Twenty-Seven Days

It still feels like a long way off, but these last four weeks will fly by. I'm kind of counting on that because I'm ready - really ready - to go. It's been a year since I left Ireland and I don't think a day has passed that I haven't taken out a memory to savor or thought about how much I loved being there.

Are there places where you just feel "right"? Places that fit you perfectly and seem to be where you were meant to be? That's what Ireland is for me. It fits, it's soothing, it's home, and I miss it.

A coworker asked me why I'm going alone. She didn't understand why I'd want to walk 136 miles alone, around a peninsula and over mountain shoulders, on a route that's not clearly marked. She wondered why I'm not scared. Scared? It never occurred to me to be scared. What's there to be afraid of? Ireland doesn't have any snakes. Need I say more? No scorpions or crocodiles, either. Nothing poisonous and nothing predatory. What's to be afraid of other than getting lost?

Maybe that's the whole purpose behind the adventure; getting lost. Or is it being found?

My family is the most important thing in the world to me. Let me start by saying that because until you understand that, none of the rest of this will make sense. (And even then....who knows. I'm not sure where I'm going with this.) They are my life. I couldn't live without them.

Having established that, I am always wearing at least one hat. I'm Mom, Wife, Employee, Cook, Friend, etc. I'm almost never just me. I think this solo journey will be a rare opportunity to lose all of those other hats and remember what it's like to be Patti. Just Patti. No one else.

Does this sound like crazy talk? Are you contemplating an intervention? Please don't.

I will spend almost three weeks hiking and traveling alone in the Motherland. I'll spend hours and hours walking the coast, through farmland, wooded countryside, and across the desolate moors without seeing another human. I'll have no one to worry about, feed, comfort, or talk with. What a huge change from my normal daily routine, which is spent happily caring for my family, our dogs, and survivors of domestic violence and sexual violence who come to us for support. The most important person in my day will be me. While perhaps that sounds selfish, I think it's one of the greatest gifts I can give myself at this stage in my life.

(Fortunately, I easily amuse myself. A neighbor once told me that if I was locked in a closet, I'd probably have a parade. I chose to interpret that as a compliment.)

I suspect getting lost is probably the quickest way to find yourself. What happens after that, is up to you.

Forty-One Days!

Can you believe it? Forty-one days until I'm Ireland bound! That's going to be here before you can say, "You better get serious about training, fat ass!"

I've been doing a better job of hitting the pavement over the past week or two, but I've also been eating like a construction worker with a tape worm. I'm guilty of this sort of thinking:"I just pounded out six miles in this heat, I deserve to inhale a pizza and six pack." Am I alone or do you do this, too? Then I wonder why my pants don't fit! Hmmm. The bottom line is that time is running out. I've gotta put my nose to the grindstone instead of the feed bag.

I pulled out all of my trail clothes and dumped them on the bed to figure out what I'm taking. Just seeing all of those specialty walking socks, quick-drying shirts, gators, and walking sticks lying there made me smile. Memories of walking across England and around the Dingleberry Peninsula with my favorite baby girl flooded my mind. I stood there grinning like a dim wit until Doug came in. He looked at me and then turned around and walked back out. You think he'd be used to this shit by now, right?

That night I had a nightmare about getting lost on the trail. It was getting dark and I simply couldn't figure out where I was. When I pulled out my compass (that I still haven't learned to use), the needles were spinning wildly. I shook it a few times and when that didn't help, I chucked it over a cliff. Then I pulled out my trusty map, but when I opened it up, there was a big hole in the section where I thought I might be. As I starred at it, unable to understand what had happened, I heard chewing. I looked around, expecting to find another walker who I could look to for companionship and help to find my way to the next town. Instead, I found a donkey. He was chewing a big juicy section of map. "Hey!" I shouted, "that's my freakin' map you're eating!" He stopped chewing and waited. "I'm lost, you dumb ass, I need that map!" He laughed and said, "Look who's calling who an ass."

Then I woke up.

I took that as a sign that I harbor some unspoken fear about hiking 135 miles alone. I don't feel afraid or worried, but that dream has me wondering if maybe I should be more concerned? Nah. I'm not gonna worry. I'll be fine as long as I keep my map away from the donkeys.

Seven Weeks!

In seven weeks - seven! - I'll start a journey that's sure to be legendary. Well, maybe not legendary for the rest of mankind, but in terms of my experiences it will be. I don't think anyone will write a song about it and it probably won't make the six o'clock news, but that doesn't make it any less spectacular.

I just purchased my train tickets, which was the last logistical thing that needed to be checked off my To-Do list. I land in Dublin at 9am and plan to catch the 11am train to Killarney. I love train travel...at least in the UK. Lauren tells me that American ones aren't as much fun and since she's had a healthy dose of each, I trust her assessment. (The only US train experience I had was when she and I traveled from Seattle to Vancouver, and that was pretty damn good.) Train travel in England and Ireland is...magical.

I won't continue until you stop rolling your eyes.

Yes, I said magical and that's what I meant. The dramatic change in landscape from city to country is amazing to witness. City buildings thin out as neighborhoods take over and then they fade to make room for cattle and rolling hills. The hills give way to mountains and open sky. The interior of the carriages are typically quiet, except for the trolley making its way up and down the aisle. Another thing I cherish about UK trains...the trolley delivers red wine and beer to my seat. Yep, it's true. That alone is worth hopping aboard.

The ride to Killarney takes about three and a quarter hours. Halfway there, I'll switch trains from a big one to a little one, which sadly is without trolley service. Being a former Girl Scout, I know a thing or two about being prepared. When Lauren and I trained from Dublin to Tralee last year, I bought a couple extra wines before switching. I climbed aboard the second train, clanking as my mini wine bottles banged together in my pack. It was a happy sound.

I'll arrive in Killarney shortly after 2pm, which leaves sufficient time to check in at the Killaran House (located 400 meters from the train station and right in the heart of things) and then head over to Ross Castle. The 15th century tower house sits on the edge of Lough Leane and remains open to the public. Then I'll check out St. Mary's Cathedral because, like other old buildings, I like to wander around ancient churches. After a couple hours of exploring, I'll find a pub close to my B&B, tuck in for a meal and few pints, and then hit the rack by ten.

My first day's hike is fifteen miles to Black Valley. (Sounds inviting...) I'll spend the night at the Shamrock Farmhouse, where I'll also have my evening meal and breakfast the next morning. The first day is always tough. Retraining one's legs to hammer out fifteen miles day after day isn't easy. I'll be asleep early that first night.

Day two is a mere eight miles, so I'll plan to sleep in a bit and take my time along the way. If there are ruins or a castle within a mile or two of the trail, I'll check them out. I don't want to arrive at my accommodations too early, although the Stepping Stone B&B is one of the nicer places I'll be staying along the Kerry Way. I'd rather spend my time walking the Motherland's green hills than sitting in a B&B, no matter how nice it is.

Day three will be a bitch, but it's also the day I reconnect with our hiking buddy, Owen. (You know him as Lauren's Dwarf.) We met our dear friend while walking England's Coast to Coast, where he saved my life during a difficult and terrifying climb. I look forward to trekking seventeen miles with him that day. Seventeen miles. I need to get serious about training.

I walked six miles yesterday...to a pub...and then dehydrated with pints.

Pracice, practice, practice.

Slan.