One of my goals is to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.
Elevation: 19,341 feet.
And I want to climb every one of those feet. I'm aiming for my birthday in 2014--five years from this autumn.
Now. Unlike becoming a beekeeper, which is easy cheesy, getting my very own Mom Jeans to the top of Tanzania is going to take a bit more:
e) All of the Above.
I priced out the trip, with flights, guides, and a bonus day to see the wildlife in the nature preserve there.
I wonder if they have squirrels.
I also priced out the gear that I'll be needing. And I discovered something: mountaineering gear doesn't come in a size bigger than Medium.
I guess they figure that We Chubbers aren't hauling our ample-ness up mountains very often.
Which reminded me that I should start training for this ascent into the sky.
This morning I began.
I hooked the child trailer up to my periwinkle bike, plunked Thing 2 and the Wee One inside, and took off. 3 miles later, I thought I was going to die. I came inside, flopped on my couch, and turned on Toto's song "Africa" to inspire me.
Maybe I should aim for my birthday in 10 years instead.