Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Who knew?!

Its a very small item, barely larger than the size of those crappy murder mysteries or romance novels that you buy in an airport bookstore during a layover when you've finally, reluctantly given up the ghost and realized that the terminal you're stuck in for the next two hours does not, in fact, feature a Taco Bell. Its printed on the same low-quality paper as one's local daily, presumably so its cost-savings can be passed on to me, its soon-to-be newest customer. Photographs if its wares are out of the question in lieu of 200+ pages featuring painstakingly-drawn black and white sketches detailing every waterproof seam, rust-resistant grommet, and anti-snag zipper it has to offer.

It arrived with today's mail. I devoured its contents immediately...dog-earing pages, circling items and occasionally even drawing small arrows to further assist my future page-navigation efforts by calling blue-ballpoint attention to specific sizes or colors of the selections that I would, in a matter of mere weeks, consider indispensable.

"He must be really, really cute," proclaimed my former husband, R, when learning last week of my imminent plan to join M3, his sister and one of his best friends for a 13 day, 12 night backpacking extravaganza in Banff National Park next month. I'd have told him that the trip was also going to entail smrtygrl spending a night in a hostel, but it being the middle of the workday and all, I figured R'd appreciate my efforts to avoid having him shit his pants right there in the office.

I dated and/or lived with this particular man for 9+ years. He, more than anyone else in my 30-something years on earth, is acutely aware of just how infrequently I'd willingly find and/or place myself in the wilderness....unless my environment was highly controlled. For example, if a pair of K2's were strapped to my feet, but regardless of my position on the mountain in question, no more than a 10 to 15 minute burst of physical activity stood between me and the consumption of a suitably alcoholic apres-ski beverage. And a stack of black bean nachos.

Its not that I'm *not* outdoorsy. I love a blustery afternoon on the slopes, an early morning gliding across a placid lake in an eight-woman rowing shell, even an evening softball or soccer game under the lights. I enjoy those things just as much as the next gal. Really. But let's be honest, the notion of smrtygrl in the backwoods isn't something that one's brain easily wraps around.

"So let me get this straight.." is generally the way conversations with friends on this very topic have tended to begin once I've disclosed my summer vacation plans. Its not lost on me or anyone else that, given the choice, I'd much prefer to spend 13 days and 12 nights exploring the urban jungle than I would sleeping on the ground, in a tent, able to smell myself. But you know...that's just me.

My (apparently waning) cosmopolitan tendencies notwithstanding, when M3 extended an invitation to participate in his annual summer pilgrimage to the wilderness, I didn't think twice about accepting. I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew that camping wasn't exactly my thing, but we'd just gotten back together after the oft-lamented break and not only did the prospect of spending almost two straight weeks with a boy who is, indeed, really really cute sound positively glorious, but it also sounded an awful lot like an endorsement of his willingness to explore our future. Through late July, at least.

But first, for M3's peace of mind, moreso than for my own (despite his protests that a test run was more for me than for him), I had to ace my pre-req: an entry-level examination of my ability to fully and sincerely enjoy an overnight outing in the trees...before going to Banff and being stuck in the wild for days on end with no recourse if it totally sucked ass. So off to the woods we went last Saturday. I'd be sleeping on the ground. In a tent. Able to smell myself.

In the end, the extra credit assignment that I voluntarily submitted to with the goal of ensuring my position at the head of the class even proved unnecessary (sorry, mom). I'd already passed with flying colors.

And goddammit, I really fucking enjoyed myself.

So, in t-minus less than a month, smrtygrl will again be roughing it. This time, complete with a 35+ lb pack strapped to her back, fueled by little more than dehydrated lentils and Luna bars, mitigating the troubling implications of very confused bowels, and grappling with the distressing reality that while she absolutely adores M3, and even though its been six months since their first date that he refuses to this day to acknowledge was really a date yet she *still* can't seem to keep her hands off of him, they both stink way too bad to get it on.

To the mind-boggling disbelief of no one moreso than yours truly, I'm totally psyched for this trip. Today, I even flipped forward through my planner to count the days 'til we leave (21). Yet it wasn't until I'd turned the final page of the thing that came in the mail this afternoon when it hit me.

Hey, that's *my* name on the address label!

Not "current resident." Not my former husband. Not even the outdoorsy lesbians who lived in my rental house before I came along.

Me!
Smrtygrl!
The one who likes backpacking!

And I've got my very own Campmor catalog to prove it.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Lola says she never thought she'd see the day when you would willingly spend time hiking and sleeping in the great outdoors:) That's awesome! Have fun. Be stinky.

8:37 PM  
Blogger sarainitaly said...

have fun! takes pics, and let me know how it went! :OD

8:10 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home