Heh. Whoops. Maybe I should stop proclaiming that I'm going to be a better blogger again and just come to terms with the fact that I'm a pretty bad blogger right now.
To be fair, though, this has been quite a whirlwind of a month. I'm writing this after working all weekend (#TeamNoDaysOff), which is probably what my entire February is going to look like. And I moved! Surprise! I'm now living in my very own one-bedroom apartment and, let me tell you, it's pretty phenomenal. I love my new place, and I love how I managed to decorate it, and I love that it felt like home after I'd been living here for approximately 12 hours. But most of all, I love that it's mine. I have sole control over the TV and don't have to worry about getting in anyone's way in the kitchen and at no point will anyone be waking me up by being too loud in the middle of the night. It's entirely wonderful and exactly what my introverted heart needed! But it also meant, y'know, packing and moving and unpacking.
Lucky for me, I've been #blessed with the best family ever. My mom and dad flew out to help me with furniture the last time I "moved," and this time around, my dad and brother made the trip to do the heavy lifting for me. [praise hands emoji] And, since I only moved to a different apartment in the same complex, it was pretty quick and painless. (On my end, at least. But I wasn't the one that had to carry my dining room table up and down the stairs.)
The move was done on a Friday, and the next day we threw caution to the wind and went on an outdoor adventure... despite what happened last time.
The adventure? Snowmobiling! The goal? Don't end up in urgent care.
We made the two-ish hour drive to Breckenridge, my dad joking about avoiding the inevitable avalanche that was going to kill us and me yelling at him to STOP IT. The scenery was pretty, though.
We were outfitted in snazzy snowsuits -- I felt like the little kid in A Christmas Story when he was padded with so many layers that he couldn't put his arms down -- and given helmets. Shockingly enough, the boys in my family were game for selfies.
Then the whole group of us (probably around a dozen people) piled into a van and went to go meet our machines. (Note: all of the following pictures were taken by my dad, because there was no way I trusted myself to take my phone out in the snowy wilderness with heavy machinery.)
I was pretty nervous. My dad and brother are big into all vehicles with engines. Me, on the other hand? Not so much. So I knew I wasn't going to be the most talented snowmobiler of the group. But what I didn't expect was for my sled to die.
I was cruising along (slowly and not very gracefully), and when we came to a stop, my sled wouldn't restart.
Our group had two guides, and it took the two of them to get it going again. But the next time we stopped, I didn't even hit the kill switch before it puttered into silence. Cool.
Long story short, we had to circle back around to base so they could get me on a machine that actually functioned properly. You know me, always the problem child! It kind of reminded me of that failed attempt at a bike tour in Berlin: struggle city.
Getting a sled that, y'know, worked, was a big help. I still wasn't particularly fast or agile, but at least I was functional! And hey, a guy in our group did fall off at one point, and I did not! So I wasn't totally the worst!
Anyway, we rode some trails for a while, and I actually found myself thinking of that bike tour. In both cases I was so focused on just trying to get where I needed to go and keep up with the group that I wasn't able to fully appreciate my surroundings. (Note to self: stick to walking tours. You know how to walk.) But nonetheless, it was extremely beautiful, and eventually we pulled off into a clearing to have some free-ride time. It was nice to get off my sled and stretch a little bit (and, y'know, reunite with my speed-demon family members), and it was also nice to get to ride around without worrying about how fast I had to go and following in someone else's tracks. (It was also pretty hilarious to watch my dad fly across this field. Whatever that gene is, I'm missing it.)
On the way back to base, we got to pull off to the side of the trail to take some pictures.
And then we headed back down the mountain, and did NOT go to urgent care! I was definitely stiff the next day, though. Turns out a death grip on your handlebars turns into sore forearms. Who knew? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
So that's kind of where I've been these last few weeks. Please forgive my long absence, and cross your fingers that I don't end up in urgent care during my next one!
