"Strike 1"

"...so you guys wanna go on a camping/canoeing trip with us..."

That's how it all began.  Sounds innocent enough.  It was, in fact, a death march straight to the pit of despair.

But in our naivety...or stupidity, you pick...we agreed to accept the challenge. 3 couples, 13 miles by canoe, camping under the stars...idiots.

To protect the innocent...well, actually the guilty in this case...my lips are sealed as to the identity of the fellow campers.  Let me assure you, by the end of the journey, there were no "happy campers."

We agreed to hand over $20/person for food and drinks, to the camper who claimed the most experience in planning such an expedition.  This would prove to be the first of many mistakes.  This weekend may actually be what started the whole "gotta have control thing" with me...because I can assure you, I was determined never to let this happen again.

Upon arrival at the launch site, we quickly realized how out of control we truly were.  Unfortunately, someone failed to mention the dress code to our event planner as the guys had to constantly find noteworthy landmarks along the riverbed in order to avoid looking in the direction of the lead canoe. Ugh.

Oh...remember the distance required? 13 miles. So imagine our surprise when it was suggested that we end day 1 at MILE 3! Uh...seriously?!? The whole thing would have been comical if she wasn't serious. We played nice for a brief conversation, then basically said, "We'll see you up river!"...and paddled away.  For sake of clarity and full disclosure, I should mention that the 13 mile canoe trip was really more like 26...didn't really get the paddling together thing down until much later in day 2...by then, Chris had forced me to stop rowing so we'd be able to move forward on a consistent basis. Needless to say, everyone knows the second leg of the trip is going to be much harder than the first...so stopping at mile 3 was met with a resounding "NO!"

When we did finally stop to camp, the only available spot was a sandbar. I've never looked at a sandbar the same way since...pretty sure I've not stepped foot on one since either. Scarred, I tell you. By the time we got to this halfway mark, it was difficult to pick up anything with my arms...by the next morning, I needed to be rolled into the canoe. (It didn't help to be reminded that a perfectly acceptable spot was to be had back at mile 3...yea, not helpful.)

If memory serves, I was given a hot dog and small bag of chips to eat for dinner...hot dog...not a fan on a good day...really not a fan to eat...plain...after canoeing 7 miles. And the chips...po-ta-to...those remained unopened...just in case, we weren't going to make it out alive, I figured they would be better than eating one of my fellow campers.  I then turned in early for the night when a late night swim was suggested by the one already dressed for such an occasion. I wish I was kidding.

As far as I'm concerned, that sandbar should be renamed, "Grim Reaper," because I truly felt like my time on this earth was quickly drawing to an end that night. I was forced to sleep on an incline, in the extreme heat, stomach growling, bugs flying up my nose, laying on a patch of ground that was rock hard and had more bumps than a bed of legos, all the while praying the murderous thoughts would be gone by morning.

All I can remember about the next morning is pain...just pain.  All the fight in me had evaporated by 4 am, and I was left with the sheer determination to simply survive. I've blocked out breakfast, but I remember the incredible PB&J and can of DP I was rationed for lunch...expensive sandwich...but life-saving for all those around me at the time.

In case you're wondering, we all made it out of there alive...barely, but we did.

Lots of lessons were learned on that "adventure."  I wish, "Never go camping again," would've been one of them....