Click here to Read Skoki Part I: I’m Fucked, Aren’t I?
Same same but different. (They were flown in by helicopter along with a flush toilet, for one)
In retrospect, it should have been obvious to me that we’d be snowshoeing uphill.
I mean, I was aware we would be trekking through the Rocky Mountains, an area not exactly known for its wide expanses of flat terrain, and yet I was still somewhat shocked when we began our hike in and it was uphill. Very uphill. Uphill a lot and for a long time and then steeper uphill and more uphill and then the mother of all uphills just to really fuck with me.
I’m not even sure I was aware that snowshoes could go uphill, but I think that’s because I was envisioning those old wood tennis-racket looking things. In short, I had no fucking idea what I was getting myself into.
Here’s what happened.
The other day, Olive asked me if I could run.
She wasn’t asking me to run, mind you. She was asking if I was physically capable of running because, presumably, she’s never seen it.
It’s true that I’m not often found running and jumping and engaging in strenuous activity or competitive sports. Or even mild activity and recreational sports, if we’re being honest. I’ve never been super athletic and my kidney condition means that I’m always hovering on the edge of fatigue just from daily activities. It’s one of the reasons I love yoga so much, it’s a way to stay in shape and maintain some sort of muscle tone without having to sweat buckets of precious electrolytes. But, of course, Olive doesn’t see me in yoga class and while I’m sure I have run in her presence, it’s obviously happened rarely enough that she doesn’t remember it.
I’m sharing this anecdote with you for two reasons. First, to add yet another example of Olive’s trolling skills to the already-long list. And second, so that you will have some context for the following story.