The law of averages promised that I’ll have a few not so stellar days out here.
Today was one of those days.
I mean, it started off alright?
I’d slept in a little, because it was going to be a cold one again so sunlight didn’t really matter. I’d picked up a snazzy pair of gaiters to stop sand and rocks hindering my walk, and they‘re certainly happy colours. There were free donuts for breakfast.
I really had nothing to complain about, but my spirits were down. I don’t know how to put it any other way. Maybe because I’d had such a glorious chilled out day the day before; catching up with best friends and chatting with my folks, or waltzing around in a hot pink dress made me homesick or something, but I just was not looking forward to getting back on the trail.
I dragged my feet until finally setting off at 11.
And it was another beautiful day out. Apart from the (very) cool breeze, it should have been an easy day with me skipping down the track again.
I was able to wash most of my laundry in the stream and use my bag as a clothesline. There were gorgeous views all around. I had a great podcast on.
But then I realised I had left my spoon on the counter where I washed it that morning. And my knee started hurting. And the lack of spoon upset my more as I took each step towards an interesting dinner. And my knee hurt more. In my mind, I played through the few items I had in my bag that could make do for the spoon, and the list was short. Comically short. Although I use ‘comical’ lightly, with the mood I was spiraling into. My knee got worse.
Soon, sharp pains stabbed into the side of my kneecap with every step. I had to bite back yelps of pain when I stepped up ledges or down rocks, searching left and right for any campsite that would do.
The guys a day behind me were able to find my spoon, and will bring it with them when we meet up in the next town two days away, but that did nothing for the spoonless situation I found myself in. It was lucky I asked: the second spoon is Speedy’s!
I wrote a desperate text to my family, physio cousin and bootcamp instructors, asking for prayer because the pain got so bad. The last mile of the day took me nearly an hour of gritting my teeth to get through, but I finally stumbled across some flat ground beside the path, with room enough for my tent.
My dilemma now was this: mashed potato, or two minute noodles? Noodles won out (the soup would be easier to clean).
My utensil? A cuticle remover, also known as my handy thingy for removing any ingrown toenails should they appear on trail.
Not even kidding.
It’s not even 7:30PM, still light out, and I’m wrapped up in my sleeping quilt sulking to myself asking, “WTF AM I DOING?!”
At least today’s an easy one to beat, and tomorrow that law of averages can go kiss my soon-to-be-skinny ass.