
I’m going to do this quick and probably more ineptly than usual before I lose what shred of motivation I have to post something two days in a row.

I’m going to do this quick and probably more ineptly than usual before I lose what shred of motivation I have to post something two days in a row.

Lately, I’ve been a bit too lax in my updates on doing stuff. Mostly because I realize now—more than ever—that no one wants to read about a chubby, fair-weather cycling slacker who spends most of his time wandering around the woods with his camera and lifting heavy things for no reason in the gym. But hey, there are pictures!

Unlike you, part of me misses when I blogged almost every day. If for no other reason, I can’t remember what I did or rather didn’t do after a few days. Especially when the gloomy days have been nearly all the same for the past week. Such is life in the dank pre-winter of mid-Michigan.

My sprained ankle is all but healed, and I can walk and climb stairs normally again. Riding my bike is no problem. Except that riding my bike is a problem.

The past summer has been rough for a multitude of reasons. Most of that painful miserableness has been documented here in recent posts. So, let’s move on, finally.

I’m starting to sound like a broken record, or a corrupt file for you youngsters, but I find myself —yet again—playing shit show catchup.

My excuses are longer than a porn star’s manhood. My slack is stronger than a pre-castrated bull. And my waistline’s girth and body weight are that of a Mart-Cart fatty with a basket full of Ding Dongs and Mountain Dew.