Drum roll, please....

It's getting so close to liftoff that it might be okay to start counting it in hours rather than days! Yep, it's really that close. I leave in four days. FOUR!! Holy hills of green, Batman.

To say that I'm preoccupied with thoughts of hiking Ireland again would be an understatement. A major one. I can't think about much else, but can you blame me? Two weeks of trekking around the Emerald Isle is just around the corner.

Have I mentioned that since returning to a full-time desk job, I've not walked a single mile? Yeah, that's not good. It's been well over a month since I've put any miles on my boots, which means that my endurance will be nonexistent. Wonder how those first fifteen miles on day one are gonna be? It's funny now, but I'll keep you posted on that. It won't be so humorous when my tank runs dry and there's still another seven miles to go. Oh well, thankfully, I've always had Scarlett O'Hara's ability to decide to think about that tomorrow. It's a gift.

Speaking of gifts, I bought those undies that you can wear for like a week or two...Lauren's dwarf told us about them three years ago when he set out for a month of hiking with only two pairs of undies. We thought that sounded pretty damn gross, but he swore by them. Turns out, they sell them at Islamorada Outfitters and I bought some. The owners swear that you can wear them all day and then wash them out at night and they dry in twenty minutes or so. They're not cotton either, so they stay dry when you're sweating your backside off. It feels odd to pack for a two week trip and take only two pairs of skivvies. Never fear, I'll keep you abreast of that situation, too. No secrets here. I know how much you like that.

Last night, I printed out the email confirmations for every night's accommodation, the train, and my flight itinerary. It's stacked on my desk under the maps. You know what that means, right?

Drum roll, please....

FOUR DAYS!!!

A Wild Hair

We all know that I've had my itinerary for this adventure established since January, right? I knew exactly where I'd be each day/night while hiking The Kerry Way, as well as afterward when I hop in a rental car and drive 300+ miles to Mayo. Well, things have changed!

Whilst driving home Wednesday evening after work, the proverbial hair worked its magic. I was in a daze somewhere around mile marker 97 when BAM! Achill Island popped into my head uninvited and unexpected. I decided right then and there that I HAD to include it on this year's trip. Once home,I changed into my favorite camo shorts and a T-shirt and went outside with the dogs to have a beer and inspect my plants. Eventually, the mosquitoes forced us inside where I plopped down at my computer to see what sort of miracles I could work. (Trying to find accommodations this late in a place like that is foolhardy.)

Less than an hour later, I was set on Achill Island. It, much like Wesport and Newport where I'd planned to visit, is in Mayo...but it's an island. You know my affinity for the water. Turns out there's a half marathon and some sort of maritime celebration taking place the weekend that I plan to visit, so it'll be busy and full of interesting characters. As I searched for reasonably priced accommodations on the beach (the island is famous for them), I stumbled across a quaint little place called Lavelle's Seaside House. Need I say more?

For thirty euros, I have a room with a view and breakfast... in a seaside home bearing my family's name. In addition to walking the beach, there are "hills" nearby for climbing. They are actually mountains and it goes without saying that they shall be explored. I'll arrive late in the afternoon of July 2nd, spend the night, and have all the next day to explore and search for family. I'll spend a second night and then drive to New port to meet with Mr. Joe Reid and Padder (Yoda reincarnate)

I'm excited about this last minute change in plan. The island has at least one castle that I plan to visit and hopeful a cemetery or two. Did I mention that Lavell's houses a pub? Duh. They are Lavelle's.

Eighteen Days!!!

I looked at the calendar this morning. It's the third of June. My baby cousin, Crystal's, 36th birthday. Man, she's old. Thirty-six? Lawd. I sent her a box of Depends and a case of cheaters. Then I realized something even more mind-blowing...

I leave for Ireland in eighteen days!!!! You realize that's less than two weeks, right? At least it was the last time I checked. OMG. (I actually dislike the whole text language trend, but thought I'd give it a whirl.) Eighteen days?

This is exciting and scary all at the same time. Exciting because, well duh. Do I need to spell it out for you? I'm heading off to The Motherland, alone, to walk 136 miles around The Kerry Way, then renting a car to revisit Minard Castle (with which I'm having a love affair) and then to Mayo to hang with some dead people and hopefully some live ones, too. The scary part is that since going back to work full-time, I've walked ZERO miles. None. Nada. Zilch. NADFM (Not a damn freakin' mile.) That's not so good, especially when you consider that my first day's hike will be fifteen miles.

Oh, that's gonna blow. Actually, it'll be rough but it'll be the following days of nineteen and twenty miles that'll really get me. One long walk out of the blue is doable...it's the day after day that makes your body scream at you. Oh well, there's nothing to be done about it. Suck it up, Buttercup! That's what it's all about. Doing something over-the-top that you didn't think you could do. (Except that I know I can.)

So, how do I spend the next two and a half weeks? Not training, that's for sure. It's time to contact each of my B&Bs, pubs, and farms that I've booked and confirm my arrival dates. MFAC. (My fingers are crossed.) Hopefully, I didn't make any bonehead mistakes whilst booking last January. It's easy to do when booking a different night in a different village for ten or eleven nights. I never stay anywhere long enough to get bored...or too comfy.

I'll drag my worn out carcass into town late in the afternoon on most days, find my accommodations, leave my boots and gaitors (water-proof things that cover from the knee to the top of the boot) at the door, find my room, shower, and head to the pub for a few pints and dinner. My favorite Irish pub meals include chicken and mushroom pie, creamy tomato basil soup and a bread board, fish and chips, grilled sandwiches and chips, and fresh seafood. After another pint or two, I'll limp to my room (sitting for any length of time after a long walk results in hips and knees that refuse to cooperate), blog about the day's events, and fall asleep with the windows open. There's nothing like burrowing under a warm, down quilt while chilly Irish breezes whip about the room. In the morning, I'll stagger down to brekky, which will always include coffee (I never drink it anywhere else) and toast slathered with fresh Kerry Butter. (When I die, I want my ashes mixed with Kerry Butter and then have the whole mess wiped on the walls of Minard Castle. I'm trusting you to see to that.) Then a quick pack-up and I'm off, heading for a new village...over several mountain shoulders, across a few streams, and usually several boggy peat beds that make me want to yank out my hair. Good times.

Just yesterday, I ordered the three OSI (Ordinance Survey Ireland) maps I'll need to navigate the Way. They show detailed landscape information and elevation and are printed on water-resistant paper. Note: They are not waterproof. Don't ask me how I know this. It's a sad story. Anyhooooo, I bought the maps and they should be here next week. The only task remaining is learning how to actually use them. And a compass. I still don't know how, which is problematic because I won't have my favorite navigator with me to save my sorry ass. (Lauren is better with that sort of thing, but she will be in DC and NYC being a teenager.) I plan to figure it out on the plane. What else would I do for that long?

So, there you have it. In eighteen days, I'll set off for the two hour trip to Miami International (Hell on Earth) where I'll do a three hour flight to JFK. I'll sit there for three more hours before taking off for the Emerald Isle. If I remember correctly, it's about six hours to Dublin. From there, I'll find a lift to the train station and catch the 11am to Killarney. I'll arrive three-and-a-half hours later with time to explore before finding a pub for an early dinner and few pints. I've no doubt I'll sleep well that night...unless I'm too excited about the first day's walk.

IHGJTAI. (I have goosebumps just thinking about it.)

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.

Nine Weeks!

Nine weeks from now, I'll leave behind the heat and humidity of our tropical paradise for the lush, cool, green hills of Ireland. It'll be nearly ninety degrees here today and only fifty in County Kerry. That's quite a change, especially when you've fully acclimated to hot, sticky temps.

I get goosebumps just thinking about hiking along quiet country lanes, lined on both sides with heady-smelling wildflowers. Fuchsia grows in huge, bushy hedges everywhere. (When we lived in VA, we paid fifteen or twenty bucks per hanging basket.) The pinks and purples of its double flowers never fail to pull me in for a closer look and, as a result, slow my arrival to the next town. Did you know that the fruit of all fuchsia species are edible? I've never tasted it, but some people make it into jam. (Maybe I'll pick some and try to smuggle it back home for a jam-making experiment.)

The only downside to the wildflowers are the gigunda bees that seek their nectar. Those who know me well know that I'm afraid of everything with wings. (Yes, even butterflies terrify me.) More than once, I've run off, screaming and flailing my arms, weaving a crooked path in the attempt to outrun a bee who decided I might be competition. Turns out, Irish bumbles are just as scary as American ones.

In spite of the bees, I know I'll spend too much time appreciating the beauty of whatever grows along my way around the Iveragh Peninsula. Without Lauren or her dwarf to pull me along, I'll probably arrive at my accommodations after dark more than once. Then there are the cows. Lord have mercy, nothing slows me down more than a cow. (Except a dolphin or manatee, but I won't have to worry about that happening on the trail.) I can't tell you how many times Lauren and I were waylaid by cattle last summer while walking the Dingle Peninsula. Just ask her dwarf. More than once, he harumphed and took off, annoyed at our fascination with milkers and their calves. Then there are the horses and donkeys. Don't get me started on donkeys. All I'll say about them (for now), is that when I move to Ireland, my little farm will be graced with at least two. They will be named Owen and Grumpy, which are really the same thing.

Aside from buying train tickets from Dublin to Killarney - a four hour trip - the logistics have been settled. The "economy two door" car I rented to drive to Mayo will probably be smaller than a golf cart. I'll be sure to post a picture on the blog. I hope it doesn't come equipped with clowns because I'm afraid of them, too. Odd, I'm not afraid to walk 135 miles of woods/farmland/mountains alone, nor am I afraid of ghosts, dark cemeteries, or whales, but I'm petrified of clowns and things that fly. Huh. I suppose a shrink would have a field day with that.

I've gone back to working full-time (why, I don't remember), so my training has again taken a back seat. However, I'm putting in miles of running around the resort each day, looking for someone or trying to help resolve guest issues, so that's better than sitting behind a desk for eight hours. However, there's still the issue of hill climbing. These islands are absolutely flat. Endurance will be an issue, but I know that I'll succeed. Just imaging the wildflowers, cows, and donkeys waiting for me at the next village will be all the motivation I need.

Slan.