We drove into the rising sun. Few travelers joined us on our twilight journey. My jaw ached from being sucker punched the night before by an obese, drunk Mexican while sitting in a Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru. My stomach was a cauldron of various spirits, still bubbling from the night before. My eyes, my brain and the rest of my body burned from the lack of sleep. She told me she felt the same. But we were determined, destined for adventure–a drive straight up the mountain as the sun rose over its peak. We decided on a whim to drive to Tahoe, on zero hours of sleep. We arrived in town at 8, booked the first hotel we could find and slept until the late afternoon. We enjoyed some good food, a walk on the strip and the beach, then came home the next morning. It was exhilarating and exhausting at the same time.
Despite being a fat tire, I still feel more in shape than most of the people I see slogging along the river trail. I think the three years of cross country and two years of track in high school conditioned me enough to hold me over even through my lazy college years, where bad eating habits are running rampant. At least that’s what I like to tell myself. One thing that has never been very well groomed is my stride. You know how some people are described as having a rolling gait? I have the opposite of that. My gait is similar to a steel-booted robot, stomping, marching angrily towards a calculated destination. I have heavy feet, or something. I can’t help it.