Day 1 Trip to Seattle.

I woke up at 5 am for an 8:30 flight to Seattle.  I didn't sleep very well mainly because I waited last minute to do my final gear check, and pack.  I think there was a part of me that was still in uncertain if this was still just an idea in my head, or an actual trip that was about to unfold.  

I used to love climbing mountains in Colorado, but that was a different time, different place, and I was a different person.

When you are obese are afraid.  There is no question about it, you are constantly afraid.     You are afraid to go out, you are afraid to look in the mirror, you are afraid to see your own family, most of all you are afraid of success, and self actualization.  

The excess weight is a shield from all that can hurt you, it keeps you encumbered, slow, it keeps you numb, so you are always safe in a self embalmed tomb of nothingness.

I've built up enough negative talk to cripple five lifetimes, it's been tough to shave back the years of self-pity, broken hopes, and lost self.  I can't explain how I've felt recently, because the number of emotions that swim through my mind and body in any given week could drown an olympic swimmer.  
I find it strange that my mind is still working against me.  

Three nights this past week I've sat on the couch, stared at my shit, and just ignored it.  I didn't even know what time my flight was until a few minutes before I went to bed.  I almost feel like a part of me wanted to see this trip fail.  You add to this subconscious mess a lingering injury from the Tough Mudder, and you have a week were most of the ideas in my head were geared towards quitting.  

It was hard to push on, it was hard enough that I didn't finish my next two posts on the Tough Mudder.  I have drafts for both but haven't touched them, because I was self medicating, only this time it was with idle time, and not food.  The pain in my shoulder was just acute enough for the possibility of canceling the trip to enter my thoughts. 

Fortunately enough of my conscious mind made decisions that would not allow me to cancel this past week I made two visits to the chiropractor, one to urgent care, one to an orthopedist, one with a massage therapist and I have one with an orthopedicst when I get back who specializes in sports medicine.   I got enough reassurance this week that I wasn't going to cause serious damage, that I had no choice but to proceed. 

This morning Nancy drove me to the airport, and I got to the airport about an 1:45 before my flight. I bought my ticket through US Airways but the flight was operated by United, who the fuck knows what that means, what I do know is it ended up meaning bullshit for me.I waited in line for about 25 minutes, which wasn't that bad considering the number of people in line, but when I stepped up to the check in terminal, i could not bring up my reservation, i used my confirmation code, my drivers license, and the credit card that I used to by the ticket, each time the screen told me to contact a representative.

I thought ok, no problem, there were easily 15-20 employees working behind the counters.  I approached one person who asked me to wait, so i took a step back from the counter to watch what was going on.

The couple ahead of me had their flight screwed up the day before so United put them up in a hotel, and they were coming back to get on their new flight, but there was a new problem with their tickets.
Note to the world, small Asian women will only take so much shit before, the ninja, samurai, sumo wrestler in them comes out.  She was salty, and ready to fuck some people up.  Her justified hostility made me laugh, and allowed me to keep my unpleasant side to take the day off.

I stepped cautiously around her, you never make sudden movements when going around s predator, after getting clear of her fangs, I approached the guy in the jacket again, and asked for help, he pointed me down towards a guy a few stations down who was working on fixing one of the ticket printers.  The guy ignored me, and continued to fix his machine, I said nothing, but I could feel the guy was tensed up.

So I stepped around this new Angry Asian person, to the United Representative who finally acknowledged my existence.  I handed her my ID, and she was snippy, not an ounce of niceness in her body.

I asked her what was going on, she ignored me, and typed 500 keystrokes which I'm sure only resulted in her typing stop name, I stood there wondering what was going on, so I took a step back again, and looked around, i realized that there were only 4 or 5 United employees, everyone else was working for a third party.

From what I could figure out the contractors could print your luggage stickers, and weigh your bags but couldn't do anything else, which meant the other 15 people were really just window dressing.  The snippy lady eventually felt it ok to answer my question, and said that the reservation was through US Air, and not United so she had to transfer the information to their system, regardless of the reason it was taking up too much time. 

After all the BS at ticketing, I was surprised by how quickly I got through security, in the end I got to my gate right as they called my zone.   

When I got to my seat I prepared for the flight, and realized that the two seats next to me were empty.  As the last few passengers entered I started to think I might have an empty row…not to be, as the second to last couple to get on the plane would be my travel companions.I'm not a racist because I just hate everyone, so take this for what it is, I might be a jerk or an ass but fuck you and your bleeding heart, I could just that I have a best friend who is of this ethnicity, but thats usually the real racists beard.  

Most ethnicities have certain odors, or more appropriately specific smells are attributed to specific cultures.   My mom likes to say that all you white folk smell like meat, that your sweat is meaty.  I don't know what meaty sweat smells like but i do know what whiteman B.O. smells like its unique to the pigmentally challenged brothern of the world.

When I was a kid my friends would come over to my house and say that my house smells funny, and I'd say shut up, because it didn't smell.  What could smell better than potent kimchi, rotting bean paste, and dried up fish everywhere?  

Sorry, we can't all grow up with potpourri in the bathrooms, and moms who bake cookies…crackers…
So the guy who sat next to me was a man with curly dark hair in what looked like a weird combination of a bouffant, with an Elvis ridge at the top, he had olive skin, and a the look on his face who make one thinks he sucked lemons as often as he took a breathe, he was dressed like an average American but he and his wife were speaking another language which had lots of guttural sounds, and when I said hello they barely made eye contact.

When he sat down next to me, I smelled an odor which I cannot describe but absolutely can place.  You don't want to admit it but you know exactly what I'm talking about, you've smelt it in certain taxi cabs, and in and around halal grocery stores.  I don't know what it comes from, but it has to be the result of something dietary.

In my case it's a smell that bothers me.  I kept getting whiffs of it, and it was crushing me.  Initially he was relatively courteous about elbow space, and we played the dance of airline seats where he would shift and sit forward, allowing me to sit back and relax my shoulder then we would change places.  All went well for two hours, then his wife gave him a jacket which he used as a blanket and it was nighttime for my new friend.

The guy leaned back, dropped his elbows to his sides taking up the maximum space possible, then he took off his shoes, and put his feet in the seat pocket in front of him, and his legs were in a butterfly position.  My first thought was "You mother fucker",  you just crossed into my bubble, and i don't like it.  It is around this time that I caught a serious smell of his foot odor, which was an exponential dose of the halal market.

I did what anyone in this situation would do…I fell sleep to make it go away.

When I woke up we were descending into SeaTac, the only bit of solace I had was the possibility that my snoring woke his ass up, or made it hard to for him to stay asleep, or maybe I gave him a good cheesy fart from dinner the night before.  

Seattle is big.  

The city is much larger than I imagined it, and I drove my Hyundai Gensis rental car (got to plug my people's),  towards REI from the airport, as I got closer to the city I started to eat more and more curious about this place, and it made me wish that I had 3 or 4 days to explore the city limits.  

The area around REI reminded me of Northern California, the architecture of the buildings, the types of businesses, and the look of the people that I saw.

While driving through the neighborhood, I came across a simple realization I am in love with the West Coast, I feel this draw towards the West, I almost feel tuned to live on the west coast.  Every time I step foot on the West Coast, I feel as if I belong here, it calls to me, and I don't understand why.

I went to REI to pick up some last minute gear, and food for the trail.  I brought paleo packs, and paleo granola for breakfast, but I needed some more food with high calories so I bought some freeze dried backpackers meals, mostly rice and chicken.  I also picked up packs of tuna, puréed fruit and veggies, and some endurance gels.  I have no idea what I take I daily for calories, but I won't have access to anything and I need to make sure I can keep my body temperature up at 10,000 feet.

After REI, I had lunch at a place called Lunchbox Laboratory, which is one of the many Gourmet Burger joints that have opened in the US over the last ten years, so many of them try too hard, and usually disappoint.  This place delivered.  

I had what they call the Dork which is a duck and pork combination patty.  It was good, with bacon it was even better, i liked the Dork enough that I ordered a regular Kobe burger to go, which I had for dinner.

After my pit stop I got on the road south towards Ashford.  The car I have doesn't have a gps, so I used my iPhone, which gave me a little bit of trouble, I've never used the maps before to navigate, so it took a bit of figuring out, and adjusting, but it did the trick, and got me on the right path.  This is my way to tell you that I twice I had to flip a bitch, until I realized there was this arrow in the corner that you tap that tracks your movement.

The weather was overcast for most of the day, and there was intermittent rain the entire drive to Ashford, it would drizzle for a few minutes, then stop, the sun would break, and it would drizzle again.  The further I got into the mountains, the more it rained, and for 15-20 minute spurts it would come down hard, which made driving on the one land road tedious. 

Even with the constant, changing weather, I felt free, as I traveled the road, I couldn't help but listen to music that made me sing, smile, and recall the sweet memories from a time long since misplaced.  I think that driving fast, with the windows down and singing your favorite song is a decidedlyAmerican tradition.  

I still don't know if this sense of freedom is hitting me because I'm out of the stresses of my life, or if it's because I'm going to detach myself from my over stimulated life, for years now I've told myself I would take a day and just disconnect, not because I want to hide, but just so I can hear myself.  I hear the West.

There is the old saying "Go West Young Man", each day I get older, the further I step away from being a young man, and wonder what could have been, what should have been, is this trip about overcoming past obstacles, or is it about discovering who I am at 33, figuring out if the person I thought I should be, is really the person that I am, or the person that I'm becoming.  

Is the draw of the West Coast the cause of this inherent questioning of my life or, were the questions always there, and the freedom of the West is allowing them to awaken.  This happens every time I travel West, I questions who I am and what I'm doing.  

Po Bronson calls his generation, the Brilliant Masses.  A generation of creative, intelligent, and talented people who are mired in mediocrity, not because it's hard doing what society expects, but because it's too hard to do what you are destined to do.

If this post seems all over the place, it is because my mind is all over the place.  I look forward to starting the day tomorrow.

I'll spend the next two nights here at Whitaker's Bunkhouse, in the morning I'll register with my guide, check my gear, meet my team, and start training for glacial travel.  As much as I am excited, I am afraid of succeeding at this thing, because what does that mean if I do get to summit, Rainer is not the highest peak in the lower 48 but it is the most like Denali, which is my ultimate goal, if I get past this one, it means I can't bullshit anymore, and I have to do what I said I would, what a foreign idea getting what I want because I set my mind to it, get out of the way fat man….