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).
After the last week’s physical debacle, I was stoked to wake up on Saturday morning to near darkness and rain pissing down. That meant I could sit around like the mentally challenged obese sloth that I am and rest my back and shoulder without guilt. And ditto for Sunday, thank you very much.
When Monday and the start of another week of fresh hell arrived, I was eager to do something physical and returned to the gym for some time on the treadmill and light strength training.
I managed to mentally bounce back last week and made up for my lack of doing stuff outside with two productive photo creeps at Meridian Park on Thursday and Sunday and a hot and muggy 5.25-mile hike at Deerfield Park on Friday.
The planets seemed to align for me on Thursday morning when the steady rain stopped just before I hit “publish” on my last post of unintelligible nothingness, and a Noon appointment I had was changed to 1 PM, thus allowing me to squeeze in a 3-mile hike at Deerfield Park. There was much rejoicing.
After my 3-mile hike at Deerfield Park on Sunday with my old beat-to-hell Canon s95 point-and-shoot camera, I was eager to get back for more hiking and shooting with something, not a 12-year-old pocket camera. However, first I would have to suffer through some time in the gym on Monday to make me feel like I’m not following through on past threats to slack through my AARP years while waiting for the dogs above to call me home.
This is part one in a nine-part travelogue devoted to a recent two-day trip to Boyne City. I jest, it’s two parts, and you are under no obligation to read a word. — Management.
Earlier this week, Wifey and I went on a mid-week “weekend excursion” to the Boyne City, Michigan area to do some hiking, some beaching, and some celebrating of our 25th wedding anniversary. We would also acknowledge my 51st birthday, which would be coming two days later and have me making the turn on to the back nine of life.
As this needless blog’s author, it is vital that I come up with new and fantastical ways to convey stories about my trivial life. This was super easy when racing bikes or at very least riding them. But these days, I am just another fat middle-class white guy on the conveyor belt of life looking for the tiniest shreds of happiness to get me through one day and on to the next. Goddamn, I love the smell of hyperbole in the morning!!
All semi-truths and joking aside, as much as I love writing this shit show, and sharing photos, some weeks I struggle to post anything at all. Some of that is laziness, some of that is time restraints, and some of that is a raging case of why can’t you just be like everyone else in the world and post your photos, kooky opinions, and unfunny sophomoric witticisms on Twitter, Facebook, TikTok, and Instagram?
This post comes to you with all the enthusiasm of a blind man entering a strip club. Of course, based on some of the strip clubs I’ve unfortunately been in during the early “bachelor party days” of my life (looking at you, Hi-Way Playground in Washington County, PA, circa 1996 with your free stage-side pizza), that’s probably a good thing. I digress.
It’s been a minute or two years since my last Macro Monday post, and I’m not going to start today. Mostly because it’s Wednesday, not Monday, and I took the photos on Sunday, which means Monday has fuck all to do with anything.
In all my 17+ years of writing this shit-show, I finally find myself with a bit of writer’s block. Whilst the masses rejoice in knowing they are safe from my long-winded posts of sophomoric humor, tales of self-loathing, sub-par chubby middle-aged white guy pseudo adventures, and nonsensical word salad, I bemoan my stifled mind.