Here is another unneeded post about me stomping around in the woods with my camera for no real reason other than to stay active outdoors while exfoliating the depressive hunks of shit that often cling to my brain like barnacles on a 17th-century sailor’s unkept man-nubbins.1
It’s strange to me (not really) that when I am getting outside and doing stuff—in this case, near-daily hikes in the woods—I, of course, feel better physically and mentally, but I also notice that I blather less here. I know that is a win/win for all parties concerned, but strange to me nonetheless.
This in no way means that I plan to abort my woodsy walks or return to the Bed of Torment in the Chamber of Farts for the sake of something to write about because, let’s face it, it can be a tad insufferable, and while I personally might find it therapeutic in some way to spew out depressive word salad thrice weekly and post it for the whole world to read, it can be tiring and its value overpriced.
Last week I continued my 2022 Not Dead Yet Comeback Special with another 25.5 miles in my feet to bring my 4-week total to 92.6 miles, with at least 85 of those miles coming via hikes in the woods.
When I last posted, I was just coming down (or is it up?) from a near (not really) nervous breakdown concerning my recent lipid panel test results.
In August, I wanted to start putting together hikes in the 5+ mile range and aim to do them at least four times a week. I thought it would fill a void between pointlessly “walking” on the Dreadmill and pushing myself physically like I do/did when mountain biking, all the while being in the woods with my camera. And I was right; it allowed all of that. However, forcing my more-out-of-shape-than-I-care-to-admit self to jump right into 5-mile hikes in the woods during the heat of August was not the best idea; my back paid the price, and I experienced multiple painful back spasms during those hikes.
In the past few weeks, I have found myself with a renewed enthusiasm for “doing stuff” outside. While that has done nothing for the barely noticeable gains I’ve made strength training in the gym, it has done wonders for my mind, which every year around this time takes a dip in a stank vat of “fuck everything and everyone; yes, even you.”
I spent the last few weeks moping around the house, letting my parts boss me into a state of misanthropy and apathy, but after some time with the O.G. Mindbender, a conversation with those pesky parts, and doing little things like avoiding the Bed of Torment for any reason other than sleeping and Sexy Time, I have bounced back harder than a Super Pinky off the skull of an annoying child. At least for now.
I usually try to get to the gym on Monday to lift heavy things for no reason and lumber on the treadmill; however, the weather was so perfect this past Monday that I just couldn’t bring myself to spend it inside Dysmorphic’s Gym™. So I headed to Deerfield Park for a hike/photo creep in the woods.
It’s been a while since I last threw anything up on these digital pages, so here you go.
The first week of Empty Nest Syndrome was everything I expected it to be and more. And by that, I mean that I had all the expected symptoms of missing B, but because Jason gotta Jason, I also threw in a few days of malaise, regret, self-loathing, ennui, self-flagellation (not the good kind), and learning to talk in the third person as I come to grips with now being what can only be described as virtually useless to society. I’m not sure why I needed my son to start college to point out the obvious again, but here we are.
