In the wake of last Monday night’s horrific events in East Lansing, it was nice to have B back under our roof for a few days. It was also nice to let go of some negative emotions and rage by stomping out some miles in the woods.
Posts Tagged → being an idiot
The First 500
It’s been a nugget hair under 5 months since I traded my increasingly little used soiled chamois and/or The Bed of Torment for a pair of hiking shoes. In that time, I have grown to appreciate hiking (also known as walking if you’re not in the woods) in a way I never did before, and I now find myself in the woods hiking 4 to 5 miles a day, 6 to 7 days a week, with a modest goal of 25 miles per week minimum. Except for snow week curveballs like last week.
Attitude Adjustments
After last Saturday night’s snowstorm and the forecasted SUN! and bitterly low temps, I knew I would have to adjust the lengths and expectations from the coming week’s hikes.
More Snow & Funk 45s
The more things stay the same, the more you want to drive to your local watering hole, hand them your credit card, and not leave until spring or your liver fails. Either way, it’s a win/win situation.
I sort of jest; despite the lack of sunshine, shit weather, and now the addition of 6 more inches of fresh snow on top of what we had, I have not been slowed down from my near-daily hikes and was able to hit my 25-mile goal on Saturday morning with a SLOW 4.5-mile lumber through the woods before the gamey balls of the latest winter storm arrived later that evening.
Still January, Still Moaning
Same day or a different day? Who the hell knows? It’s Thursday, but I thought it was Wednesday, which was yesterday, the day I thought it was today. It doesn’t matter because it’s cold, dark, and sunless for the 25th day of 2023’s first 26.
Dogs, Hawks, and Chats
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.
Dreary Hikes & Stiff Ones
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.
Wizards, Shins, & Courts
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.
Silence In a Forest
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.
Winter Walks & Hot Garbage
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.