Two weeks ago, I lumbered over 30 miles and felt great. Last week, I lumbered 20 miles on slippy, lumpy snow and felt like an aching bag of shit by the end. Come the weekend, I sat my fat ass inside and did nothing. Then, I woke up Monday morning at 6 AM, rolled over, farted twice, looked at the -1˚ weather icon on my phone, and said, “fuck it.”
I said fuck it, but in hindsight, I wish I wouldn’t have. See, two days of no outside “me time” turned me into a moody asshole, and a third day was NOT going to help, yet I did it anyway. Ask anyone/everyone, and they’ll agree; I’m not that smart, and I excel in self-fulfilling prophecies of misery. If I could only find a job that required such prophetic skills.
I’m not sure why -1˚ put me off; I was out lumbering in 1˚ temps not long ago and was just fine, so I don’t know why I thought two degrees would make a difference. I guess, if I’m honest, it could have said 50˚, and I still wouldn’t have gone. Why? Because January happens every year, and every year, it breaks me at some point or another. Fuck January.
So, after the farting and saying, “fuck it,” I got up, fed Lola, ate breakfast, drank some coffee, checked in with Wifey, who is off of work for MLK Day, and then crawled back under the fart-scented covers of the Bed of Torment and fell asleep for an hour.
When I woke up, I realized that my body must have actually needed the rest, and I stopped short of chastising myself (not code for masturbation). January in Michigan is 31 days of frigid cold, short days, long nights, intense boredom, the questioning of poor life decisions, and treating my aging body like a substance-abusing character in an After School Special.
With some extra rest, I decided not to continue to beat myself up about feeling like shit. The last four or five weeks have been a lot to take in, and while the temps may have aided in my saying “fuck it,” days like this are few and far between in the grand scheme of things.
Once I was finally up, showered, and beautified, I was ready to take on the world. Or at least get the shit done that needed to be done and not be a dick, which was fairly easy to do since I was home alone most of the day.
To summarize this shit post, I did nothing outdoors all weekend, and I did nothing today, but I’m not going to beat myself up about it. I’m taking a Mental Mulligan and will take on the rest of January and the long Michigan winter like Ronnie James fucking Dio “riding the tiger.” But maybe without a sword (I prefer a mace or a battle axe).
NOTE: Except for the phone pic of Lola, all photos were taken during Friday’s lumber.