Oh Lovely Hills of the South Fork, Oh Sweet Sweet Revenge!July 25th, 2008 Malina
It’s a small miracle that I can sit here and type today. I had thought that after the gauntlet was thrown down, the challenge risen to, the doubters forever silenced, I would be forced to creep off into a dark corner somewhere, down a bottle of Advil, and eat bon bons for a week and half–that is if I could even lift hand to mouth. My arms are soooooooooooore! But I am still standing.
You see, last summer I carelessly mentioned that I, office bound, pasty white, non-athlete that I am, used to actually raft the South Fork of the American in a boat that I rowed myself. Joe, our SF manager, looked at me in disbelief, and basically said he didn’t buy it for one second. Indignant, I flexed my puny and soft white arms, stomped my pedicured feet, and loudly proclaimed that I would show him. Weeks went by, and then months. Summer turned into fall, and it became too cold to raft. Wetsuits and drysuits were offered but still I demurred. In time, Joe came straight out and said “Malina, I am calling you out. You never rowed the South Fork–you are a teller of tall tales and I am calling your bluff.”
So, with my trusty sidekick Amy, that’s exactly what I did. I’m not sure my skills were what anyone would call impressive–hey! I’m rusty! and out of shape!–and I may have nearly decapitated a kayaker (um, dude, yellow-kayak, black helmet, nose-clips dude–I’m sooooo sorry! Lame oar etiquette! My bad bro!), but here’s the proof: I’m not just an indoor cat …….
(Above: oooooohh…. hard core focus)
(Right: Ok forget focus–this is hilarious!)