On The Mountain

In light of the comments from the last blog and the general feeling about that post from readers that I actually converse with, I'd like to quash any illusions people might have about me actually acting out any of those scenarios. I have an imagination and most likely a very real fear of death; thus, I often fantasize about how I'm going to go. However, based on genetics I think mom pere is more than likely correct in predicting that I'll probably wear on and eventually be rendered a useless, brainless, toothless, witless, sightless old man in a hospital bed. My son will visit me daily and read box scores from the 2004 Sox season and he'll feed me small bites of peanut butter crunch blizzards from DQ. That is how I'd like to spend my last days.

Let's now shift gears and chat about how I spent my last few days.

I played in a golf tournament of sorts on Saturday and what I accomplished over the course of 18 holes is nothing short of blatantly obvious to anyone who has ever shared the links with me: I am, quite possibly, the worst golfer of all time with the exception of a one Nathan Collins. Nate swings a golf club like a monkey with a weedwacker. I, on the other hand, have been told that I have what appears to be a very functional golf swing. A guy I played with on Saturday commented that I seem to know what I'm doing right up until contact with the ball. Now I never had a problem keeping my eye on the baseball when I played regularly but I cannot, for the life of me, keep my fucking head down and my eyes on the ball. Out of 14 holes on which I used my driver, I hit precisely zero fairways. In fact, I cleared the ladies' tee box only twice, which lied about 15 yards in front of the men's tees. I suppose topping the ball every time instead of slicing it out of bounds and losing a stroke is preferable but I think I'd rather make some sort of solid contact. Given my short fuse when ultra frustrated, it's amazing to me that I didn't kill any or all of the dudes in my foursome on Saturday. I managed to keep a somewhat cool head and somehow...some way...I actually helped my team in the scramble. You see, when you play best ball, you need only be concerned about one man hitting a fairly decent shot. Thus, my putrid, deplorable, embarrassment of a golf game would ultimately be overlooked due to the talents of one guy I played with. But...but, but, but...on the 13th hole, which happened to be the longest hold on the course, I was faced with a 45-foot sidewinder of a putt that would have haunted Tiger. It was uphill on the front end, it sloped back down at the back end and the left-to-right break on the down roll was no less than four feet. I made the putt. It was so far beyond reasonable that I still don't think anyone who witnessed believes it went in the hole. But it did, and quite frankly I couldn't give two shits about the rest of the garbage that I churned out that day. One shot...one glorious shot...was fucking redemption.

So that was my Saturday. I walked away with nothing more than a sunburn and the memory of that putt. Onto Sunday.

Gilbert and I stepped outside the box a little bit on Sunday, per his suggestion. We ventured up to Southern NH to the base of Mount Monadnock for what would prove to be a very challenging and exhausting climb, albeit only 3200 vertical feet. I knew we might be in for a rough go if it when we chatted up the Ranger at the gate. Here's how it went:

Ranger: "That'll be $8 for the both of you this morning."

Me: "Oh, ok. I thought it was $6...here's another $2."

Ranger: "You boys know what trail you might be taking to the summit or do you need some suggestions?"

Gilbert: "Yeah, I have a map here. We're thinking of taking the Spellman Trail from the Cascade Link. You think that's a good climb?"

Ranger: "Sure. Just don't break a leg."

Me: (chuckling) "Ok...thanks..."

Ranger: "I'm serious. If you do, it's going to take a really long time for us to get to you."

And this is how we began our journey up the mountainside. We were fairly well-equipped with a couple gallons of water and sunscreen. However, we left the sunscreen in the car and proceeded to sweat off our initial layer about 20 minutes into the climb. So much for that. What was amazing to us was the amount of people who set out to climb this mountain on a 95° degree without more than a 20oz bottle of water. We ripped through our 2 gallons, and we were conserving so we wouldn't run out. And I'm not talking about young, fit people here. I'm talking about several elderly folks and many, many little kids. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that being physically active in oppressive, humid heat with the sun beating down on you will require constant hydration. But hey, really not my problem. Johnny and I had enough to get through the climb with moist pallets.

We ascended to the summit in 90 minutes and made it down in just under 60. The scene at the top was pretty funny. Johnny packed the equivalent of a middle school lunch and was forced to share it with me, since I brought no food. It consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, peanut butter crackers and an apple. I couldn't help but be reminded of those brown bag lunches mon pere used to pack for me back in the day. I have to say, I fucking love P&J's. There's something about that perfect harmony of the savory peanut butter and the sweet, fruity jelly between two slices of hearty bread. At the risk of sounding like the author of a series of corny, cheesy, fad-prone books, it warms the soul. Hey, P&J's For The French Soul. Look for it in paperback next Fall.

Overall, it was a great day. The views from the top of Monadnock span the Lakes Region of NH and you can see for hundreds of miles. My guess is that JG and I each burned somewhere in the vicinity of 2.000 calories over the course of the climb and the descent so it was an excellent workout. And the one time I stopped to take my pulse, I registered up around 145-150bpm.

So go climb a mountain with a buddy some time soon. In the meantime, stay cool and watch the Finals tonight. Prediction: Lakers by 15. They'll shoot 30 free throws, Kobe will go off for 45 and Perk will foul out well before the middle of the fourth quarter. The silver lining for the C's will be PP continuing to shine in LA.

Best,

The future LA. French. (not to be confused with the current la French, who could technically be referred to as L.A. la French as opposed to L.A. le French...I've now confused myself.)