After a day off from lumbering to take care of the lawn and staying out of the way of the road pavers, I was back in the woods Friday morning for a “run.”
I had a shit night of sleep, but after a cup of coffee and several “movements,” I somehow forced myself out the door as the sun rose.
After a rainy Tuesday “run,” later that afternoon, I ran out of things to do to keep my mind from contemplating the shit show of right-wing stupidity that is modern America. So I found myself amongst the landscaping with my macro set up, taking photos in a failing attempt to ease my mind in between rain showers.
I chased around a yellow jacket from rose bush to rose bush, took a few crappy macro shots, and then retreated inside to edit and “clear my mind” with an IPA or twelve.
After a relaxing weekend, I found myself back in the woods stomping out a 5+ mile lumber on an early, crisp, sunny autumn morning.
I ended my last post by saying that I was about to head out onto the front porch to enjoy another cup of coffee and watch the sunrise. And I did, but it sort of hilariously went pear-shaped.
Thursday was a “celebration of me” (does rainbow hand gesture), but on Friday, it was back to reality and a 6-mile lumber through woods whilst hoping for good pics.
My trip to the trails was waylaid when I forgot my watch and had to turn around, all while dodging the tens of asphalt trucks that showed up in the neighborhood to repave our streets unannounced to anyone, including the guy who set the whole damn thing up, resulting in H.O.A. chaos. First-world problems, am I right?
On Wednesday, I got out for a low-key 4-mile lumber, mostly sticking to main paths, before coming home to cut the grass, which adds another 2 miles of walking behind a mower.
Despite the summer-like temps, the woods are becoming increasingly fall-like with each passing day, and while the fall colors are definitely better than the “brown season,” which lasts from November to May, I get a sick feeling in my stomach knowing the psychological torment that I’ll soon be putting myself through over the next few months as well as the omnipresent darkness that will spread over Michigan like a fat man’s nugget sack until the sun returns in May.
I ended my last post with this:
“I’ve got 8.9 miles to go to meet my 25-mile weekly goal, and IF I feel good in the morning, I might try to do a long lumber somewhere tomorrow and get it done early.”
Saying that I would attempt a 9-mile (minimum) lumber the next morning was a pretty ambitious statement written by a 53-year-old doofus who was still riding the high of his fastest 5-mile “run” ever earlier in the day. But I put it out there, and I somehow felt accountable for making it happen, even though I am the ONLY person in the world who would give a shit.
I took Wednesday off from Lumbering to cut the grass of the vast (not really) estate of the Cul-De-Sac-Shack, laundry duty, and my Wednesday appointment with the OG Mindbender.
With that, I was hopeful for good feetz during today’s “run” at Deerfield.
Photo is NOT good enough, but all I got today.
The weekend consisted of one day of active rest and one day of absolute slack other than Sexy Time, and both were great. And when you add in the Chamois Mood Tax that was enacted during the first Trump administration, that brings it down to “pretty darn not bad.”
I only needed just 2.75 miles to hit my 25-mile goal for the week, so with no club football on,1Wifey and I went out to the Hall’s Lake Nature Preserve to stomp a few low-key miles.
