Despite having lived through 39 Pennsylvania winters and 7 Michigan winters I have yet to learn to embrace winter. I’ve got better at dealing with winter over the years by adding activities like snowshoeing and rides on the Fatterson with my camera into my routine but saying I embrace those activities is just crazy talk.
After Tuesday’s short—but sweet—ride, things turned pretty pear-shaped. First, the wind kicked up on Wednesday and was blowing hard enough to bend some trees and rattle some shutters. There was no way I was going out in a cold wind like that, that’s just not fun to me. Then, come Thursday, the temps sunk into the mid-teens and the wind continued to blow. Screw that!
Despite not getting outside over the past two days, I kept quite busy indoors.
After spending what seemed like all of January in a frigid, vile funk that reeked of self-loathing, miserableness, ennui, WAY too many double IPAs, and white trash Mexican food, I have finally escaped said funk like a freshly birthed whale exiting its mother’s birthin’ bits.
That’s not to say that things are all beer and Skittles in my world, but riding three of the past five days and having the chance to ramble around the snirt roads on the Fatterson with my camera has me feeling a shit ton better of about life (as long as I don’t watch the news, look in a mirror, peruse the want ads, or step on a scale).
When I rode last Saturday I returned home mentally broken like expelled wind forced betweenst the ass cheeks of a 300-pound hobo who just finished off a can of ice-cold pork ‘n’ beans. With that brokenness, I puttered and muttered through the week logging several miles of sprint intervals on the dreadmill, a session or two of pedaling nowhere fast on the trainer, perfecting my return to pescatarian eating (80% of the time), and many a night doing 12-ounce curls undoing all the work put into those workouts and diet changes.
Thankfully for all concerned that ended on Saturday when the temps warmed up and I forced myself out onto the slirty1 and snirty2 dirt roads.
It’s been 5 days since the Suckest Ride of 2018 v.1 and I’ve had little interest in returning outside since. My mind hasn’t been in the right place, not to mention the days have been all over the place this week due to the MLK holiday, B-Man having 1/2 days due to finals most of the week, an appointment, and a general slack and disinterest about most things not involving sleeping 18 hours a day.
I was motivated to ride, I swear I was. I was up at 8 AM Saturday and dumping coffee down my throat as I watched FA Crap footy and waited for the temps to rise. The thing is, they never did.
That title is misleading. Sorry.
It’s been four days since I did an outdoor activity, it seems I will now only do a physical activity if the temp is 69˚ and there is wall to wall carpeting beneath me. That’s not really true, but it’s been true the past few days.
2018 has arrived. Great.
I like to believe that a new year is a catalyst for change, but I am a realist (that’s code for pessimist) and greet the new year with as much enthusiasm as getting French kissed by your great aunt (the one with the perfume that smells like Febreze, sagging bosoms, and a beard).
To go forward you first need to go back. I’m not sure that’s true, but it sounds profound, and I like to at least give the air of not being a complete dumb ass.
The dump of snow we got last week, and all the potential outdoor fun that came with it, has turned to a sloppy mess. Warm temps and rain followed by falling temps have made things pretty useless. If the Fatterson was back I could probably get it out on the frozen slush and mess of the dirt roads, but since it’s waiting on a chain ring I am left to activities such as riding the trainer, “running” on the treadmill, lifting heavy things for no reason, and competitive flatulence. That means nothing to blog about or take photos of.
Since we’re almost done with this fucking fuck hole of a horrible year I figured I would give some of my top highlights and low light, digs and not digs of the year.