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.
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.
The last week was a good one; I exceeded 25 miles of woodsy walking (26.52), finally received the new to me, no longer produced Fuji Film X70 that I traded in some old, unused Nikon DX kit towards, and Election Day went very well on national and local levels, including Big Gretch being re-elected, and Michigan passing Prop 3 which adds women’s reproductive rights to our state constitution.
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 was filled with near-daily lumbers through the woods with my camera, followed by a day off to let my 51-year-old body rest and recover; I was ready to get back at it on Monday and returned to Deerfield Park for a 4-mile hike in the cool, rainy woods.
The morning was dark with a rain that alternated between a steady drizzle and a refreshing misty spray that gave the woods a real Dagobah System feel (Google it, youngsters).
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.
After Wednesday’s 5-mile hike at Deerfield (my second within a few days), I was feeling pretty good about myself. “So what if I’m older, fatter, and ‘on a break’ from my bike? I can still push myself and have fun in the woods in other ways,” I thought as I drove home.
