Ever had your phone fall into a waterfall as you scaled a mountain? Well, I have. It all started when I heard that some of the people I was having Thanksgiving with were heading up to Hanging Rock to hike to the waterfalls there. Now, as soon as I heard that my mind went to two places. The first centered on the presence of pretty girls, and the second centered on my lack of physical prowess. I was sort of athletic once upon a time, but a broken ankle and a twinkie fetish have made the battle of the bulge into a war of attrition. I spent two days dreading this fateful event, and used a great deal of brainpower to conjure up very realistic images of myself doubled over beside the trail, a river of sweat and failure flowing down the path, the girls laughing and the guys shaking their heads at my total failure to complete even the tamest of outdoorsy tasks. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my short tenure here on planet Earth, it’s that my powers of imagination are sharply enhanced by my fear of failure. We got in the car and headed up, running into, of all places, a Hicks Pharmacy, and once we got to the park I began to steel myself for the humiliation ahead. Since we didn’t get cell reception, Drew suggested that we put our phones on airplane mode so that they wouldn’t continually scan for a signal and wear down their batteries. This turned out to be a fortuitous decision. We set off down the trail, the four girls walking ahead and the guys behind, and went down the first trail. Ok, so far so good. No hemorrhages. Checked things out, took some pictures, then back up the trail to the crossroad. Here the challenge began. Uphill is a little tougher than downhill, but we made it. Then we got to hidden falls, and I started climbing on stuff. I found that my fears had been so far unjustified- or maybe I was just being blindly optimistic, I thought. The real threat was still ahead. But, as I came to find, I was up to the task. Nothing is so pleasant as finding oneself equal to something daunting, even if the daunt is all in one’s head. But I digress.
After an hour or so, I was feeling so cocky that I decided to scale the waterfall and make it back up that way instead of following the trail. Johnny followed, and soon we were high on a bluff, waiting for the others to catch up. As I surveyed the landscape, master of my domain, my Saxon ancestors smiling upon their mighty scion, I heard a voice from the trail. “Hicks!” Nonplussed, I answered the mere mortal with a nonchalant “What?” “Do you have your phone?” How dare this peon challenge my epic climbing skills? I felt in my pocket, only to discover… “No…” I answered, weakly. “I found it in a puddle…so…”
Fart!
Someone suggested that I put it in rice, which is what we did when we got back. But the true challenge still lay ahead. Getting back up the mountain, like so many challenges in my life, turned out to be nothing at all like the mental picture I had, and everyone was able to make it without incident. Johnny and I even had a footrace to the car on the last stretch, which I (barely) lost. But I’m pretty sure he cheated, or something. Anyway, there are two morals to this story. The first is, assess the challenges you face realistically, and have confidence in your abilities, and second, and most important, if you dare to climb higher to reach your true potential, then make sure your pockets are zipped shut. Because even if you have insurance, it’s a long way down.
Oh, and bring matches. Not because it’s a metaphor, but, y’know. So you’ll have matches.
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