It’s been three days since we got off of the mountain. I find myself thinking about Snowy and Gumby. Where they are; who they’ve met. I wonder about Dennis and what kind of abuse he got on the way home. I wonder about those two women and how long it took them to recover. I wonder if they cursed me the next morning during that particularly nasty section at the beginning.
I am still repaying that debt I owe my body for pushing it far beyond its limits. I am wondering if my ability to walk has been permanently compromised. I have heard that Chris was a little sore for a few hours. Jamie and Kevin appeared just fine and were endlessly amused by watching me move around slowly, delicately -- trying to keep pain at a minimum.
No one has fessed up regarding who chose the route.
There have been accusations.
Wild fantasies.
Clear signs of dementia.
Absurd recollections.
As if I would have chosen this route.
I, the weakest of the four.
I, the most loathe to work out.
I, the despiser of sweat.
I, who doesn’t read topographical maps when making recommendations to a group of men who are flexible and polite enough to agree with a woman who seems to know what she wants.
Absurd.
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