Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke
The forecast had spoken, and as I lay in bed that morning, I had to admit: it had a point. Rain was already falling, which meant mowing was looking about as likely as a snowstorm in July. This is Nashville, though, so rain and thunderstorms come with the territory. Tornadoes, too, if you want to get really dramatic about it. Having grown up in the Midwest, I consider myself seasoned. Tornadoes and I have something of an understanding.
Here’s the thing about owning a house: it doesn’t care how busy you are. The weeds will grow with or without your blessing. My wife and I learned this the hard way one year when life got especially hectic, and she wasn’t feeling well. When she finally made it back outside after a few weeks, the yard had quietly turned into a small jungle. Not her finest gardening moment, and she will be the first to say so. Since then, she has been firm about the one rule that makes all the difference: catch weeds early, when they’re young and still apologetic about existing. A quick weekly pass takes almost no time at all. Let them settle in, and suddenly you’ve got yourself a whole Saturday project.
I try to do my part too, sneaking in weed patrol whenever I can, even around doctor’s appointments. Every little bit helps.
So there I was that morning, eyeing the sky. It looked gray and thoroughly committed to staying that way. But when I actually peered outside, the rain was barely a sprinkle. Just a gentle mist, really, the kind that barely counts. I thought, “I can work with this.” A little drizzle never hurt anyone. I pulled on my shoes, went outside, and got started on the front yard.
I lasted a few minutes before I heard it. Thunder. Not close, but close enough to make the point. There’s a line I’m willing to cross, and getting lightly rained on is one thing. Standing in a thunderstorm while pushing a metal mower is quite another. I went back inside just in time for the skies to properly open up, as if the rain had been holding back just to prove it could.
Thursday is my next hope. The forecast isn’t exactly promising, but then, neither was this morning. You just never know until you look outside. Sometimes you get lucky.
Until then, may your skies be clear and your weeds be few. Or at least short.