It’s been ages since my last post, and I’d like to say that is because I’m out there living my best life with no time for this digital fish wrap. However, since even writing “living my best life” fills me with embarrassment and dread, we can probably assume I was not.
Damn, it feels good to be almost kind of like spring (as well as a gangster, but you know that). And it feels even better to have returned to the trails after a brief bout of desperation (not referring to my pre-Wifey sex life).
However, to quote Sponge Bob, “All that glitters is not gold,” for my eagerness to jump back right into my “normal” hikes of 4 to 5 miles at my “fast for a fat guy who’s not actually running” pace has brought back a case of mild plantar fasciitis still left-over from using shitty hiking boots over the winter.
These are desperate times, and I am a desperate man.
This week, my longing to walk and hike on snow-free trails drove me (literally) to a couple of my old Dirt Road Launching Pads1 to use as a “trailhead.”
Writing is sort of like self-gratification; if you stop doing it every day, it’s real easy to lose your mojo. At least, that’s what I assume my creepy college Creative Writing professor would have said had I actually gone to college and had I actually ever taken a creative writing class.
And that is my way of saying that I got off track with my blog writing due to spending too much time in the wintry woods, taking shitty photos, perfecting the dark art of the homemade veggie burger, and of course, self-gratifying. But like wayward vomit to a drunkard’s shoes, I’m back!
At least until I get sidetracked again.
Despite spring being uninterested in making an appearance anytime soon and continued snow and wintry puke, I managed to hit my WCA-approved 20-mile goal last week. There was much rejoicing.
I started the 2022 Not Dead Yet Comeback Special (now the 2023 Soil The Woods Tour) a little over five months and 540 miles ago, and I have to say, outside of some nagging injuries here and there, the past few weeks have been the hardest.
Sometimes life comes at you fast. One minute you’re hiking along cussing a trail packed with ice that refuses to melt despite the 40˚ daytime temps, and 12 hours later, you get word your kid needs to hunker down in his dorm room with the lights off because there is an active shooter at large on campus.
It’s been a nugget hair under 5 months since I traded my increasingly little used soiled chamois and/or The Bed of Torment for a pair of hiking shoes. In that time, I have grown to appreciate hiking (also known as walking if you’re not in the woods) in a way I never did before, and I now find myself in the woods hiking 4 to 5 miles a day, 6 to 7 days a week, with a modest goal of 25 miles per week minimum. Except for snow week curveballs like last week.
The more things stay the same, the more you want to drive to your local watering hole, hand them your credit card, and not leave until spring or your liver fails. Either way, it’s a win/win situation.
I sort of jest; despite the lack of sunshine, shit weather, and now the addition of 6 more inches of fresh snow on top of what we had, I have not been slowed down from my near-daily hikes and was able to hit my 25-mile goal on Saturday morning with a SLOW 4.5-mile lumber through the woods before the gamey balls of the latest winter storm arrived later that evening.
Same day or a different day? Who the hell knows? It’s Thursday, but I thought it was Wednesday, which was yesterday, the day I thought it was today. It doesn’t matter because it’s cold, dark, and sunless for the 25th day of 2023’s first 26.
