Subject: I've Been Goated
Date: 12 Oct 1998 00:00:00 GMT
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Mumthra)
Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu
Some days it pays to get up late and impersonate a truly healthy
person. The Rev persuaded me to do just that today, suggesting that we
hike the Billy Goat Trail. With the big girls off to visit Gramma, it
would be just the two of us and the baby as luggage.
In spite of the little chill in the air, I followed his suggestion and
wore summer clothes so that I'd be prepared for sweat. He reassured me
that the trail wasn't too difficult, even for toting a stone and a
half of squirm on his back. So, I got ready with all due speed, which
meant that I didn't just pull on my boots, but also did an
experimental Mira Sorvinoid makeover in order to delay things and
aggravate my guide.
We walked for a long time on the C&O Canal's tow path, and had several
near-miss collisions with bicyclists. They were out in swarms in the
beautiful weather and were apparently so mesmerized by the crunch of
their wheels on the path that they all forgot to announce themselves
with anything more audible, like "LOOK OUT!" when they passed. Anyone
who had to bad sense to eat granola while on the path was on their own
for a warning system.
The path got revenge, eventually, when it became a bed of pointy
rocks. We watched several riders carrying their bikes across this
stretch--a fairly hazardous endeavor. Nobody landed in the canal while
we were there, though.
I was just a little alarmed to notice that I had had a pain in my side
from the beginning that was only getting worse. I mentioned it, but I
was already beginning to regret the excess of stubborn pride that I
predicted I was going to commit. The Rev offered to let me wimp out
whenever necessary, but I knew that I'd never hear the end of it if I
did. We weren't even on the trail yet.
We stomped off the tow path in the direction of the river, and before
long we were in blue blazes that marked the trail. The first mile was
pure delight. We rock hopped and climbed and only stopped once to give
the baby a cup of juice and a cracker. My pain disappeared, and even
if it hadn't, there were stretches of terrain that made it impossible
to think of anything other than balancing and planning the next few
Amazingly, The Rev seemed to have no difficulty hopping along with the
baby behind him, and she was snared only once on a tree limb. She
recovered quickly and resumed her bemused look and occasional bouts of
scratching at his neck for fun. Fair 'nuf.
I wasn't worried until we reached the first long descent. We had to
creep down at about forty-five degrees along a steeper rise of rock.
The angle was enough to force me to use a sort of crab crawl that was
absorbing enough that I didn't have any idea how The Rev was managing
it. I suppose he had to do it backwards. On the next climb up, I began
to notice that my balance was off, I couldn't dance as confidently
over the ankle traps and I had to admit that I had been goated. The
fatigue was making my leg muscles feel as if cold, artificial muscles
had been stapled on top of them.
From then on, we used the geezer alternative to the Billy Goat Trail.
It was a happy thing, actually. As we veered off, we saw an entire
high school class heading toward the next section of the other trail,
while our way was nearly deserted. The Rev spotted a chameleon on a
log and even though that probably means that the little guy was an
evolutionary failure, we enjoyed him and told him he was doing
Finally, when we burst back onto the tow path, The Rev admitted that
he'd misled me about the trail. He thought that if he'd told me it was
tough, I wouldn't have agreed to come. I vowed to complete the trail
once I've mastered my new healthier lifestyle.
With that in mind, we went to the nearest Chicken Out and split a
bigass barbecue chicken sandwich.