The Opposite of a Luxury Vacation

I must be crazy. Or just plain weird. I have one week out of every year to enjoy a real vacation with the love of my life and this year, because of my suggestion, I am going to be hiking approximately 50 miles on the Appalacian Trail in the Shenandoah National Forest. Mind you, my husband loves to travel, loves cruises and beaches and wonderful places like Key West. He probably would not have needed much prompting from me to buy plane tickets, arrange for child care and fly me off into the sunset. But I'm just plain stupid sometimes. I wanted to go backpacking in the humid woods where tics and bears live, sleep on the hard ground and walk beside him for days. In four weeks I'll be in the wildereness, precisely at a time when I'm actually making my life at home work for me. I'm comfy here. I have a nice soft bed, new friends online and in my town and a cuddly son who likes me to read to him, every night.
A ball of apprehension is forming in the pit of my stomach. There are too many unknown things that could happen to us. I'm not schooled in first aid and nearly pass out at the sight of blood. The guy at REI who helped us buy boots had one side of his face filled with scars, whatever happened to him cost him the use of his right eye. WE BOUGHT THE BOOTS ANYWAY.
My husband is concerned about my upper body strength. What if he falls and I can't drag him to safety? I can barely manage a few sacks of groceries before my wrists feel numb.
Let's just say that I chose to blog, sew, garden, play legos and entertain friends instead of lifting weights.
Four weeks left. What was I thinking?



Please check in later in the week for an interview and book giveaway from children's author Caroline McAlister!