Well, I had grandiose plans to camp this past weekend. It was supposed to be a wintry mix and rain – and readers know how much I like camping under a tarp in inclement weather. Once I become a real man, I’d like to lift outdoors while winter camping. But I’m taking time off from training after about five months of steady going, so it may be a bit before the barbell hits snow. As well, with all the cold viruses at work, the last thing I want is to suppress immunity while camping in frigid temps. So likely, I’ll continue being a soft, weak, over-civilized, flimsy excuse of a man… for now.
In the ideal, I heave a freighted barbell surrounded by deep winter’s ice and snow. Wearing old jungle boots and torn flannel shirt, steam jets from my mouth. The woods echo with the clang of plates. Behind me two or three thick-coated hell hounds rattle their chains and growl rage at the world.
That’s the ideal.
In reality, I stayed in because I had a wittew shniffel id by dosey. I napped and cuddled my soft poochy and generally pampered myself like an effeminate poof.
I’ve been so wimpy I can barely remember what it was like to be a man! 🙂