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  • A text I sent that night to my mom:

    "I had a fight with the stove just now ... The bowl got stuck to the bottom and it took me 20 minutes to pry it off. I lost half of my granola bar down the hill earlier. And my backpack is too heavy so I'm going to have to mail some stuff home when I get to Mt Laguna. But otherwise all good."

    What I didn't mention:

    My backpack was so heavy that I had back spasms climbing up the hills that first day.

    I thought about chasing that granola bar down the hill and eating it, dirt and all.

    I didn't plan out my campsite that well, so I ended up camping in this shitty, tiny little spot in the sage brush halfway up a mountain. I hid way back in the bushes because I was afraid someone would find me, but that also meant I got pretty scratched up getting back there.

    I did get in a fight with my stupid $130 stove and the plastic bowl that is supposed to nest oh so comfortably on the bottom like a useful matryoshka doll. The plastic bowl, however, had gotten so comfortably wedged onto the stove that not only could I not twist or pry it off, I had to cut it off with a baby swiss army knife. It took probably longer than 20 minutes and ended with me literally shredding the plastic bowl and screaming as I threw it into the bushes. Night one and I was already having my Cheryl Strayed angry yelling crying moment. I sobbed as I sat on the cold ground and then it started raining. I spent that night afraid of the dark in my tent, sure that it was not actually waterproof, cursing myself for coming up with this stupid, wild, crazy idea to thruhike from Mexico to Canada in the first place.
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