To Be A Man
For the first time since about April, I woke up on Saturday and did NOT feel like hiking. My arms were sore because I tried to do some climbing at my gym yesterday…yeah I did all of one traverse and I was aching today. Yes, I am a pussy for whining like a little bitch over some minor muscle fatigue, but I haven’t felt a single muscle twinge since I first started hiking. I went kayaking for 1.5 hours and didn’t feel any stiffness in the shoulders, how the hell does ONE traverse hurt me?
My other excuse for not wanting to hike was that the sky looked angry. It looked like it had plans to do some rumbling, then dumping buckets of water on you, then shouting “Fuck you!” while hurling bolts of lightning at your feet. Angry. When the sky looked that pissed off at us mere mortals, the best thing to do is to stay in bed.
Of course, I couldn’t stay in bed. I got up and thought maybe I’ll try to hike Vesper Peak and maybe the clouds would clear up. As I was driving there, it started raining. Now I’m not a big wuss when it comes to rain, I’ll hike in any weather, but Vesper Peak calls for some heavy duty scrambling to the top…and trying to climb wet granite is suicidal in my book, so I made a detour. I beelined for Mount Si, because I couldn’t really think of where else I would like to go…and because I still didn’t feel like hiking.
The parking lot for Si was surprisingly empty, usually half of Seattle is hiking this mountain on Saturdays – I was betting everyone else was smart enough to stay in bed. I sat in the lot for a moment, thinking I really didn’t feel like hiking. I could just go home and crawl in bed, it would be so nice and I’ve hiked Si a billion times this year already. Pussy! Get the fuck out of the car now. I actually sat in my car and had an internal dialect with myself for about five minutes trying to get my ass outside to hike. Had the whiney bitch been anyone besides myself I would have kicked her out of my car and never call her hiking again…alas, it was my own sorry ass, and I managed to eventually drag myself out.
Not too surprisingly, once I was on the trail, I felt great. I felt so damned good, I started speed hiking, which is something I normally suck at because my legs are half the length of everyone. It was an awesome workout and for the first time since forever, I was passing up everyone along the way instead of the other way around. I was feeling so damned happy.
And then I got stung by a bee. Yeah, this happened out of nowhere, I didn’t even see a single bee on the trail. I was just hiking along, my hands gripping my trekking poles, when I felt this sharp pain on the side of my right hand. Since there was not another bee around, there couldn’t have been a hive to defend, so this bee just chose to commit suicide, on me. Okay, I understand that a bee’s lot in life must not be all that great, being their one purpose is to serve The Woman, so okay, if the bee is having some kind of meaning of life crisis…fine go kill yourself. But this is like someone jumping out at a car to kill itself, it traumatizes the poor driver…couldn’t bee have picked a better asshole to die on? Like that dude that talks business loudly on his cellphone while hiking? Why me? The worst part is, the suicidal bastard left his parts of his little furry ass on me…do you know have much that freaks a poor girl out!? Damn!
Still, I made it to the top in 1.5 hours…not super fast, but I was happy enough. It was nice and chilly up top, so I sat down and had a wonderful cup of hot chai. Life was great.
On the drive home, I had a weird craving for a white nectarine. So I stopped by the nearest grocery store. They had this wonderful floral section next to the fruits and I smelled the beautiful fragrance of fresh-cut flowers…then I smelled something less pleasant. It smelled like a homeless man. I stared suspiciously at the people near me…did they not bathe before going food shopping? Then I noticed the odor was following me…dear god, it was me. I sniffed the sleeves of my shirt…maybe I left the shirt in the washer for too long before drying it? Nope, it smelled like Tide, freshly laundered Tide. Then I realize, it was toward my back. Ewwww. It was from my backpack. I’m a sweaty monster, when you see me hiking with only my sports bra, it’s not to shame the other male hikers with my six pack, it’s because I’m overheating like mad and sweating enough to drown myself. The back and straps on my pack is ALWAYS drenched by the time I hit summit…I guess over time, all the collective sweat has turned my bag into a homeless man. I had been carrying a homeless man on my back all this time. Dear god, it’s terrible to smell so bad…I got so self-conscious – you know when you can smell it, it means you’re beyond stinky. I felt the need to apologize to other people, “Forgive me for being so stinky around your food.” Of course I did the best thing…which is pay and hurry the hell out. I had the privilege of smelling that god-awful funk all the way home. Lucky.
I got home and downloaded the picture I took at the top of Si. It would appear smelling like a homeless man has turned me into a man.
My other excuse for not wanting to hike was that the sky looked angry. It looked like it had plans to do some rumbling, then dumping buckets of water on you, then shouting “Fuck you!” while hurling bolts of lightning at your feet. Angry. When the sky looked that pissed off at us mere mortals, the best thing to do is to stay in bed.Of course, I couldn’t stay in bed. I got up and thought maybe I’ll try to hike Vesper Peak and maybe the clouds would clear up. As I was driving there, it started raining. Now I’m not a big wuss when it comes to rain, I’ll hike in any weather, but Vesper Peak calls for some heavy duty scrambling to the top…and trying to climb wet granite is suicidal in my book, so I made a detour. I beelined for Mount Si, because I couldn’t really think of where else I would like to go…and because I still didn’t feel like hiking.
The parking lot for Si was surprisingly empty, usually half of Seattle is hiking this mountain on Saturdays – I was betting everyone else was smart enough to stay in bed. I sat in the lot for a moment, thinking I really didn’t feel like hiking. I could just go home and crawl in bed, it would be so nice and I’ve hiked Si a billion times this year already. Pussy! Get the fuck out of the car now. I actually sat in my car and had an internal dialect with myself for about five minutes trying to get my ass outside to hike. Had the whiney bitch been anyone besides myself I would have kicked her out of my car and never call her hiking again…alas, it was my own sorry ass, and I managed to eventually drag myself out.
Not too surprisingly, once I was on the trail, I felt great. I felt so damned good, I started speed hiking, which is something I normally suck at because my legs are half the length of everyone. It was an awesome workout and for the first time since forever, I was passing up everyone along the way instead of the other way around. I was feeling so damned happy.
And then I got stung by a bee. Yeah, this happened out of nowhere, I didn’t even see a single bee on the trail. I was just hiking along, my hands gripping my trekking poles, when I felt this sharp pain on the side of my right hand. Since there was not another bee around, there couldn’t have been a hive to defend, so this bee just chose to commit suicide, on me. Okay, I understand that a bee’s lot in life must not be all that great, being their one purpose is to serve The Woman, so okay, if the bee is having some kind of meaning of life crisis…fine go kill yourself. But this is like someone jumping out at a car to kill itself, it traumatizes the poor driver…couldn’t bee have picked a better asshole to die on? Like that dude that talks business loudly on his cellphone while hiking? Why me? The worst part is, the suicidal bastard left his parts of his little furry ass on me…do you know have much that freaks a poor girl out!? Damn!
Still, I made it to the top in 1.5 hours…not super fast, but I was happy enough. It was nice and chilly up top, so I sat down and had a wonderful cup of hot chai. Life was great.On the drive home, I had a weird craving for a white nectarine. So I stopped by the nearest grocery store. They had this wonderful floral section next to the fruits and I smelled the beautiful fragrance of fresh-cut flowers…then I smelled something less pleasant. It smelled like a homeless man. I stared suspiciously at the people near me…did they not bathe before going food shopping? Then I noticed the odor was following me…dear god, it was me. I sniffed the sleeves of my shirt…maybe I left the shirt in the washer for too long before drying it? Nope, it smelled like Tide, freshly laundered Tide. Then I realize, it was toward my back. Ewwww. It was from my backpack. I’m a sweaty monster, when you see me hiking with only my sports bra, it’s not to shame the other male hikers with my six pack, it’s because I’m overheating like mad and sweating enough to drown myself. The back and straps on my pack is ALWAYS drenched by the time I hit summit…I guess over time, all the collective sweat has turned my bag into a homeless man. I had been carrying a homeless man on my back all this time. Dear god, it’s terrible to smell so bad…I got so self-conscious – you know when you can smell it, it means you’re beyond stinky. I felt the need to apologize to other people, “Forgive me for being so stinky around your food.” Of course I did the best thing…which is pay and hurry the hell out. I had the privilege of smelling that god-awful funk all the way home. Lucky.
I got home and downloaded the picture I took at the top of Si. It would appear smelling like a homeless man has turned me into a man.
posted by SteakGirl at 7:38 PM
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