You know that expression "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me"? Well, I had a real-life moment where this expression came to mind.
You may remember back in 2008 when we went camping and I experienced what I like to call the
death hike. You know, that measley little 3.8 mile hike that nearly sucked the life right out of me? Yes, that one.
Well, we had a death hike remix this very weekend.
Same scenario really...camping with friends and we decide it's time for a nice little stroll in the woods. Except when the trail maps come out, it's all over. The boys' wheels were turning and they were planning an all-morning hike that would be "so easy" and would just "circle around the state park and come right back to our campsite."
"Ok, fine," I said, naively. They assure me it won't be too bad -- I pack up some water, lace up my hiking boots which I LOATHE wearing with anything but long pants because, hello post-baby calves.
We head out at 10:30 a.m. and begin the trail. Easy as pie, just as promised. Not worried yet....until I see the sign warning of rattlesnakes. Eh, whatever, I live with four snakes as pets. We began a trek uphill, probably at a 45 degree angle. I assume a mountain that is called Cove Mountain can't be
that high, and
complain smile as we keep climbing.
**I'm going to take a moment to stop and remind you that I just had a baby three months ago.**
We near what I think is the top and I feel victorious...until I realize we are only half way to the top. Fast forward an hour or so and we are finally at the top. The lookout is beautiful and it makes it seem worthwhile. Plus, I know that all things that go up MUST come down - "all things" being the Mt. Everest of sorts we just climbed.
But as we begin to head down, we actually continue to go up. How in the world is this working?!?!?! We made a little turn onto what was called the Horseshoe Trail, but which I have now dubbed the "Portal to the
bad.place." It went straight down. Like, really. Straight down. On rocks. I actually kicked a small rock at one point and it continued to fall until I could no longer see it. Lovely.
The blisters were killing me and my toes hurt SO BAD from the pressure of your foot on such a downhill slope. At one point during the hike, I grabbed the trail map and looked at it. Know what was beside Horseshoe Trail?
Most Difficult Hike. I yelled. The boys laughed. After probably an hour and a half we finally reach the bottom and just had a nice, flat walk back to the campsite. Lucky for them.
Later that afternoon, we saw a ranger and told him how we did the Horseshoe Trail and he said "wow, we discourage even avid hikers from doing that trail because it's so hard."
Long story short, I obviously survived. But here are my "take aways" from this experience: 1) stop hiking with the boys when we camp; 2) read the trail map yourself before agreeing; and 3) take flares for when you need to set them off for the rescue helicopter to find you.
And now, I will be sore forever and ever. Amen.