In Friday’s post, I made a ridiculous and bold proclamation that I would do some treadmilling to offset the beers I planned on consuming whilst watching the football all weekend. I have no shame in admitting I did no such thing.
A week of lumbering 25+ miles in the cold, dank woods had my aging bones perfectly content to be warm inside, close to a kitchen stocked with food and adult beverages, with slippered feet up while sitting in my favorite chair, remote in hand, yelling at the TV, and being a goof as two bulldogs fart, burp, snore, and stink up the living room. It’s kind of my weekend “thing.”
