Several weeks before Thanksgiving, my boyfriend finally talked me into hiking, which if you have IBS and Fibromyaligia, then you know is not something I was looking forward to, or to be honest thought I would actually be able to accomplish. I get winded going up the stairs too fast sometimes and the thought of hiking a freaking mountain no matter the height, scared the hell out of me. But, on the other hand, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it and I knew my boyfriend, Mr. Adventure loved this kind of stuff and I wanted to be the girlfriend I used to be.
So, I sucked it up, took a double dose of imodium, got my ass out of bed at the crack of dawn and we drove the four hours to Hanging Rock State Park located in western North Carolina. The weather was beautiful and I love the mountains and the fall, so I was in heaven with the fall colors and the crisp breeze. We got there before anyone else and started the hike up Hanging Rock Mountain. I had my fanny pack (yes, don't freaking laugh, I needed toliet paper just in case and water and all that crap) and we made our way up the mountain hand in hand.
The first twenty minutes were great, we walked up a slight incline and as we got higher up the mountain, the paved road turned into a rocky path and that was when I thought to myself, what the fuck have I just got myself into. I couldn't turn back, I couldn't let my chronic illness win, so I pushed on for another thirty minutes pretending that my body was not in agony. I was out of breath and several times, I thought I might hurl. I was obvioulsy out of shape. I ended up having to stop several times to catch my breath and when we finally got there, I was so glad I really considered bowing down and kissing the rock.
Once we got up to the top, it was well worth the agony and I almost cried because I had finally done something I didn't think I could still do, I also wanted to cry because I knew in order to get off this mountain, we had to go back down. We stayed up on the mounatin for a few hours taking in the majestic view. I admit, I was glad that I up there, I was in my element, high up on the mountain, looking down upon the fall leaves on the trees. I was at such peace. I had just wished that I had room in my fanny pack for a notebook and pen.
Right before we headed back down the mountain, just guess what happened next? Yep, I had to shit and I thought, really? There were people everywhere and I was prepared because I had my tiny roll of TP, but really, why on this beautiful mountain? Why now? I tried to talk some sense into my stomach but it would not quit whining, so my boyfriend and I searched for a secret place where I could do the deed and noone would be able to see. I was thinking to myself that my boyfriend and I should be trying to find a place to have hot, mountain sex, but instead we were searching for a shitting spot. This is so messed up. I wanted sex, not shit!
I scaled the tiny side of the back part of the rock and found a small dip in the rock hidden by trees and right there in the middle of the afternoon, I dropped my jeans and did what I had to do, but I have to say, it was the most beautiful scene I ever shit to. It was breathtaking.
After I finished I walked back around the rock and we headed down the mountain as if it was no big thing. I thought about it while walking back down the mouantin, that back in the day when toliets and port-a-potties didn't exist, people did their business in nature. It made me think about the life cycle. And thinking about this made me feel better. I hadn't just shit on a mountaintop, I helped the environment. I helped the ecosystem and I helped the cycle of life go on. Ok, so I know that sounds kind of stupid, but when you shit as much as me, you have to find the silver lining in everything and I had to stop thinking that my TP was not biodigrabale and think that the other part was.
I thought I would call my deed on the mountain, "the life cycle of Christina's shit," and if I ever came back up on this mountain, then I would hopefully seed a plant in the place of where my shit once laid. And so, the cycle of life goes on, or so mine did on the side of Hanging Rock Mountain.