The thing is this – I am a girly girl who really wants to be good at outdoorsy things line camping, hiking, playing sports and getting dirty.
Today I discovered that while I enjoy the outdoors, enjoy camping (even sleeping in tents) and like hiking, I’m not cut out for anything terribly strenuous…like say climbing a very rustic path up the side of the highest mountain in Curacao. We were less than 1/3 of the way in to this serious climb up when I declared to JP that I would NOT be going to the top. I didn’t say this so she would encourage me; I said it to warn her. So that she wouldn’t get all pissy when, after the next 1/3 of the climb was done, I would declare I was also done.
You want to keep going? Great! Have fun! There are plenty of people on this trail you can join up with. Hell, make yourself a friend. I don’t give a fuck. “But we’re so close, Korbs!”
“I don’t give a fuck.” I’d practiced those words in my head knowing full well I was going to have to adamantly refuse or I’d get some kind of begging, prodding, etc. And I don’t like that kinda shit. When I’m done I’m done!
So in a way it kinda seemed like a blessing that moment I lifted my left foot up over a foot high to the nearest rock and while my right leg was easily following it smacked dead into a rock.
JP was about 10 feet ahead of me and thought I was just bitching again as I looked down and saw the blood beginning to trickle down from the cut. Nice.
Immediately I thought of Keyalus and how her dumb little tough ass would NOT be whining over a minor injury like this. And then in my head I heard “Fuck all that. You aren’t Keyalus!”
I looked down at the blood getting ready to drip down my leg and sat down on a nearby rock directing my back right into a thorny plant, furthering my resolve to quit this shit. “My legs look too fucking good in a short skirt for me to risk fucking them up further,” I thought. “Sorry, JP. I’m done. This was it for me.”
She went on ahead after giving me the car keys and assuring me she would join up with another group just ahead of us. And I headed down the mountain alone.
Now, while we were going up I knew it was going to be difficult going down, but I underestimated how hard it would actually be. It’s nice not being out of breath from climbing up, but your feet are a whole lot steadier when you’re going up. You can grab rocks above you to pull you up. Going down you have to rely on your feet, cutely bound in your favorite running shoes that are now getting dirty – damn it!!, to not slip on the rocks covered in the water dripping down the trail.
And you have to seriously train your mind to not reach out and grab something when you start to slip, because 90% of what is available to grab on this “trail”, if you can call it that , is cacti. And you obviously don’t want to grab them.
About 1/3 of the way down I felt an uncomfortable rumbling in my stomach. ”Oh, fuck no,” I thought to myself as I found myself clenching my ass to keep from shitting myself. Here I am on this trail, with people coming up toward me AND coming down behind me. What the hell was I going to do!?
For the next 25 minutes I begged my body to cooperate. “Please don’t let me shit myself. Please don’t let me shit myself.” I repeated these words over and over while trying to concentrate also on making sure my feet didn’t slip and further damage my legs while also concentrating on not reaching out to the cacti to steady myself when I’d slip. I just wanted to get to the bottom. I was so over this whole idea.
But it became apparent about 20 minutes before the end of the trail that I had to find a spot off the trail to go or I was going to certainly ruin these pants and my pride. And thankfully, less than 5 minutes later I found a spot. Never mind the fact that I had to wipe myself with the pretty pink thong I was wearing. I felt infinitely better and pushed on.
15 minutes later I reached the end and I couldn’t have been any happier. I got to the car, turned the a/c on full blast and wrote this blog on my iPhone while it was all still fresh.
And now I realize that while I may have always thought I wanted to be an outdoorsy type, I really am way better at being a girly girl in a pink dress and heels. I’m not ashamed of that.
But I am dreading when JP gets back and starts her whole spiel about how much I missed and how awesome it was and how it wasn’t really that hard at the end and blah blah blah. I’ll bite my tongue and tell her I’m glad she did it and all that. Then I’ll suffer through the rest of the day of non-girly girl activities like lying at the pool with a cocktail being lazy. And I’ll try not to bitch about it, but shit I won’t be doing anything but dreaming about my pool day tomorrow before we leave.
Except it didn’t turn out that way. Shortly after I finished writing the last paragraph I looked up and saw JP huffing and puffing, drenched in sweat as she approached the car. She hadn’t made it to the top after all, but had given up at the vertical climb. I was not surprised – and not because I doubted her, but because that shit was truly hard and battling it alone nearly impossible.