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telaryn...or "I walked sixty miles and slept in a tent this weekend...what did *you* do?" :)
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crevette and I realized early on that a lot of this weekend was going to involve fairly standard brainwashing techniques -- and damn if they didn't start right off at the opening ceremonies. All the elements were there...inspiring speeches, appropriately swelling music, heart-tugging examples of "why we fight".
And we fell for it. I have no idea how many tears fell between Crev and I in the brief thirty minutes or so that we were standing there. I know it was enough to make the more cynical side of my brain roll its eyes almost to critical sticking points.
And then they sent us on our way between a gauntlet of cheering spectators and volunteers to Celtic-style music that reminded me a lot of "Emerald Rose".
Well hell -- if they'd *asked* me what would get me pumped, inspired and moving, they couldn't have come up with a better music style. It almost made up for the fact that the first stretch of the first day was down the beach.
As in, walking on the sand. *facepalm* Luckily whoever sacrificed to the weather Gods for this weekend gave us a good soaking rain on *Thursday*...meaning that the sand was nice and packed, instead of the powder-fine disaster it would have been under ordinary circumstances.
Still.
Pacing was never an issue -- particularly in the beginning -- as 1700+ walkers just bunch up too damn close to walk with any kind of efficiency. Crev and I decided to breeze through the first pit stop in order to get ahead of the pack, which seemed to work well.
Friday was the hottest of the days that we walked -- but even it was less agony than we ever endured on the trail, walking under the Perky Bataan Death March Cheerleader. It was also weird experiencing the pit stop system -- there was a stop built in every three miles on average, where food, water, "sports drink" and medical attention were available.
And porta-potties. *snerk* Remember what I said about brainwashing? Well on Friday, we were normal (fairly), healthy, sane (reasonably) human beings going through the same sort of revulsion most normal, healthy and sane people go through at the thought of relieving yourself in a porta-potty.
Sunday?crevette will back me up -- I measured all sixteen miles we did on Sunday in the distance between porta-potties. "Porta-let HO!" was my fevered battle-cry at several points along the route. I guess it's a miracle Crev didn't trip me into the various bodies of water we walked next to -- Gods know she probably thought about it a couple of times.
Of course the fact that none of the *other* walkers tried to drown us when we broke into "Copa Cabana" walking along Coffeepot Bayou on Sunday is probably a miracle in and of itself. :) No choruses of "Afternoon Delight" were broken out -- we decided that it constituted cruel and unusual punishment on women who just by being there with us were really punishing themselves beyond all measure.
The hardest part of Friday was around the last three miles. We passed Bay Pines Hospital, and were crossing over a bridge. It was the hottest part of the day, and even though we knew there was a pit stop in our future, spirits were flagging. I had water and gatorade, but despite my obsessive socking away of snacks (I was the squirrel of our group), I'd managed to hit a null point. We were going on through sheer force of will...one foot in front of the other.
And then there was a pit stop. With obnoxiously perky people and tacky decorations. Food, shade, porta-potties...rest.
And stickers. Damn -- the lure of stickers never *does* go away. All of it together was enough to get us on to the finish line.
Ah the finish line -- there is nothing quite like coming into camp being cheered on once again by lines of volunteers telling you how incredible you are -- how awesome and beautiful you are.
I want a portable cheering section of my very own for my birthday.
The plan on hitting camp was to grab our gear and set up our tents first, since we got into camp about half an hour before dinner. Near the gear trucks we encountered something so profoundly beautifulcrevette wept once again.
Girl Scouts. "Ma'am, if you'll just tell us where your site is, we'll set up your tent for you."
Now many of you may recall that Crev and I had a bet going -- if one of us had to get swept (ie, picked up by van), that person would be responsible for setting up the tent. I feel confident that had it been left to us, we could have puzzled it out.
Being told that we didn't have to was somewhat akin to having the God of your choice descend from on high, pat you on the head and say: "You win."
Dinner was quite the enjoyable relief, although we did encounter the first of what would turn out to be a disturbing number of women who were very blase' about the whole training aspect of getting ready for this weekend. One woman at dinner actually told us, "well, I only walk about two or three miles a day, but I'm on my feet all day at work, so I think I'll do fine."
When we saw her the next evening, *both* feet were swathed in ACE bandages.
Even the lovely woman we adopted for the weekend, who confessed that she'd never done more than eight miles at a stretch, ended up with what medical thought might be tendonitis (but at the very least was probably a mild sprain).
I think my heart softened towards our Perky Bataan Death March Cheerleader at that point -- just as she had predicted it would. Say what you will (and I did), she more than prepared us for the experience.
Of course the next day when we were set upon by PBDMC's "team" (the Chicas, aka the Chica-Collective, or the "Perky Mob"), the Jurassic Park quotes would fly fast and furious ("Must...go...faster...")
More later...
crevette and I realized early on that a lot of this weekend was going to involve fairly standard brainwashing techniques -- and damn if they didn't start right off at the opening ceremonies. All the elements were there...inspiring speeches, appropriately swelling music, heart-tugging examples of "why we fight".And we fell for it. I have no idea how many tears fell between Crev and I in the brief thirty minutes or so that we were standing there. I know it was enough to make the more cynical side of my brain roll its eyes almost to critical sticking points.
And then they sent us on our way between a gauntlet of cheering spectators and volunteers to Celtic-style music that reminded me a lot of "Emerald Rose".
Well hell -- if they'd *asked* me what would get me pumped, inspired and moving, they couldn't have come up with a better music style. It almost made up for the fact that the first stretch of the first day was down the beach.
As in, walking on the sand. *facepalm* Luckily whoever sacrificed to the weather Gods for this weekend gave us a good soaking rain on *Thursday*...meaning that the sand was nice and packed, instead of the powder-fine disaster it would have been under ordinary circumstances.
Still.
Pacing was never an issue -- particularly in the beginning -- as 1700+ walkers just bunch up too damn close to walk with any kind of efficiency. Crev and I decided to breeze through the first pit stop in order to get ahead of the pack, which seemed to work well.
Friday was the hottest of the days that we walked -- but even it was less agony than we ever endured on the trail, walking under the Perky Bataan Death March Cheerleader. It was also weird experiencing the pit stop system -- there was a stop built in every three miles on average, where food, water, "sports drink" and medical attention were available.
And porta-potties. *snerk* Remember what I said about brainwashing? Well on Friday, we were normal (fairly), healthy, sane (reasonably) human beings going through the same sort of revulsion most normal, healthy and sane people go through at the thought of relieving yourself in a porta-potty.
Sunday?
crevette will back me up -- I measured all sixteen miles we did on Sunday in the distance between porta-potties. "Porta-let HO!" was my fevered battle-cry at several points along the route. I guess it's a miracle Crev didn't trip me into the various bodies of water we walked next to -- Gods know she probably thought about it a couple of times.Of course the fact that none of the *other* walkers tried to drown us when we broke into "Copa Cabana" walking along Coffeepot Bayou on Sunday is probably a miracle in and of itself. :) No choruses of "Afternoon Delight" were broken out -- we decided that it constituted cruel and unusual punishment on women who just by being there with us were really punishing themselves beyond all measure.
The hardest part of Friday was around the last three miles. We passed Bay Pines Hospital, and were crossing over a bridge. It was the hottest part of the day, and even though we knew there was a pit stop in our future, spirits were flagging. I had water and gatorade, but despite my obsessive socking away of snacks (I was the squirrel of our group), I'd managed to hit a null point. We were going on through sheer force of will...one foot in front of the other.
And then there was a pit stop. With obnoxiously perky people and tacky decorations. Food, shade, porta-potties...rest.
And stickers. Damn -- the lure of stickers never *does* go away. All of it together was enough to get us on to the finish line.
Ah the finish line -- there is nothing quite like coming into camp being cheered on once again by lines of volunteers telling you how incredible you are -- how awesome and beautiful you are.
I want a portable cheering section of my very own for my birthday.
The plan on hitting camp was to grab our gear and set up our tents first, since we got into camp about half an hour before dinner. Near the gear trucks we encountered something so profoundly beautiful
crevette wept once again.Girl Scouts. "Ma'am, if you'll just tell us where your site is, we'll set up your tent for you."
Now many of you may recall that Crev and I had a bet going -- if one of us had to get swept (ie, picked up by van), that person would be responsible for setting up the tent. I feel confident that had it been left to us, we could have puzzled it out.
Being told that we didn't have to was somewhat akin to having the God of your choice descend from on high, pat you on the head and say: "You win."
Dinner was quite the enjoyable relief, although we did encounter the first of what would turn out to be a disturbing number of women who were very blase' about the whole training aspect of getting ready for this weekend. One woman at dinner actually told us, "well, I only walk about two or three miles a day, but I'm on my feet all day at work, so I think I'll do fine."
When we saw her the next evening, *both* feet were swathed in ACE bandages.
Even the lovely woman we adopted for the weekend, who confessed that she'd never done more than eight miles at a stretch, ended up with what medical thought might be tendonitis (but at the very least was probably a mild sprain).
I think my heart softened towards our Perky Bataan Death March Cheerleader at that point -- just as she had predicted it would. Say what you will (and I did), she more than prepared us for the experience.
Of course the next day when we were set upon by PBDMC's "team" (the Chicas, aka the Chica-Collective, or the "Perky Mob"), the Jurassic Park quotes would fly fast and furious ("Must...go...faster...")
More later...
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