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During this never-ending summer (or, at least, this growing season), I spent a few hours perching on the spring seat of my family's riding lawn mower, bouncing constantly, tracking patterns. -The grass is too long.

In most cases, I have a ball in play. To be honest, since I became a DM-designated lawn mower-the front and back of my mom and the side and other sides of the lawn, I really didn't expect my pain on the grass twice a week to be almost so pleasant. I think that driving enough miles on a lawn mower makes it easy to convince yourself that the task you have been performing (see also: Sisyphus) is in some way more important than you think.

Even if you have been stuck in the mud. Talk about it later.

Before we get into the muddy part, let's solve one thing first: As far as I know, it is entirely possible (and possibly, in my case) to hurt ourselves while driving a riding lawn mower. Now, just in case you gulped for breakfast cornflakes while reading this column, let me assure you that I have not violated any safety rules (I know) and I do still (as far as I can) tell) me All the fingers and toes are attached to my body.

But last year, when I made a hot dog for my wife — yes, a hot dog on a lawn mower might indicate that my heart is still only 14 years old — I learned that the body in my 50s is not capable of having a modern zero-turn lawn mower The torque that can be generated. For those who are not familiar with zero-turn lawn mowers, let me describe them this way: if you push one steering handle forward while pulling the other steering handle backward, a lawn mower (like me) can rotate indefinitely, Doesn't move at all. It's a bit like riding a Tilt-A-Whirl at the Bangor State Fair, without the smell of sausage and dough boys to accompany you.

So, I was there, hot dog. On the lawn mower. Then, I bumped into a lump and felt my back start to cramp. For the next three weeks, I walked around like 90 years old, and finally saw my friendly neighbor chiropractor, who told me that my psoas major was damaged.

Tell me. slowly. "Psoas." (Hint. P is silent. And "as" should have another "s". Also, according to at least one Internet resource, the muscles-the most important muscles in the body-are as tight as Pleasant because the word sounds like it.

No one will be intimidated by my own stupidity. This summer, when my stepchildren were mowing the lawn for my mother, I was back on the horse with zero turns. I? Like I said, as far as I know, I'm still 14 years old, and I think mowing sounds like a good idea.

Then it rained. And it's raining. rain again. Therefore, the browning of late summer has never occurred, during which time the lawn refused to grow and decided to die in a very unspectacular tone. So I cut it. And cut it off. Cut some more.

When the ground is so wet and spend so much time on the lawn mower, you will definitely get stuck occasionally. At least, this is an excuse for me to plunge the lawn mower into the mud several times during September and October. Fortunately, I have a kind neighbor who is always willing to try the leash on his wife's ATV, so we successfully rescued Kubota both times.

When you spend so much time on the lawn mower-after engraving the Boston Red Sox logo on your mother's lawn but failing, after avoiding squirrels and other small mammals in pursuit of perfect tailoring-you start to think . And want to know.

I want to know how many miles do I drive this lawn mower every time I mow this lawn... not counting how many miles the lawn mower thinks I have walked when I spin the tires in the mud? I want to know if there is a way to solve this problem.

I occasionally jog and am also a volunteer high school track and field coach. Most of the time, I wear a GPS watch on my wrist.

After putting the watch into work (just set it to "bicycle" mode and press "start"), I was happy to report that every time I mow mom’s lawn this summer, I walked about 9.75 miles . (I told you: This is a large patch of grass.)

But after months of deliberation and endless circles in the yard, I think Kubota can finally be parked for the winter. perhaps. I hope.

Having said that, I am pretty sure I have time to get stuck in the mud before it snows.

John Holyoke has been enjoying the outdoors in Maine since he was a child. He has worked for BDN for 28 years, including 19 years as an outdoor columnist or outdoor editor for the newspaper. More artworks by John Holyoke