Deep Into the Weeds

I avoid cross-training at all costs, but I do find that normal household chores have the capacity to destroy my body much more consistently than long distance roadwork.

Having purchased my first home about 18 months ago, I came late in life to the joys of tending one’s lawn and garden. Oh sure, it was great when the one little cayenne pepper bush we planted produced about 200 pods of spicy hotness. But the flip side is battling the Darwinian natural selection of weeds that are ideally suited to the climate and soil, and grow profusely in the cold, heat, rain, lack of rain, dirt, rock, grass and concrete like some alien virus.

We want to avoid chemicals, so out I go to pull the little bastards out by the roots. I have discovered to my chagrin that running doesn’t prepare my leg muscles for the wear and tear of repeated squatting, bracing and twisting. I stupidly did my yard work on Saturday, then presumed to cover 10 miles on Sunday. It was brutal. I was leg weary the entire way.

I’m thinking of putting together the suburban triathlon, which would consist of vacuuming, weeding, and chasing the garbage truck down the street while pushing a wheelie bin.