Cumberland National Park

My refusal to use a calendar of any sort lately has led to a series of recent catastrophes. The first occurred two weekends ago, during the first round of March Madness. On Thursday, I planned an after work coffee date at Chinatown Coffee Co, where there are no televisions, instead of a happy hour on the first day of March Madness. And I went with a new friend, one I was trying to make a positive impression by not checking my phone every five seconds to evade total panic mode.

Further then, with my permission, Boyfriend planned a camping trip I was to accompany him on. A nature versus sports dual. A real tough call. If I lived in Big Sky Country or back near the Blue Ridge Mountains—land of waterfalls, or in the Southwest, nature would without a doubt be my priority. And if winter never came again, nature would also be a priority. But alas, I live in The City, or a city, where nature requires long drives and the rewarding views are those of small towns.

The weekend was planned, the cabin was booked. So after the University of Kansas squeaked out a win during the first round of the tournament on Friday, we headed to Cumberland National Park. We arrived just after 9:00 pm, and, exhausted, I promptly fell asleep. And I slept for quite some time, waking up only when Boyfriend decided to shuffle mattresses in the middle of the night. The next morning, after an oatmeal breakfast, we set off for a hike. We hiked and hiked and hiked. I have no idea how long or how far because we did not have a watch for the entire weekend. That proved more challenging than I would like to admit. The hike commenced with a quality sandwich, trail mix, and goldfish. Then I did some reading, some writing… and eventually joined Boyfriend for a nap under the warm sun. But note, while the sun was warm, the wind was biting. And though temperatures were forecasted in the 60s for the weekend, they barely reached 50 in the rolling hills where we made camp for the weekend. It was much colder than I anticipated when I agreed to this adventure. We spent the rest of the evening exploring around the creek, taking an evening stroll to the lake, and preparing and enjoying a late meal. And pretending I was totally fine being disconnected from tournament hype. When Sunday came, colder than the day before, I had to convince myself we should hike because of our proximity to nature. Around 2:30 pm, we got in the car—my fingers frozen straight—to head home, but my car was stuck in the mud I parked it in late Friday night when that seemed like a good idea. I turned on Satellite Radio and promptly found the remaining nine minutes of the Jayhawks would-be pitiful loss to Stanford while Boyfriend shoveled rocks under the tires and pushed and shoveled more and pushed and remained calm. All the while, I continuously cursed the both the Jayhawks and our situation.

This review of the weekend points to a lot of misery—in the form of cold, mud, no sense of time, and losing, but the reality is this time was much needed, filled with much goodness. Boyfriend and I were able to reconnect. We got away from The City and life, especially important now that I’m back to grinding away full time at the office.