A girl’s trip… on a freezing day in February a few female co-workers and I decided that we needed a couple of days off. Together. We needed a girl’s trip. Stat. We say the things, make the promises and then I forgot all about it and went on with winter. But fast-forward two weeks and here comes the email reminder and suddenly my stomach is in nervous knots. This thing is happening. So, the four of us invite ourselves to a mini-conference call and decide we will go off the grid—skiing 7 miles to a hut for an overnight. This is far past my physical capability but I figure I have 3 weeks so I can make it happen. I’m currently in the worst shape I have ever been in being an emotional eater that doesn’t work out and I’m on my way to becoming sizeable if I’m being honest.  I buy the gear which takes about 3 weeks because I had to order four sizes of ski boots to find the right fit and because I haven’t skied in twenty-five years. (Along with my sizeability, I also have flat feet that are extra wide with a high instep—i.e., I have my dad’s dad-bod and his feet so double whammy there). For physical prep I work out, if rowing counts, and then I get a real head cold for my efforts. All of the colds I have had for the past year and a half have never really amounted to much but this guy was like a bad boyfriend that had some serious (cyrious) staying power.  The cold passes and I use my final days before the trip learning everything I can about my gear from skilled co-workers.

The girls team agrees to meet in my hometown, Kingfield, and things are looking up except for the fact that we are down to three. Influenza is such a buzzkill but not a game changer for all. The weather will be cold—3 to 20 degrees but sunny. I am ready and totally afraid. My insecurity is bigger than my thighs at this point and I’m worried about holding the girls back, getting lost without communication, getting hurt. Regardless of this fear, I’m still in the car heading West and I look forward to seeing the girls in my childhood home.

After meeting, we drive together to Big Eddy and race to get on our gear and get in the woods. I love being in the woods in winter. I think its about as close to a religious experience that I will ever have. Looking up through the frozen branches and seeing the blue sky makes me appreciate nature and my place in the universe like nothing else can. See below because someone else has captured this better than I ever could.

This is the part of the journey I’m so excited for! Within minutes, the skis are on, my pack is fastened, and my face is covered because it is damn cold and windy. At this point, I’m ready to do the work because its after 1pm and I have a very fancy vision of sitting next to a fire, drinking beer with my friends that I want to make a reality. Skiing proves to be like riding a bike and the terrain is mostly flat to start so it’s not terribly scary.  Just like that we are off!

We make our way through the woods and ski for quite some time near the Dead River. We chat as we ski and, sometimes, I let my mind wander off too—this was near where my father grew up. Tague’s owned land here and I wonder what it was like so many years ago. This land is quiet, pristine, serene, and because of the cold, it seems barren. Things here are untouched. Only ski tracks (and the tracks of groomers) cut this land. It is beautiful. The day seems endless and we dare to guess at how much ground we have covered in the two hours we have been outside. I’m guessing 4 miles, Jenny says 5. Within the hour we finally see a mile marker. We are at Mile 3.  Only 3 miles covered. Holy shit.

At this moment in time, I know I have forgotten everything pure and beautiful. I’m in panic. A million questions race through my mind at once, the most important being, “How the hell will I ski nearly 5 more miles until the hut?” I’m tired. I’m hungry and I know that I don’t have the physical capability to keep on. I feel sick to my stomach and want to throw up. My senses go into overdrive and suddenly I’m cold and wondering if I will get pneumonia or have a heart attack out here—things I was not worried about only a few moments ago.  Hello anxiety and welcome to my ski trip. I need an intervention or a valium for which I am not prescribed.

Enter Jenny. Our fearless leader and organizer of this journey. Jenny is the epitome of resilience, knowledge, kindness and physical and emotional strength. And I did not know all of this until this trip. I cannot even imagine what it was like for her in that moment to know that her two novice skiers were feeling all the things and possibly ready to tap out any second. To see our disappointment in our journey and to see that excitement fade only to be replaced with fear and self-doubt. Let me tell anyone who reads this… I don’t have the words to describe what I saw in her when she pulled the Buff off her face and smiled and said, “You can do this.”  And it wasn’t in a cheer leader or motivational speaker type of tone. It was simple and it was true. She was telling us that we could do this because we were doing it! And let’s be honest, there is no extraction off the trail because there is no way to communicate the need for one. So, when we needed a rest, no big deal. To walk instead of ski, no big deal. Asking Jenny to carry our gear? No big deal. We had a destination to get to and damn it all…our LEADER got us there. Along the river, up the mountains, past the Grand Falls, we made it!  In 5 hours.

I could go on for a thousand more words about the hut (Maine Huts and Trails if you ever get a chance, go!!), the cabins, the food and even the trip back because though we applied many lessons from the day before, it was still hard. But I want to mention, before the memory fades from me that in two days, I believe I experienced every emotion that a person can. There were times I had to dig deep for any kind of inspiration or hope. I was angry at my mind for feeding my body in the most unhealthy way for many years. I was upset at my age for being too high. I was hurting for all the times I have been resilient but couldn’t muster a moment of that while I skied. I experienced happiness, fear, pride, exhaustion, desperation, appreciation all at once. I left the trail curious, bewildered, astonished, accomplished, arrogant, vulnerable. My body for a time was beaten physically, my heart emotionally. I never told Jenny but I think she probably knew.

It was a few days before I could truly reflect on my journey because I was so overcome with fatigue and emotion that I just couldn’t let my brain process anything other than the necessary commands for existence. I learned that my body can do so much more when I let my mind take control of it. I learned that preparation is key and to always apply a great lesson learned. And what I view as the most important lesson is that it is OKAY to let someone guide you, to carry you and to believe them and believe in them.

The Butt-hole Dog. I did not adopt—I shopped for this little dink-dog. I screwed this one up from the start. We didn’t need another dog. We had Molly. Well, Jamie had Molly. Long before me, long before the boys. They were a package deal, a couple, dinner for two, etc…As a mom of 3 and a retail manager, I can tell you that I needed NOTHING else to take care of. But here we are. I went to visit this dog, went against my gut when my son fell in love with a different puppy, and on October 26, I brought home the cutest little fluffball, Duke. This little bastard puked and shit in my car on the two-hour drive home and I still kept driving east. He has teethed on everything we own. He has bitten our Molly to the point of infection, he has humped us all. He has no sense of personal space. He takes food from all of our plates. This dog is small and displays every characteristic of short-man syndrome. He is a friendly and loving yet self-righteous, entitled, cocky little asshole. Even after being fixed (I swear its worse now). Duke’s surgery was last Tuesday, and he is still wearing his cone. The first morning he nearly destroyed it trying to get to his man-hood. The cone is now bedazzled with a serious amount of electrical tape which has not deterred him. He has reached the promised land—he is licking himself right now. I can’t even call the vet to tell her—what would I possibly say? “Hello, my little butt-hole of a dog has gone off the rails and is licking his balls or whatever is left down there while we speak”, or “no, I cannot possibly bring him back to you because he puked twice in my car on the way to surgery. And then he was so traumatized after surgery, that he did manage to throw up two more times on the way home despite not having eaten for 24 hours—which I thought would be impossible but being the determined little dink he is, he found a way to dredge up the bile that was likely on its way to the small intestine because it smelled like festering shit and vomit all in one.”  I can’t put this on the good vet, but I will forever maintain that this is 100% true and I thank all my lucky stars that baking soda got out that smell—the smell that created an episode of Seinfeld. The smell that is the epitome of this little butthole dog.  I friggin love this dog. Cyr-iously. I love this little dog.

The UN-friending…I had to make a serious change due to my own attitude towards work lately. In the service industry, its basically a guarantee that you will carry out a policy (that you believe in) and in turn, get absolutely shit on by someone. This is just a sweet fringe benefit of any service job. Despite being successful at my career and landing a good, full time, benefitted job in a tourist area, I found myself exhausted by service. Meaning, I didn’t want to help you. Period. I would do it, but not to my best ability because the desire was gone. Done. Left the building. So, when asked for help my answer was outwardly yes but my soul was screaming no! I had to fess up to my boss what I was going through because my numbers were not telling that same sad story. Well, this wise dude, who is so weird sometimes walked me through my own thought process every day which was clouded and often JADED by negativity. It was literally starting the second I woke up. We all check our FB first right?! Don’t lie. I was doing it too and you know what it was saying to me?

• You’re a loser if you don’t forward this/pass it on.
• You suck if you don’t believe in this, that or whatever.
• You suck if you do believe this, that or whatever.
• If you don’t copy/past/share/make this as your status for an hour or donate to my birthday charity you will not go to heaven OR win the Mega Lottery. 

And god forbid if you’re a liberal there is a MAGAt waiting for you. Lib-tard. Snowflake. Butthurt. Intolerant left.  He won, get over it.

Social media was impacting my life and dominating my thoughts in the most negative way, but I didn’t want to give it up. There are a lot of little pages I follow—makeup, concerts, body positive shit—and some friends whose political and personal beliefs that align with mine. And the clincher of the FB saving deal is that this is how daycare communicates their business status and they own me right now.  So, the plan of action???? I have to be brave and do the unthinkable. Unfriend. Unfriend. Unfriend. Unfriend.  I thought about friendship and what that means. I thought about friendship in real life vs. the social media kind. I thought about how most of my “friends” that I grew up with no longer like my photos and only comment in their self-righteous little way when I post something about HRC or AOC.  I thought about how much those “friends” of mine were either intentionally or unintentionally hurting me with their posts. And by the way, I’m a firm believer that if you accept or seek a friend online then its’ an unsaid rule that you agree to subscribe to what they are putting out there.  So, what’s a girl to do to get her sanity back and keep her social media alive? Unfriend, that’s what!

I’m one month in and loving this positive change. I’m not afraid of the question, “why did you unfriend me?” because no one will never ask me that. Being direct is not how people shine or show the best version of themselves on social media.

I have less friends and things are no longer as soul crushing as they once were.

Derailing.  I have wanted to write/blog for many years which has been confirmed by what my Facebook memories tells me. Year after year, I get one of those handy little reminders along with the idea of what I should blog.  I did love creative writing in school. When I was in first grade I was selected for “author of the week” and think even at that young age, I was bold enough to believe I had arrived.  I have to admit though that my little “bio” was more about me wanting to be an Olympic figure skater than an author. Cue Dorothy Hamill and her perfect 1980 haircut.  I enjoyed writing short stories, essays and classes about writing.  I’m sure, at every age, we have these amazing ideas about things we can do—things we want to do—but the reality of life and work and bills and parenting sometimes derail us from what we hope to achieve.  So fast forward almost 40 years and I’m finding myself on the precipice of writing a blog—or at least building content. But I need a laptop. I shop online, make an (almost) decision and know I need to get to W to make this purchase. But first, lunch with a friend.  It was so great getting to sit down with this woman and just have some girl talk for an hour or so.  She is beautiful, smart, Christian and juggling all of the things right now while her hubs works away. It was so refreshing to hear that yeah, each room of her home has a pile of laundry and that she is tired—I AM NOT ALONE! We share a great lunch and have a great convo and then the parent-pick up bell rings in reality, allowing just enough time to get that laptop before I swarm the beehive that is the school. Well, before we part, my sweet friend brings up the unbelievable amount of candy that is for sale at the local barf-mart and boom! I’m derailed by a Cadbury egg. A fucking Cadbury egg. Jesus.  I pick up my son while on a massive sugar rush and bring him and his brother to help me pick out a laptop which, by the way, they help me spend $100 more than planned. And here I am, on my way (with a laptop that suits my needs). I am amazed at the fact that it was just a piece of candy on sale for 50 cents that may have stopped me from going towards this goal.  50 cents stood between me and this goal.  And I let it.  For today, I won’t have time to think about how many other Cadbury eggs stood between me and my goals.  But I did make time to write 😊

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton