Hiking: A Dramatic Retelling

Bad things tend to happen to me. The worst part about these bad things is they are entirely preventable. For those of you who’ve read this blog for a while now, you'll know exactly where this post is going just from the following sentence.

I went hiking.

I know. It was foolish. You’re probably thinking “didn’t you barely survived the last time you went hiking?” (story here)

Yes, I did barely survive. Like I said, I create all of my own problems.

In my defense, I have a high opinion of my survival skills. It is unwarranted and foolish, but I can’t seem to shake the belief I can do anything.

Now I could explain this, but you really just need to know that the weeks preluding the hike I had lost a significant amount of weight and was currently not eating much. Ok maybe I do need to explain that, let’s call it a stressed induced cleanse…yeah that didn’t make it sound better. Anyhoo, it happened let’s move on.

Two months ago (it's taken a while to write this) I went into this hike knowing I hadn’t really eaten in a while and I couldn’t remember the last time I had water. I thought I would be fine because, I always think I’ll be fine. My friends, however, did not think I would be fine. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them had a wager on when I would pass out.

Oh, friends, they’re great.

The hike itself was supposed to be a tame jaunt to a waterfall. No big deal. Except that we couldn’t find the elusive waterfall and it was hot. Really hot. At one point we gave up and abandoned our hope of swimming and headed back to the car, but even with that knowledge, my body began to shut down. I stumbled to the car convincing myself things would improve once I was able to sit.

They didn’t.

Now we’re driving along, driving along and my body begins to go through a peculiar array of symptoms. 

• First symptom- Face twitching: my eyes were so spazy I could hardly keep them open.
• Second symptom- Overactive heart: I was convinced it was going to pop out and beat us home.
• Third symptom- Clamminess. So. Much. Moisture. 
• Fourth symptom- Nausea. Stop the rocking. (French Kiss reference) 
• Fifth symptom- Light-headed dizzy confusion: or as I call it, a cocktail of fun.

Now the first three symptoms were fine. I could handle them. The second two were not ok and lead to a fifteen-minute debate on what was worse, passing out or throwing up in someone’s car. I had solid arguments for both cases.

Finally, I decided to let my date in on the situation. Oh, did I forget to mention this was a date. Because it was. Which just increases the humiliation about 7 notches.

I believe my exact words were “um…I gotta be real honest, I don’t feel well.” At the moment I thought I came off as cool and aloof. Like “hey, so I might be dyin, but it ain’t no thang.”

In reality, I was a twitchy little ball of silence.

We ended up pulling off at a gift shop/possible murder scene. The second I stepped out of the car my vision drifted into blackness. I waited till the building came back into focus before I drunkenly staggered into what can only be called the sketchiest bathroom in Arizona.

I don’t even know if we can call it a bathroom. It was a slab of concrete surrounded by exposed bricks. But to be honest, I couldn’t have cared less. It had a floor and that’s all I needed. I slowly slipped to the dusty bug invested ground and just laid there.

Now you’re probably thinking, were you worried about your date with judging you? Um, no I wasn’t. I don’t even know if it crossed my mind. You see I was convinced I was never leaving that bathroom which ensured me I would never see him again.  

I mean, I tried several times to stand up, but it was a futile endeavor. I was destined for dirt and sweat and death. After thirty minutes of planning my funeral (it will be lovely by the by) I stood and was rewarded with my leg muscles seizing up and dropping me back to the ground. This was my least favorite symptom. Once I got the leg cramps under control the next step was getting rid of what little remained in my stomach.

This is a great story right?

Forty-five minutes later I emerged a new person. Meanwhile, my date had time to make friends with the owner, a drunken prospector who was more than willing to share his insight on mining for gold. I think we could debate who had a worse time during those forty-five minutes.

I wish I could say that was the end of the adventure, but you see I still had a half hour drive ahead of me. At first, I was fine. And then I wasn’t. Luckily, I made it home in time to jump out of his car, run into my house, throw up in the kitchen sink, and pass out on the dining room floor.

The rest of the night was spent in bed battling chills and my mom who was convinced I needed to go to the hospital for heat stroke.

Mothers can be so dramatic…