NOTE: There are no photos in this post. ‘Cause I ain’t got none. Also, this post is written with a tinge of dickishness and a pinch of sarcasm. Don’t take any of it too seriously because I don’t.
Hikes are very much like rides, “a bad ride, er, hike, is still better than a good day at the office” or some such bullshit we tell ourselves. And that is mostly right, but when it’s not, it goes sort of like this;
Do you want to know how NOT to start a week? I’ll tell you.
Wake up at the first glimmer of summer sunshine on Monday morning, eat breakfast, use the dumper four or five times, cover yourself with bug spray, and get into the woods before the nearby river is clogged with loud, cigarette-smoking, littering, beer-swilling, camo-swimsuit-wearing, neck tattooed river tubers trying their best to get e-coli from the tons of cow shit and crop runoff polluting the water.
Then push yourself to do six miles of hiking even though you are nursing multiple painful foot issues, the air is thick and humid, the sun is getting intense, your jaw hurts from gritting your teeth, and every item of clothing you have on is drenched with fat man sweat that smells like stank taco sauce and stale keg.
And when the hike is done, your goal was met, and you’re finally home; rinse the bug spray off, put on a dry shirt, and mow the grass of the vast (not really) estate of the Cul-De-Sac Shack during the hottest part of the morning, all the while wondering if it’s possible to buy new human feet on Amazon (surely it is) and if I might actually be mentally challenged, because tacking on a 2-mile walk behind a lawn mower after a 6-mile hike in the woods was fucking stupid as hell. I thought I might die and, like you, was mildly disappointed when I did not.
But hey, that was yesterday, it’s the 4th of July now, and we’re celebrating the way three people who could give a fuck do; Wifey went to a movie alone, B is sleeping and will remain so until roughly 2 PM before going out to scout a location to shoot a short film bit he’s working on, and I putzed around the yard trimming shit, doing laundry, making some food, and soon commenced toasting all the freedoms that we Americans enjoy (FINE PRINT: actual freedoms may vary based on tax bracket, skin color, country of birth, gun ownership, religious beliefs (or lack thereof), gender, and sexual orientation).
I only took a few photos on Monday due to the hurt I was in, and they still sit on the z50’s SD card, but I did find a stranger’s grocery list in a cart the other day, and I thought this one was the perfect 4th of July photo. And it’s all I have.
Later.
They often say, writing a blog post is like that about-to-be outdated meat in the back of the fridge (pooling blood water on the shelf, optional); you want to eat it before it goes full-rancid, but your brain is telling you it already is, so you shamefully, and Imodium-free for the immediate future, dump it down the In-Sinker-Ator and let it go to wherever the hell rancid, and potentially rancid meats dumped down drains go; I’m assuming Florida. I digress.
I took the weekend off from lumbering to rest my right foot, which has given me some issues over the past several weeks. It was maddening not “doing stuff” at times, but via the talents of today’s craft brewer, I managed.
I knocked out my 25-mile hiking goal in 5 days this week, which works perfectly for me in multiple ways;
Those are all good things, but as most outdoor endurnace-ish athletes know, it can be easier said than done.
Last week was a fine week of lumbering, and after Saturday’s early morning hike and my weekly goal met, I took Sunday off to rest and creep around Meridian Park looking for critters.
It’s been a good week of woodsy lumbering so far; my foot is making progress even though I have not even come close to resting it, and I have hiked over 21 miles in 4 days. I even had one of my fastest 6-mile lumbering loops ever on Wednesday, clocking in at a respectable average lumbering pace of 15.40 per mile.
It doesn’t happen often, but I am currently at a loss for words.
Sure, I could bask in recent events like the death of long-time right-wing religious fuck face Pat Robertson or the O.G. Fuck Face being arrested for the 2nd time and counting for being arguably the worst person in the history of U.S. politics to ever be elected to anything, ever, and probably will be again. But I got nothing.
I’m glad one is dead, and I hope the other eventually rots in prison like a fat, bloated, racist, homophobic, xenophobic wife cheating, too-tan scrotal sack with bad hair, a raging case of megalomania and tepid piss stains on his orange jumpsuit left over from the previous night’s Piss On Donny cellblock fetish party.
But I won’t do any of that. I’ll just post some photos.
Later.
I’m back! But sadly, I was never really gone.
The last post was me patting myself on the back for showing modest signs of normal human mental and emotional growth, along with realizing that I needed to give my right foot a break and attempt to recover from some ongoing plantar fasciitis.
