Fail.

Mike has been plotting a secret Labor Day camping/hiking trip for months, ever since we got back from South Dakota. Usually I'm the trip planner, so I was really excited to see what he had put together. We bought a backpacking stove and freeze-dried meals and like 15 Clif bars, we made a ton of PBJ sandwiches and packed up all of our camping/backpacking gear. Then we drove four hours to Blue Mesa Reservoir, arriving close to midnight.

Then I spent the entire night scrambling in and out of my mummy sleeping bag, running from the tent to the vault toilet.

Over. And. Over. Again.

Ugh.

Thanks, stomach bug.

So, the secret camping trip ended quite abruptly. Mike was planning on hiking Sunshine and Redcloud Peaks -- two 14ers about two hours from our campsite -- on Saturday. On Sunday we were going to hike down into Black Canyon of the Gunnison for an overnight stay, and then we were going to hike back up out of the canyon on Monday.

Sounded incredible.

Instead, we spent Saturday morning driving through Black Canyon to see it from a tourist's perspective (aka the side of the road), then the afternoon driving back to Denver. Mike, of course, was a real trooper throughout my tearful, exhaustion-induced breakdowns (I felt really bad for ruining everything). Always thankful for that guy.

Regardless of the less-than-perfect outcome of the trip, we did manage to have a good weekend...after I spent the next 24 hours either on the couch or in my bed. Monday I felt much better, so we squeezed in a 6-mile hike in Indian Peaks Wilderness to Blue Lake.

And then we topped off the weekend with cream cheese & jalapeno stuffed burgers and Reese's s'mores. (Obviously by Monday night, my stomach was feeling much better!).

Peace, Love, and RuinedTrips.

What are you on?

So I finally joined 24-Hour Fitness. I've been putting it off mostly because I don't feel like throwing $30 a month away when we could be putting it towards our future home. But, I get a discount with Raytheon so I decided to go ahead and join.

And today, when I walked in, I was annoyed. Immediately.

I know not all people who work out are macho meat-head weight lifters. But SERIOUSLY. They overtake the gym with their huge muscles and it annoys me. I mean, it's really impressive that you're lifting a weight twice the size of my head, but I am perfectly content with curling 15 pounds and I don't need you STARING AT ME, thankyouverymuch.

So then, after two arm exercises, I decided I couldn't take it anymore and went upstairs to get some cardio in. I jumped on the treadmill, but the sweat-drenched man next to me was flicking perspiration on me, so I only lasted a mile. Then I decided to bike. Biking is fun. And people on bikes don't flick sweat nearly as bad. So I started pedaling, and all of a sudden something caught my eye. You see, the gym that I go to is somehow linked to Lance Armstrong (I'm not sure how, I've only been there once, obviously). So Lance's face is pretty much plastered all over the place, which is fine I guess. I'd rather it be Derek Jeter........

*sigh*

Anyway, so next to a giant photo of Lance is a quote from the biker:

"This is my body, and I can do whatever I want to it. I can push it; study it; tweak it; listen to it. Everybody wants to know what I am on. What am I on? I am on my bike busting my ass six hours a day; what are YOU on?"  

And all of a sudden, I had a total change of heart. Because I realized that the reason I'm at this smelly gym is so that I can push myself doing the things I love. Because, Mr. Armstrong, I'm on top of mountains. I'm on a snowboard. I'm on a running path high above sea level.  I'm on a trail leading up to a tucked-away turquoise waterfall. And I guess I can bust my ass at the gym so that I can be even better at climbing 14ers and shredding down the slopes. 

So fine. All you smelly, pump-you-up dudes can stick around. I'm just going to do my own thing. And I'll probably ignore you. But at least I know that I've climbed to the top of Colorado...and that's all that matters to me. :)

Peace, love & AnnoyingMachoMen.