I fully admit my posts have taken on an opinionated, dark tone lately. This is not the person I’ve been working hard for the past few years to become, and I’m committed to trying to get back to my normal goofball shenanigans where for no good reason, I write about crap outdoor fitness activities done by a 53-year-old moron, and other stupid shit that nobody but me cares about.
— Management
I needed to get 4.75 miles in over the weekend to meet my 25-mile goal, and I am sorry to report that it didn’t happen.
After a relaxing weekend, I found myself back in the woods stomping out a 5+ mile lumber on an early, crisp, sunny autumn morning.
I ended my last post by saying that I was about to head out onto the front porch to enjoy another cup of coffee and watch the sunrise. And I did, but it sort of hilariously went pear-shaped.
After Friday’s 10-mile lumber at Mid, I spent the weekend doing next to nothing. NOTHING. I ate lots of carby goodness, watched too much footy, and drank some excellent beer.
However, despite completing a week filled with many firsts for me (my fastest ever 5-mile run and completing my first 10-mile lumber), I found myself in an unexplained, deep, misanthropic funk on Sunday that I could not shake.
I ended my last post with this:
“I’ve got 8.9 miles to go to meet my 25-mile weekly goal, and IF I feel good in the morning, I might try to do a long lumber somewhere tomorrow and get it done early.”
Saying that I would attempt a 9-mile (minimum) lumber the next morning was a pretty ambitious statement written by a 53-year-old doofus who was still riding the high of his fastest 5-mile “run” ever earlier in the day. But I put it out there, and I somehow felt accountable for making it happen, even though I am the ONLY person in the world who would give a shit.
I took Wednesday off from Lumbering to cut the grass of the vast (not really) estate of the Cul-De-Sac-Shack, laundry duty, and my Wednesday appointment with the OG Mindbender.
With that, I was hopeful for good feetz during today’s “run” at Deerfield.
Somedays, you just know something is going to hurt, and other days you don’t. I thought today would be just another “run” and be consistent with other recent runs. Sadly, it was much less than that. But it was still something.
Once again, I was on the trail as the sun rose this morning, this time for a 5-mile “run” on my original run loop to gauge progress.
The temps were in the high 40s, and I debated on whether to wear long sleeves or not, but then I looked at my hulking body in the mirror and remembered how much sweat I put out. I stuck with the short sleeves.
It seems like yesterday (or six days ago) when I was so overheated and drenched with sweat that I needed to stop by a trailside artesian well to douse myself with water to cool down, and today it was 45˚ when I got feetz on trail as the sun was rising. Shit.
