Friday, May 15, 2015

Blow Me, Edmund Hillary! I'm On Mt. Juneau!

It doesn't take a whole lot for me to give myself a big pat on the back these days, at least not where physical fitness is concerned. 

I played sports in high school and college, and I exercised pretty regularly throughout my twenties. But the combination of having kids, suffering from bouts of crippling eczema that makes sweating a bitch, and living in a town that often feels like everyone is trying to "out-Sporty Spice" each other has put exercise on the back burner and led to a number of insecurities and social hangups about it. 

Like I can't even watch (much less play) rec. league adult softball without throwing up in my mouth a little bit, and every time someone suggests I do a "fun run" or a road relay, a little piece of me dies inside.

So it was with some trepidation (and by "some trepidation" I mean three nervous craps in thirty minutes) that I embarked on a day off from work today to hike up to the Juneau alpine with a friend I've known since adolescence. 

This was special, since everyone else I know in Juneau I met as an adult. She's the only person who lives here with whom I share that special history, and although we work in the same office, we don't spend nearly as much time together as I would like. It was also special because we both had the day off, we both had child care for our kids, and it was 70 degrees and sunny.

In short, The Universe was telling me to get off my ass, and I knew if I didn't do that on a day like today in Juneau in the company of a good friend, I might as well just move back into my parents' basement and give up on life forever. (Even though they don't have a basement because they live in an apartment building, but you know what I mean).

I'm pretty sure I was slower than a three-toed sloth on Quaaludes, but my friend was gracious and kept assuring me that no, seriously, stop it, I wasn't really that slow. I was also taking my new cadaver-graft ACL out for a spin. It held up remarkably well, so I can only conclude that it belonged to a Sporty Spice in life.

My feet looked like they had jungle rot by the end and I kept saying "tacotacotacotaco" over and over in my head on the way down, but all in all it was a successful day in the mountains.

Especially because I immediately stuffed my face with tacos when it was over.

P.S. I am sore as fuck.

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