Last night it was suggested that instead of catching a cab into town for some local NYE festivities, that we walk.
Admittedly, it was a beautiful day for it. Somewhat cool and very comfortable. The glaring, burning, blistering sun was shielded by clouds and on the decline. The mosquitos had yet to rise as one from the treelines in an attempt to smite and devour all that crossed their path.
It was prime walking hour in the land of Oz.
Agreed, let's slow down and take time to enjoy the gorgeous area around us.
Mistakes were made.
I am not sure how I managed it, but I forgot about the hills. Damned stunning, rising topography everywhere.
For those unaware, I () am... a husky lady. Some might even say "fluffy". I am marshmallow-y and a bit out of shape. I am also from Florida. That being said, the only hills I have ever climbed or walked up resided on a golf course.
Until last night.
I trudged pudgily next to , attempting to mask my gasping for breath as sighs of awe and whimsy. And failed miserably.
I could see him shooting me concerned glances from the corner of his eye. Like he thought I would surely stroke out at any moment. I felt his hand reassuringly squeeze mine as the corners of my vision went dark and hazy from the foreign altitude change.
I was obviously struggling at some points of drastic incline. Pouring sweat and praying to any god that would hear my call. The popping of my ears and laughter of kookubarros creating a terrible soundtrack to my struggle.
Shameful amounts of sweat clung to my brow as I counted my steps and thought that it surely cannot be as bad as it seems.
Until we began to saunter up a steep incline of what had to be 45 degrees of unadulterated pain and anguish, and I kicked a small pebble.
Now, I had kicked this rock with the considerable force it took to drag my ass up the hill. Which was a LOT.
This rock shot into the air and promptly fell back past me.
I looked over at , flabergasted. Surely, I had just witnessed a marvel of the natural world. HOW STEEP WAS THIS HILL? WHY DO PEOPLE LIVE ON THEM? DEAR GOD, EVEN THE HOUSES ARE A BIT TILTED.
He wasn't even sweating. He was used to this.
He is a mad man created by the wilds of Death Island.
This hill wasn't shit to him.
Once we finally climbed what equated to fifteen mountain excursions for a Floridian, the town loomed on the horizon. I took a moment and marveled at the beauty of it. A pretty little place nestled into the trees and cut into hillsides, busy cars zipping about the wild corners in the distance.
And then I realized...
We still had to walk downhill.
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