1.14.21 :: Death Valley to Vegas, Baby

Nine years ago I made one of the worst decisions of my life. To run a 10-mile race at 10:00 p.m. in 80-degree weather and 100% humidity after eating...a quiche. (You can guess where this is going.) It was Disney World's first (and last?) Tower of Terror Ten Miler. Running for my favorite ride in my favorite pink tutu with my favorite person cheering me on from the sidelines. Three miles deep and I was good. I got this. I hadn't trained very much, but fresh from the half marathon, I thought, cool cool cool. Keep going. 

And then. The quiche.

Tears and sweat were indistinguishable in the port-a-potty. All I knew was I had paid $200+ and I was not going to quit. Three hours later, I straggled over the finish line, drained and dehydrated. Everyone around me was throwing up. My brother even got sick--and he made great time. And, yet, there was my Liz. Shining and smiling and having the night of her life while waiting for me. She rode rides, ate snacks, even witnessed a proposal--while I raced to barely edge out the pick-up bus as if a giant mower was at my heels. I was determined to earn my medal.

Well, I earned it, but looking back I could not care less. And I would trade all that dignity and gladly eat that registration fee to get back those three hours of Disney bliss. The life takeaway: ever since, when I've gotten myself into a pride bind, I've been a lot quicker to say screw it. I know you said you'd do it this way, but let's just be kind to ourselves today. Hence, yesterday's decision to fly the Southwest coop and head to my Floridian happy place.

But.

Today.

I woke up, packed my stuff, and revved up McQueen, thinking: Vegas, here I come. I can't get little V back to civilization soon enough. He doesn't even have hiking boots--or a proper shirt! 

Back when I was playing god with Google maps, I had always planned to stop at Zabriskie Point, one of the valley's countless highlights. Unlike the dunes or the many stray stops I made off the side of the road whenever my mouth was gaping like a trout, Zabriskie has a clean, clear path to the very top. And, when you get there, it's a thing of wonder.

I wasn't feeling the mountains on the west side of the park. Their mammoth size and endless ranges frightened me, made everything around them seem desolate. Zabriskie felt like coming home. Perhaps it was hitting the point on the cusp of the golden hours. Or how soft and low the slopes were, like a pack of brontosauruses corralled and tucked themselves in for the night and put up a sign that said: come have a wander! Wander I did. (You know how much I dig a dino.) I hopped over the wall and baby stepped along the beaten path, knowing if I landed on my butt I wasn't going to get pricked and sliced up by the harsh rocks of the west, but would floof onto a pillow of dust. It was devine--and it felt like I had stepped into the Land Before Time (I am, of course, Spike in this scenario, devouring every luscious plant in sight.) or Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, the Cheerios edition--minus the milk. 

It helped that there were other hikers there--two Mumford and Sons with requisite suspenders and flowing hair and a pittie named Bailey; a couple in their twilight years who'd clearly knocked many a park off the bucket list; a couple like me, in Nikes and gaiters, who took my picture and I theirs. It was everything I had been longing for since Sunday: I was safe and cozy in the bronzed bosom of a beautiful, bite-sized range. 

Leaving just before sunset, I happened upon Ash Meadow--another huge expanse of brush, not unlike so many I had passed before. But this time, as dusk settled in, with lavender mountains ahead and the dimming green fields at my side, it felt as though the sun was gently closing a shade on my window into the valley. And I thanked her for allowing me to have a look.       

Now I know, next time: stay on the Nevada side of the park. There's a town, cheap gas, and the largest Panda Express you'll ever see in your life. A literal blazing sign: Kristin, you belong here. Eat my power greens! 

The rest of the ride to Vegas was just...peace. I continued to listen to the playlist that had helped me set sail this morning. So many of the lyrics and melodies seemed one with my breath, affirming that today was a good day. At 1:11 My Silver Lining by First Aid Kit came on and, woof, did that pack an emotional wallop. Have you ever listened to a song for years, memorized it note for note, only to realize you didn't even really get it all along? Until now? Gotta keep on keepin' on, folks.

Just another reminder that this life never ceases to teach us.

On the strip, I spent about a half hour at the Luxor, mostly in and out of line with the front desk to cancel my reservation because the mojo was off, the room was dirty, the floor smelled like weed, and I saw about 20 people guzzling drinks as tall as my torso and I knew: this isn't me. So this brat took herself off to Vdara where the view of said pyramid is the perfect picture of Vegas from my 32nd-story room, the bathtub is deep and clean and just waiting to be bombed by cherry blossoms, and Din Tai Fung is five minutes away--meaning chocolate peanut butter soup dumplings were in my mouth in under an hour.  

Man, what a difference a day makes. And what a difference you guys make. Thank you, thank you, thank you for always being behind me. It means the world--and it's given me second thoughts about leaving this neck of it. Sweet dreams. xx