I’ve struggled this week with writing any kind of article. I made a promise to myself that it
would not be a pandemic related post. “Been there, done that. I don’t want to hear about it
anymore! There are plenty of other things to write about right now!”
Now imagine me, two days after that thought, staring at a blank Word document.
So instead, I am going to dive deep into my memory banks and regale you (hopefully) with
some story time, in hopes that whatever I type out will eventually come to some sort of
thematic conclusion that connects beautifully and brings about world peace.
Ahem You may conclude to yourself that someone who climbs rocks must be a nature
person. By all definition, this would be a person that wears hemp clothing and knows what
leaves to eat in a survival situation.
I cannot speak for everyone in the climbing community, of course, but this is not the case for
me. I DO love nature. I love hiking it and climbing it and looking at it. But I am BAD at nature.
And I’ve come to the realization that maybe nature wants me dead? Let’s see what you think.
Two of my other friends and I decide to go camping on Galveston beach. We each had a dog in
tow, borrowed my brother’s truck, and set out for a girl’s weekend of adventure!
We get our tent up and start settling in. Now let me tell you, we thought the bay breeze would
bring some coolness, but it was hotter than hell. Satan would not be out in that kinda heat.
Then the storm came. We all sat in our tent as lightning, wind, rain, and hail spilled around us.
Fine, fine…we had shelter, right?
Until one of the poles started to shift. We all started grabbing on, trying to hold our little
makeshift home together. It, of course, collapsed, leaving us running in the deluge with our
dogs (mine was just irritated we woke him from his nap, he would have slept in that collapsed
tent heap all night), trying to throw everything in the truck and make a quick escape.
Side note: This event also resulted in us terrifying my friend’s husband, who did not expect
three women to be sleeping in his front room when he came out to the kitchen in the middle of
the night bare nekkid.
Another camping experience. Out at Lake Tahoe, surrounded by hundreds of other campers,
my siblings and I had convinced ourselves there was a bear outside our tent. We heard
“Even if it was a bear, you’d probably be fine, Jen.”
YEAH, OK, I KNOW, BUT LISTEN, I had just watched Grizzly Man and I was pretty convinced I
would end up in a bear belly by the end of the night. If a bear was going to eat anybody that
evening it was going to be me! I had just eaten a meatball sub, I’m chubby, I’m slow…I’m
basically the perfect meal! So, when something brushed by our tent, we ran out screaming. We
may or may not have ended up at a motel. My pride dictates that I cannot say.
This is more of a general. Whenever I’m backpacking, camping, whatever. My body completely
shuts down. If you need more information about what I mean I will try to explain in a graphic.
That’s poop. I’m saying I don’t poop.
And I mean….it doesn’t happen FOR DAYS. THE ENTIRE TRIP. My body completely rejects the
idea of going in nature. By the time we come back down from our site, I’m harboring four days’
worth of food babies in my digestive system. Not sure if this is more or less enticing for the
bears, but probably more.
Now, you may be thinking, “Well this has nothing to do with nature, Jen. You just suck at
putting up tents and have an irrational fear of gigantic animals that can tear you limb from limb.
This does not prove that nature wants you dead.”
Maybe not. But at least it wasn’t another one of my COVID posts. Unless you take the “nature
wanting to kill you” thing and RELATE it to coronavirus?? Oh my God, that’s it, landed on
genius. You’re welcome. The end.