Climb for Hospice

As I was watching my belly reverberate with my steps on my walk this morning, I realized that my fleshy echos are proof positive that I have underestimated Mt. Kilimanjaro.

I haven’t been training for about 2 weeks now, and boy, am I feeling the effects. I mean, it’s not like I’m putting undue pressure on my joints or anything, but I did notice that I was getting a little winded when I had to walk from the car to the pizza place.

Chris kindly asked if I’d like to spend the next nine days hiking and training, but then seemed somewhat offended when I spewed my coffee out my nose and onto the dog as I snorted with laughter.

No, I don’t think I’ll be doing much more in the way of training before I leave. Handily, I can now use the “I don’t want to sprain an ankle/hurt myself/break my leg/ before I go” excuse. Dude, I’ve been waiting for months to be able to use that one!

So yes, I am not as prepared as I had thought I would be. I had such grand plans to camp every weekend, and hike at least eight times a month. I was going to be able to tango up the Gingell steps by now, and would be a lean, mean sinew machine standing tall and proud as I gazed at my rock-hard and deadly perfect body in the mirror.

Often.

You know, when I wasn’t handing out quarters to random strangers, daring them to bounce spare change off my trampoline-esque abs.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway…

To recap: I’m not as fit as I had hoped, and there’s a bag of chips in the cupboard that’s calling my name. Breakfast of champions… breakfast of mountain conquerers.

*waddles away*