Grits and Shits. All Outta Both…

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I don’t know if this is a real thing…but I think I might be exhausted.

It feels a bit like my body is shutting down; my legs aren’t working properly, every part of my lower back aches for reasons I don’t understand and the space between the roof of my mouth and my eyeballs feels like it is full of week-old rum and coke.

Any time I sit down, I fall asleep. Any time I get into bed, I lie awake and sleep for maybe 5 hours a night.

I do not feel entirely capable of withstanding even small bursts of activity. Life has become a clumsy, sticky-fingered God daughter and I, I am Jenga.

Hear me roar?

So anyway, today I attempted to climb Roy’s Peak; a modest 6-hour trek up to an elevation of 1578 metres. Upon reflection, this is 250 metres higher than Ben Nevis…but I don’t know its prominence, so that is largely irrelevant.

What is relevant is that I couldn’t do it. Or rather, I could have done it…but I didn’t. I just didn’t want to. I was bored; bored of spending my time in New Zealand walking around – normally on my own – for days and days for fucking scenic panoramic views.

It didn’t help that I got up too late for breakfast, so had to wolf down a hot crossed bun, a ham roll and a banana during the hour-long hike through the mists, to the foot of the mountain.

Along the way, I also accidentally grabbed hold of an electric fence and got the literal shock of my life.

Simply put, I wasn’t in the best state – mentally or physically – by the time I started the actual climb. After about half an hour, I was all out of grit; I had no more grit and no more shits to give. I was done.

So I sat down, drank a nutrient drink, ate another hot crossed bun and moped. I was frustrated. This should be a walk in the park; I should be running up this bloody mountain and bellowing my victory to the puny Gods of Wanaka themselves!

Instead, I felt sick and weak. The mere thought of spending another 6 hours trudging up and down wide, grassy paths for the sake of some more views was repulsive.

There just seemed nothing glorious about thoughtlessly plodding along a clear, wide track until I inevitably reached another predetermined ending point – along with everybody else with a day to spare in Wanaka.

Instead, I decided to cut my losses and massage my legs into shuffling the 90 minutes home instead.

That’s when I noticed where I was; at the bottom of a sheer face of grass and bracken.

Somewhere deep inside me, I felt something rekindle. Now there was a challenge…

Rock Pile

2-hours later, I was at the top of a rock pile, overlooking Wanaka. I wasn’t as high as the people on Roy’s Peak, but I was the only one here. Granted, I was also caked in sediment, bleeding from a hundred thorns and mentally shaken from the near constant rock slides…

Wanaka Rocks

…but I was alone. Finally, I had done something that every man and his dog wasn’t doing casually every day. It wasn’t a hugely impressive feat, but it was a unique one – and that’s all that mattered.

Not Roy's Peak

Finally content, I looked out over the lake and mountains, ate my lunch (another ham roll, a second banana and some chocolate)…and fell asleep.

I know. It’s ridiculous.

Luckily for me, I woke up before too long and still had plenty of time to descend. Even so, I wanted to get home quickly, so I ran.

Quickly, because I had left the beaten path hours beforehand, I was lost. Luckily, when it comes to small mountains, one can figure out which way to go without great difficulty…down.

I’ve heard the quickest way down a mountain is to jump, but I had no parachute. So I took the second quickest way; I slid.

By this point, I’m fairly sure I had lost my mind ever so slightly.

Eventually, I made it to the bottom. Then there was just the hour’s walk back to town, which ended – as all good things do – with beer and cake.

Then I made some dinner, cleansed myself and went out drinking. I was home by 23:00.

I shall decide whether or not to stick around tomorrow when I wake up. After breakfast, maybe.

About the Author
Ed Gamester is a silly man who lives in the United Kingdom. He is the harbinger of Ghost Squad, singer of Gay Bum and author of A Rum Run Awry. He fights, kills and dies for TV and films, and gallivants around the place wrestling, drinking and lifting things for glory and profit. Where Ed treads, there stamp the boots of the Guild. Ed does not wear glasses, but feels this photograph makes him look more intelligent and artistically talented than he is. Feel free to contact him: he is disappointingly affable.

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  1. Adventurethon Australia Reply

    awesome Ed… I love this !

  2. willc88 Reply

    Haha fun read and looks sweet!

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