While my dad was in town, we hiked up Mount Rainier. This time, I actually brought supplies (more water, a lunch, a jacket, rain gear) and was the worse off for it, because now I had to lug a pack up with me when I’m far more accustomed to merely lugging myself around. I eventually had to hand my bag over to Jason due to shooting pain in my “unergonomic shoulder”–the desk I worked at for the last five and a half years was too high for me, which forced my arm up into an awkward position in order to use my mouse, which did a number on my shoulder over time. Now, when I carry something heavy, or have my arm raised for anything more than a few minutes, the shoulder lets me know I’ve gone too far by responding with deep stabs of pain. More often than not, Jason will end up carrying my bags, which means I really should try to coordinate with both outfits instead of just one.

By far, one of my favorite genetic traits I inherited from my mother is my inefficient cooling system. Essentially, while performing any sort of physical activity, my face turns as red as a ripe tomato, regardless of how my body feels, prompting those around me, friends and strangers, to ask if I am currently embroiled in the process of dying. This red face sticks around for hours. In school, I would dread the days we’d run in gym class, knowing that I’d be displaying evidence of the activity for the remainder of the day. No one wants to ask Beet Red Bobblehead Betty to the prom, and that’s a fact.

We hiked up to the snowline and decided we didn’t want to go any further, since none of us particularly relished the idea of a potential fall into dirty, icy snow, and/or possibly sliding to our gruesome deaths. I’ll pack a sandwich, but crampons are overkill for a casual hike. Since we stopped early and had energy to spare on the way down, we cast hate rays at the families of people who were diverging from the trail, stomping the fragile meadows. Why try to keep anything nice for anyone else, right?

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