You are stronger than what you give yourself credit for.
Hello, my minions! I have recovered from my battle wounds and am now ready to return to the wonderful world of Blogger.
A few weeks ago, I went to camp. It was a great experience for a People-Watcher like myself. From the energetic, perky, possibly indestructible Rec Team, to the Southern pastor who faced his fear of heights and was the first going down the zipline. How often do you meet a boy who's the exact imagine of a human pitbull, a girl wearing a hotpink tutu with part of her pinky missing, AND a 5 foot nothing real life Flash? Then there's the location itself...
The air in the mountains feels different in your lungs than in the city. It's purer. Being surrounded by a clear blue sky, mountains and trees, you remember how small you are. The adventures I had can easily be stretched to fit into fiction.
For example:
Crawling up a very steep hill on my hands and knees, in the pitch-black night, with the fear of being left behind or getting lost driving me on. The person ahead of me shouted. They slide backwards, and promptly used me as a stop. Captain America's (that was his nickname) boot heel drove itself into my shoulder. This can easily be stretched into a story about running away, surviving in the savage wilderness, or why guys should not wear boots with heels on them.
Standing on the creepy platform, seeing nothing but treetops for miles, while a woman attaches you to the harness for the zipline. Your heart is speeding, your body is shaking, the world very possibly could black out at any given moment. Of course, once you take the step, it's a wonderful ride. It's thrilling. It's joyful. It's FLYING.
....until you hit the brake and find yourself on solid ground all at once.
Last but not least, there was Goliath.
Goliath is best described as a military-style obstacle course. The hike from the main part of camp to the desolate corner of Goliath is an exercise in itself. Everyone is standing around, wanting to see how it's done before they go.
Unless you're me, who was the only girl to go. Then it's perfectly okay to call a bunch of jocks chicken and try to tackle it first. (I did horrible, by the way. It took me 5 minutes and I fell 4 times.)
It's as much as a physical test as it is mental. By the time you've Army-crawled in the scorching hot dirt, climbed a rope over a 5foot tall wedge thing, and nearly fell off the tire mountain, your body is asking what in the world you're trying to prove. Your brain does not help with the constant reminder that you need water, that the boys laughed when you fell right off the bat, and that you are not tough enough to finish this.
But I did. Three days later, even with a pulled thigh muscle, PitBull-Boy talked me into trying to run it again.
I made it as far as the wall before I climbed down and limped off in search for an ice pack. But hey, I tried.
Now don't get me wrong. You don't need to go do something crazy to be able to write, but man, it sure helps. Everyone has a different definition of "crazy" and that's where the fun kicks in. Maybe your crazy involves eating deep-fried squid with chocolate syrup on it. Or maybe it's grabbing a surfboard and going down the staircase. (I actually want to try this someday)
Find your craziest moment, and fiction-fy it.
Go on.
I dare you.
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