As we enter the second half of January, things remain dark, dank, repetitious, dark, and dank. Except for last Saturday, when the Weather Dogs actually blessed mid-Michigan with our first day of sunshine in 2023, 14 days into the new year. Of course, roughly 24 hours later, it was gone, and Dankuary continues on.
With my SSL certificate back in place, I think, THINK!, I have the website back up and running. As with most problems I’ve encountered in my life, I fucked enough shit up that I needed to ask for help; repeatedly until I finally got it sorted. It was like the parable of the leper and the unleavened bread from the 2nd season of Fraggle Rock. I think.
I was in bed by 10 PM on New Year’s Eve, which is an improvement to last year’s un-celebratory events. And while there was still no “celebrating” of the new year due to me not really caring, my attitude seemed significantly better.
This is my last post of 2022. A year-end wrap-up post, if you will. Almost all of it has to do with crawling out from the rock of depression I’ve been living under for the past couple of years. Read if you want, or don’t.
Last week’s Winter Storm Elliot ended up being pretty standard stuff for my part of Michigan; however, the gusting 30+ MPH winds, my unwise decision to “hold off a bit longer” until I got the snow tires put back on the 2014 Ford Escape, and the county’s strange decision to forgo plowing or salting the roads meant that I missed two days of hiking that would have easily g0t me to my self-imposed 25-mile weekly hiking goal. Crap.
My family and I are about to spend the Christmas holiday in our own home for only the 2nd time in the past 12 years. The first time was in 2020 when the world was balls deep into the COVID-19 pandemic, so there was little to feel good about. This time it’s ongoing dog boarding issues have prevented us from traveling back to Western PA for the holiday, and if you know me, my distaste for holiday travel, and my love of routine, you know I’m pretty stoked about that.
After early last week’s shin injury scare, I bounced back harder than a large rubber dong repeatedly bounced off the back of a skull and ended up with 28.23 miles on the week and 306.71 miles (now 316.05) hiked since the start of my 2022 Not Dead Yet Comeback Special on September 19th.
As I start this post in the pre-sunrise hours of Wednesday morning, I sit on 9.02 miles hiked so far this week and 287.50 miles since the start of the 2022 Not Dead Yet Comeback Special on September 19th.
This blog, website, journal, whatever the fuck it is, is holding on like the last elastical strains of Moscato-flavored vomit off a drunk sorority girl’s chin; for that, I apologize.
In all honesty, I should have put this thing to bed years ago when I realized my love for cycling, especially racing, was evaporating. However, if I sat around thinking of all the things I should have or could have done with my life, I would be a depressed, 51-year-old fat man living in the middle of nowhere-ass Michigan with no real career, dreams, desires, passions, or lusts left in the tank. Um, OK, forget that.
With all that said, I begrudgingly continue on for some reason.
Last week was a snowy and cold one, but it felt great to be outside stomping miles through the woods rather than on a treadmill in the gym, going nowhere slow while trying to avert my eyes from the row of TVs in front of me beaming crap morning talk shows and right-wing news, as well as trying to ignore Karlee checking her booty gains in the mirror and Brice flexing his massive arms while disregarding the squat rack and his steroid-induced thinning hair which is offset by his ironic mustache.
Sure, I have abandoned Operation Peck Lift III and lost all my gains again, but I’m much happier outside, embracing shit weather, taking photos, and, let’s face it, pushing myself through the aches and pains that an out-of-shape 51-year-old doofus feels when hiking 4+ miles 6 to 7 days a week while attempting to stave off the depression that had me opting for hours staring a dusty ceiling fan (since dusted) while laying in the Bed of Torment wondering how one person could be filled with so much self-loathing, even on the nicest of summer days.