After three lumbers and 17+ miles this week, I was handed a bag full of warm feecus in the form of a mystery illness that knocked me flat on my ass late afternoon Wednesday, and as of Friday morning, it’s still knocking.
What started as some mild post-nasal drip reminiscent of some spring allergies had every inch of my skin hurting by late afternoon Wednesday, and I found myself in bed under roughly five blankets, trying to stay warm by 8 PM.
One of the worst things about being an outdoor lumbering enthusiast in the winter is the constant weather-watching and weather-based decision-making.
The Week: Even though I came up well short of my already abbreviated for winter 20-mile lumbering goal, I still managed to have a good week of “doing stuff” by re-embracing the trainer and logging over 26 virtual MyWhoosh miles in addition to the 14 miles of snowshoeing. It’s not ideal, but it’s getting me through the last weeks/months of winter with no ropes taken to attics. Yet.
Time to catch up on recent wintry slack and indoor living. Here we go.
After a less-than-desirable breakfast of coffee, “homemade” turkey sausage, egg whites, and a side of ketchup, I was off to the trails for another wintry hike.
I pulled into the lot, got my micro-spikes on, and as I was getting my pack situated, an eagle flew overhead while my camera lay on the seat of the car. I’ve been working on my negative thought process lately, but I couldn’t help but mutter, “Just my luck, why the hell do I always see an eagle when I have no chance of getting a shot??”
And with that “woe is me” attitude, I drug my ass down the main path from the parking lot and into the woodsy trails.
I was NOT in the mood to head out into the cold this morning. My bones ached, my joints creaked, my mind craved sleep, and my colon was a fecal-spewing trainwreck. No, I wasn’t sick; 53 just be like that some mornings.
I was back in the woods for a lumber today, and I’m not going to lie to you; it was pretty much just like the rest of the week. Cold but moderate temps, snow on the ground, the sun behind the grey clouds, and my fat ass stumbling down the trail in search of miles in my feetz.
I will spare you any more details of another dull hike, but I will say I did hit my (abbreviated for winter) 20-mile weekly goal, and that leaves me with three days to hit the trainer in the basement and to slack as needed.
The Groundhog Day, that is winter in mid-Michigan, continues to drag on. Sadly, it continues to drag on without the comedic skills of Bill Murray and the L’Oréal good looks and charm of Andie MacDowell.
Since we’re here, let’s do this again.
The easiest thing you can do to secure coveted slack status in the world of “doing stuff” outdoors is to not go outdoors. And I nailed that shit this weekend!
I think it might have something to do with my recently departed father, but I have been craving Hamburger Helper. I’ll explain.
Back when I was a kid in the mid-80s, the factory my dad worked at shut down, and he was out of work for two or three years as mill after mill in the Western Pennsylvania area closed. During that time my mother worked as a receptionist for a doctor, and my dad was put in charge of getting me dinner.
Chili, hot dogs, box mac ‘n’ cheese, chili, cheap fast food, frozen french fries, more chili, and, of course, LOTS of Hamburger Helper were all part of our weekly menus.
