T Minus 18

Yes dear readers (all one of you), it's official: I am in training. Actually, there is nothing really official about it, it just sounds official to say you are "in training" for something. I walked 1:40 today in my new hiking boots in an effort to break them in, as I have been warned ominously from several quarters to do so before I go to Spain. So far so good, but I am shocked to learn just how heavy hiking boots are. I feel like I have two cinder blocks tied to my legs. In fact, I wonder that the mob even messes around with pouring concrete shoes when hiking boots will do the job just fine.

I confess I am having a bit of a freak-out over the training thing. Three days ago I went to REI, the mecca superstore for all things outdoorsy and rugged. First I spent some time in the shoe department with a rather imposing and hardy looking female store clerk who helped me find just the right boots (actually there were only two pair in my colossal shoe size to choose from). But still, she did the store clerk dance and told me what I needed to look for and feel for in a hiking boot and socks. She hooked me up with some very crunchy-granola looking wool socks and some kind of intelli-fiber, super hi-tech, sweat wicking, blister sensing, tax preparing liner socks too. All the while I chatted merrily about my trip and my plans for spiritual renewal and at-one-with-nature-ness and how I felt hiking was just such a cathartic and introspective sport to undertake. Then I asked her where she goes hiking. "Who me?" she said. "Ohhhh, are you kidding me? I don't hike."

So then I wandered over to the backpack area and stood lamely in front of the massive wall o' backpacks until a clerk freed up to help me. Good lord the backpack area was busy. Is everyone in Georgia going to be on the Appalachian Trail this spring? So finally a gangly clerk comes over and I lay it on him about my trip and I timidly confess my total ignorance when it comes to backpack characteristics and functionality with the air of a scared kindergartner on her first day of school. "Please, please help me mister," my wide eyes pleaded. So he did, and this is where the freak-out comes in. I tried on a few packs here and there, but then he started to load one with twenty-five pounds of bean bags. Now I had been watching the other customers sling their bean-laden packs on their backs with the grace of Fred Astaire on the Matterhorn - one guy even did this fancy little over-the-head flippy-do thing and the pack landed neatly on his back and practically buckled itself. Not me though. I geared up for the hoist, lifted, and promptly put the thing right back down. HOLY CRAP TWENTY FIVE POUNDS IS HEAVY.

I did manage to get the thing on, and I did manage to get all 1,096 buckles (most of which I have no idea what they are for) buckled. And then I proceeded to test it out by teetering around the store, leaning precariously forward and with the slightly panicked look of a middle schooler who just missed the bus to school. What am I going to do now? This is going to be way harder than I thought. Hiking 22km a day carrying this much weight in must-have gear? And that's even leaving my cocktail shaker and bottle of Bombay Sapphire at home?

Well, there's nothing for it. I simply have to get my shoes broken in and start training with the loaded backpack ASAP. I have been reading the warnings in my guidebooks of inadequately trained pilgrims having to give up the trail in the first week because they couldn't deal. Good lord that would suck to have to bail on the whole operation just as the spiritual renewal juju was getting underway. It's like not climaxing during sex (something I have too much experience with). I don't want to go all that way and have nothing to show for it.