Trena Eiden

In a suggestion box at a trailhead for hikers was a note, “Trails need to be constructed to avoid going uphill.” I agree! 

There’s things I don’t really like to do and hiking uphill is one of them. I don’t like to sweat, pant or exert. Maybe I’m just lazy, but I see no purpose in ice climbing, rock climbing or treks that don’t get me back to my truck by noon.  

I feel the same about adventures. A few years ago, we had kids living in Orlando, so during a visit, they took us to Epcot. It was fun and educational and April, so it wasn’t even hot, but it was a 12-hour, 7-mile jaunt. The only way I’d ever do it again is with a sherpa wearing an adult backpack for me to ride in. When I mentioned this to a friend, she frowned, “I don’t think they make those.” Well, fine, next time, I’ll go, but my feet have to stay home because they complained a lot. To be fair, my feet were happy for the first four hours, then they started fussing, and by the sixth hour, they were really cranky. At eight, my arches said they weren’t going to do it anymore. I gave them a pep talk and promised a massage and hot bath so they’d start moving again. At the end of the 12 hours, my feet, knees and hips were crying. I was dragging the whole shebang behind me like a squid out of water. I promised never again to attempt something so tortuous without reinforcements.  

A few years ago, our daughter Lunny bungee jumped off South Africa’s Bloukrans Bridge, the world’s highest commercial bridge bungee jump. It was 709 feet, which is nearly two-and-a-half lengths of a football field. I put it on a grid, taped to my laundry room wall, just to remind myself there’s things I never have to do to have fulfillment in my life. When Lunny told us what she’d done, I asked if she enjoyed it. She replied, “Nope and I’ll never do it again.” This, coming from the mountain climber/deep sea diver extraordinaire. You don’t have to hit me in the head with a brick. My thoughts were solidified and chalked up to “Things not to put on a bucket list.”  The first clue telling you to say no is the booking contact, “Face Adrenalin.” Ya, no.  

Recently, a generally gutsy friend shared that while on vacation she was forced to zipline 250 feet to get to a destination, but it was so scary, she wouldn’t go again. She’s quick witted, so as we conversed, I said, “So, if Gar and I are somewhere and he has a heart attack, and I have to zipline to save him…” she cut in, “Ya, you’ll need a minute to think about it.”  

I had this same thought during Covid when I couldn’t reach the IRS. There was a mistake on paperwork and I tried for two weeks to talk to someone on the phone by calling every morning. The computer would say all the slots for speaking with a representative were used up for the day. I finally got through, but was told the hold time would be up to two hours. During that time, I told Gar to sit down and relax and not do anything strenuous or dangerous because if he hurt himself to the point I had to hang up, I might not.  

One thing I’d never do on purpose is eat uncooked sushi. I’ve seen those photos of the holes in people’s brains from ingesting raw fish with worms. Since I’ve been told from time to time I have a hole in my head, I can’t risk it. 

I’d never eat tripe again because I did it once and thought my tastebuds were going to shrivel up and die. It was awful, but I was at someone’s dinner table, so had to pretend to be a grownup and finish the dish. Upon arriving home, I brushed my tongue with a Brillo pad. 

I also wouldn’t go to a Democrat convention. I know this because I once went to a Republican convention to support a friend, and a woman droned on at such length, I wished I’d brought arsenic to nibble because maybe I’d existed long enough. I couldn’t leave, so instead, texted my kids to send jokes to keep up my moral, mentioning I felt my life ebbing away. A son texted back, “I think you exaggerate.” I replied, “Don’t believe everything you think.”