Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Mile 1289.3: Belden (and bitching)

Last night, Microburst and I had the television on as background noise while we packed up for the trail. Anyone who knows me well would know this is a recipe for disaster (or at least zero productivity), as I am very easily distracted by moving images and can't multitask with TV going. In this way, even though I had far less to do than Micro, and she took breaks to call her boyfriend, etc., we both ended up ready for bed at the same time. But wait! We had flipped to a channel that was playing 'Orphan,' a truly creepy movie that had us scared shitless, screaming, hyperventilating, and in the same bed, clutching at each other for reassurance.

The scary movie cuddle fest was a nice break from what ended up being a long period of bitchiness (or may I say, downright hostility?) that started last evening and ran through late this morning. I feel sensitive and embarassed about being the slowest member of the team and afraid of current trends continuing, Micro hates being characterized as the slave driver. As we stiffly made up this morning, I realized how huge an effect aplologies have on me: with a little aging, all is forgiven. I also learned that my way of requesting things in the "but I can be flexible way" just comes off as being passive-aggressive, and I need to just say things like, "I'm tired and I want to camp here. I can keep going for up to another hour before we camp if you guys want to keep going."

The terrain this morning was lovely and rolling, I'd catch up to Sweet 16 on the uphills and she'd pull ahead of me on the downhills. The afternoon, however, was six miles of switchbacks downhill. It was brutal.

Here in Belden, I staggered my way into the bar with my jelly-legs and jelly-gut. I ordered a "Tree Smacker," a fruity drink that got me sloshed in no time. Now we're camped right outside the place. When I went to set up my spot, I laid out my tarp, spread-eagled myself across it, pulled my sleeping pad over me with the nozzle in my mouth, and slowly blew it up, on prolonged breath at a time. After a sobering dinner, I returned and saw that my hard prep work of earlier amounted to no more than my half-inflated sleeping pad and my sleeping bag in a disheveled pile partially on the dirt. Yep, drunk.

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