As I type, I am in the middle of enjoying (?) an “off day” from hiking so I could get some lab work done at the hospital. I am also in the middle of Week 4 of increasing my lumber mileage to 30 miles. Because if I can’t go faster (and I can’t, not yet), I must go further. Know what I mean?
The past two, now three, weeks have been busy as I’ve upped my weekly lumbering goal to a minimum of 30 miles [I have 23.49 in my feetz as of Thursday A.M.] until the snow starts flying. Of course, with the combination of the world burning itself down, climate change, and El Niño ’23/’24 in effect, who knows, I might be hiking 30 miles a week in February… in a Post World War III nuclear wasteland littered with ashen, lifeless bodies. NOTE: I am not sure how I survived; I credit beer pickling.
I had a good week of lumbering and took the time to tweak some standard loops with different trails to keep things fresh as we get further into the stank scrum of autumn.
Throughout most of the week’s hikes, I had next week’s appointment with Doctor Bob in my head, as well as the blood tests I needed to have done beforehand to check my cholesterol numbers.
After last week’s one-year anniversary of the ’22 Comeback Special/’23 Soil The Woods Tour, I continued on as normal, lumbering through the increasingly fall-like woods of central Michigan.
This was a busy week of lumbering, living solo, and taking care of two fart-scented bulldogs while Wifey was off doing what she does while working in Baltimore most of the week.
What does that mean? Not much, other than an hour or so in the early evening, was spent cursing football’s international break, slacking, and goofing off rather than cooking Wifey one of my meatless white trash specialties.
This week, due to some home improvement duties, I was thrown multiple C-blocks in my bid to get in a 25-mile hiking week, but I somehow managed to get it done again in just four days, even with a couple days being 90˚ and humid before things cooled off. Hazah!
And with Labor Day and Fat Guy Summer now behind me and the days (actually 7 months) of darkness, cold temps, winter slop, and snow, if we’re lucky, around the corner, I have set my eyes on mental survival. Yes, I know that sounds hyperbolic, but that’s how my mind rolls: in extreme waves of perceived and actual misery, 24 hours a day.
At the risk of violating my 2023 resolution, I have been deep into a late summer funk brought forth by my ongoing battle with heel pain, B heading back to MSU tomorrow, a burning hatred for half the country (and 95% of mid-Michigan’s population), and my long-perfected loathing for myself and my extensive list of shortcoming and failures as a man.
Additionally, I have also been made aware by persons close to me that my lack of desire to “go out” for social interactions has become unacceptable.
I promised to take 5 days off this week to help heal some ongoing plantar fasciitis. And I did, just not in a row, and not because I’m smart.
I started off last week with a 7.5-mile lumber that was both stupid (due to nursing an ongoing foot issue) and amazing because I can’t remember the last time, if ever, I covered 7+ miles on foot and did it in just over 2 hours.
My plantar fascia has been throbbing since early May, and I have tried everything to ease the pain except a steroid injection to provide extended, temporary relief or to ACTUALLY rest my foot for more than a few days, even though I know I should.
A while back, I even wrote some self-love-type stuff that sounded like I had been on a late-night bender with my therapist. All of it was true, only I didn’t follow a word for more than 48 hours. Why? Because I’m an idiot.
But I have more idiocy, of course.
