The weekend was the weekend; I did intervals on the Dreadmill on Saturday morning, and I made the best of watching the Round of 8 World Cup matches (C’MON ENGLAND!) whilst making bad decisions.
The weekend also helped kick off the annual “Week of Me,” which started on Sunday when Wifey and I celebrated our 29th wedding anniversary. Yes, yes, I am just as surprised as you that she’s still here, but to know me is to tolerate me, and Wifey does it very well. AND I think she MIGHT even love me.
Come Monday, I was in the woods around 6:20 to bang out a 5-mile lumber, and I tried to enjoy what would most likely be the coolest lumbering temps of the week at just below 70˚ at the start, with a little bit of drizzle along the way. Sadly, the photo ops were shit, as were my attempts at capturing what I did happen to see. (Pics today are unposted pics from recent days)
Even with a slightly shorter 5-mile loop, when I finished, I was soaked with sweat, smelled like a VFD fundraiser hoagie, and my legs felt like two sacks of wet cement as I walked up the stairs for my post-hike shower.
Tuesday is/was Part II in the Week of Me, with my 55th birthday. I really don’t enjoy birthdays (not crazy about being the center of attention, and I hate that fucking song), but I do my best to tolerate it, and Wifey, B, and family are always very kind and generous (thank you).
Tuesday is/was also the hottest day of the week, with afternoon temps actually going upwards of 103˚ (now they are saying 100˚), and dog only knows what sort of “Real Feel” temp. How about, “it feels real fucking hot!”
All that is why I found myself on the trails even earlier today, starting my abbreviated (Summer Contingency Act?) 5.25-mile lumber by 6:10 when it was only 72˚, and home and showered by 8 AM. I also arrived home with my camera’s SD card void of any keepers. To once again quote my late father, “well, I’ll be a gahdamn son of a bitch!”
The hyperbolic pain of no photos was eased by Wifey giving me some birthday gifts, as well as her, unfortunately, singing that gahdamn song. I jest, it was swell.
The intense heat is also threatening to put the kibosh on my lawn! It needs to be cut, but I refuse to cut it in 100˚ temps. Not because the heat might kill me, but because it might kill my grass. Taking care of our lawn is the only thing other than doing our cooking (and a couple things I can’t mention here) that I know I do well, and try not to fuck up. And in my humble opinion, cutting the grass in 100˚ heat is a good way to have it looking like crunchy, yellow shit ASAP. So, if you drive past my house and think my lawn is too long, you’re just going to have to tolerate it. I’ll probably cut it Thursday when the high is only going to be 94˚.
OK, time to start getting ready for the final touches on the Week of Me, with France vs Spain. Neither team is “my team,” but I enjoy watching both of them. I guess I’d probably rather see England play Spain in the final, IF England can SOMEHOW beat Argentina tomorrow. No matter who ends up in the final, I’m sure I’ll find a way to tolerate it.
Later.