A couple of weeks ago I went to Moab with my friend Heather and her ward. I'll be the first to admit I am not the most outdoorsy person, but the idea of a weekend in the sun was enough to get me to go. I mean, we were going to be camping, which isn't my favorite thing. So, I made sure to pack enough Tylenol PM to put a small army to sleep and we set off.
Before we left, Heather had asked if I wanted to go mountain biking while we were down there. And before I really thought about how hard mountain biking might be for a lazy person like myself, I said yes.
So now it's Friday morning and a bunch of people are going mountain biking on the Slick Rock trail. How hard could it be I asked myself. I asked around and one guy was like, "oh, it's not that hard. You'll be fine". For some odd reason, I totally believed him. I completely ignore the voice in my head that reminds me that I don't remember the last time I worked out. It's been months. But whatev, let's do this.
By the time we get to the trail, full panic mode has set it. Finally my brain has registered what I am actually doing. But come hell or high water, I'm not backing out of this activity.
We load up and head out. We go about 50 yards and we come to our first hill. And well, i pretty much didn't want to go down it. Or up the other side. My own personal hell. How am I going to get out of this one?
What I didn't know is that Heather was in her own kind of personal hell at this same moment too. I'm pretty sure she was even more scared that me. Which, I'm not even sure how that was possible.
We somehow make to the top of the hill. One guy from the group hung back to make sure we were ok. We kept telling him to leave us and that we would be fine, but he wasn't budging. It was then that Heather and I looked at each other and said, SCREW THIS! We waved our group on, took a picture, uploaded it to Instagram to make other people think we were actually mountain biking, and then rode our bikes back to camp.
We then took a 2 hour nap.
It was glorious.