
After I hit “Publish” on the last post, my Friday was just about finished, and I had nothing but afternoon footy (evening footy if you live in London) and finishing the laundry on my mind.

After I hit “Publish” on the last post, my Friday was just about finished, and I had nothing but afternoon footy (evening footy if you live in London) and finishing the laundry on my mind.
It’s been a chill weekend, and I now find myself here early Sunday morning with no footy to watch, no hike planned, the grass already cut, and a large coffee in hand, so I felt the need to write about a trip to the grocery store the other day. Because isn’t that what people do on a Sunday morning?
Enter the Soiled Wayback Machine, and let’s travel back to a couple of days ago as I blather on about things completely unrelated to cycling, hiking, or photography.

I was fed up with the lingering post-flu cough I had, so on Saturday morning, I took a not-so-speedy trip to the local Urgent Care, where I arrived just as their computer system crashed, thus preventing me or any of the 4 people ahead of me from being processed and seen in an “Urgent” manner.
After three lumbers and 17+ miles this week, I was handed a bag full of warm feecus in the form of a mystery illness that knocked me flat on my ass late afternoon Wednesday, and as of Friday morning, it’s still knocking.
What started as some mild post-nasal drip reminiscent of some spring allergies had every inch of my skin hurting by late afternoon Wednesday, and I found myself in bed under roughly five blankets, trying to stay warm by 8 PM.

As I’ve mentioned previously, Wifey is out of town for work and three hours behind, and B is at school an hour away in East Lansing, so I am home and very alone. This is probably why my posts have been rambling word salads that could have been reduced to a paragraph.

The Week: Even though I came up well short of my already abbreviated for winter 20-mile lumbering goal, I still managed to have a good week of “doing stuff” by re-embracing the trainer and logging over 26 virtual MyWhoosh miles in addition to the 14 miles of snowshoeing. It’s not ideal, but it’s getting me through the last weeks/months of winter with no ropes taken to attics. Yet.
The easiest thing you can do to secure coveted slack status in the world of “doing stuff” outdoors is to not go outdoors. And I nailed that shit this weekend!
Two weeks ago, I lumbered over 30 miles and felt great. Last week, I lumbered 20 miles on slippy, lumpy snow and felt like an aching bag of shit by the end. Come the weekend, I sat my fat ass inside and did nothing. Then, I woke up Monday morning at 6 AM, rolled over, farted twice, looked at the -1˚ weather icon on my phone, and said, “fuck it.”

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: it doesn’t matter if you have to go to work or school or not; Monday’s vibes are always shit.

I ended this week with no real way to make my 30-mile goal and nursing a few aches and pains. So, I opted for a short photo creep around Meridian Park rather than a lumber. In hindsight, I should have just hiked; the pain would have been more fun.