4am wake up this morning.
As I waited for Rogue to get to my house, I read a little.
The only way to combat a comfort crisis is to get uncomfortable.
And no one is better at planning uncomfortable than Beautiful Beastie.
Rogue and I met up with BB and GJB in the Peaks of Otter parking lot at 6:06am.
It was cold.
We started to climb Sharp Top.
Where I immediately thought I might just head on back to my car.
But I kept going. With GJB. And Rogue. Because BB was already at the top by the time I’d made it half a mile.
As we approached the top, we could see what we were in for.
This is why I wake up at 4am.
At the top, it was cold. Like, really cold. Beautiful. But like really really cold.
So we waited as long as this.
And then headed back down.
GJB pouted a little about that. Because why wake up at 4am and not wait for the full sunrise?
Because it’s cold, GJ.
And anyway, we were able to show him this even better sunrise. In a much warmer place.
Got to the bottom and headed on over to Flat Top.
Where I immediately began to struggle.
In case you weren’t aware, Flat Top is significantly worse than Sharp Top. Just…FYI.
Survived the climb. Where we all laid out on a rock in the sun like a pride of lions. We almost had each other talked into a nap. But Rogue’s sweat had frozen over. So we headed on down the backside of the mountain.
And here’s where things started to go horribly wrong.
Because the backside of Flat Top is where the apocalypse happened. Already. It has already come to the backside of Flat Top.
We would run for, maybe, two feet. Then hit a downed tree that we had to crawl through. Then we’d run another two feet. Then hit a glacier right on trail.
When we approached the first glacier, BB said, “Oh look! A glacier! That’s so cool!.”
And then, as we got closer, “Oh shit. That’s on the trail.”
And we came up on it.
And…I mean, look…
You don’t just walk past that and not slide on it.
BB and Rogue. Having stronger self-preservation instincts than me. Went around.
Well someone has to try it!
And because I am a selfless person. I stepped up.
I don’t know if y’all remember the Christmas Mountain Waterpark Adventure. But here’s the thing with nature slides. They don’t take immediately.
You have to kind of scooch your butt a little to try to get going.
The others were worried that I would get to the middle and lose momentum and get stuck there.
Their worries were unfounded.
I did not, in fact, lose momentum.
What did, in fact, happen. Was that the mountain said, “Watch this, bitches!” And then called on her friend Gravity.
I scooched a few times. And then hit that one sweet spot. Where I rocketed across the ice.
And it wasn’t until I was mid-slide that it occurred to me I didn’t know how I was going to stop once I hit the end of the ice.
I needn’t have worried, though. Because Gravity kicked in. And slingshotted me off the right edge. Where visions of flying right on off the side of the mountain flashed through my head.
Instead, I careened on past the rather large rocks in my path, hit hard on my ass, and spun around a tree. Where I was able to grab hold. And eventually bring my body to rest.
As I stood, I reached back to wipe the dirt of my ass.
But instead of dirty pants, I felt…skin.
At some point. I can’t say which point. But some point along that adventure had ripped the entire back out of my pants. My favorite capri tights.
So as to protect the others from having to look at my ass hanging out of the back end of my tights the rest of the way, I fahsioned a little running skirt out of my jacket.
Fortunately, I was no longer cold.
Sometimes sacrifices have to be made in the name of adventure.
So many sacrifices made today.
My ass is covered, in its entirety, in bruises and scratches.
My right Achilles is just shooting pain right on up to my brain.
And my favorite capri tights…
SIGH
I’m not sure how long it took us to traverse the dystopia on the backside of Flat Top. But it beat and battled all of us.
Once we finally made it off the mountain. We hiked the two miles up the parkway back to Peaks of Otter.
And said, screw it. We need ice baths.
That water was frigid. And exactly what my angry Achilles needed.
I have spent the time since returning to my home with a mixture of ice packs and heating pads arranged in a very specific pattern along my body.
Reading Comfort Crisis.
And mumbling the occasional screw you at the author.
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