already in the high 20s and an expected daytime high in the mid-40s, I knew trail conditions could be “iffy” on Friday morning, but with three good trainer rides already in my meatsticks this week, I really wanted to get outside for some miles in my feetz and hopefully some images on my SD card.
More Bunny Tales
Over the past couple of years, I have had a couple posts about rabbits.
There was the time I accidentally hit one with my car as I drove to the trails to lumber and, ironically, attempt to take photos of wildlife. That one hit hard.
Then, last summer, there were three baby bunnies, alone, snuggled up in a small hole in the backyard, that I had to safely remove before mowing the grass and then saw them reunite with Mama Bunny before bed that night.
Now I have another one.