My jelly jugs journey

I’m on my way to go walk 60 miles. Weather looks good – coolish, but pretty out. I’ve got my compression sleeping bag and cancer sucks shirt and pink whatnots, and whatever else I can fit in my one, small duffel that is allowed. We’ve opted to forgo an air mattress or pillow to make room for 30 joke jelly boobs and pink ribbon and tulle to decorate our tent. Just goes to show how frivolous our priorities are. I’m sure that after walking 20 miles each day, I’ll be sorry about that choice . Ah well, what we lack in practicality we make up for in enthusiasm. I’ve packed a book and a flashlight, but I’m guessing Denver won’t let me read – she’ll want to talk. Nevertheless, I don’t travel without something to read, so I made room by tossing out something less important – I think it was the sunscreen.   Not like I was going to get rid of my popcorn stash. Can’t expect me to survive 3 days without that! Thankfully, Advil does not take up much room.

I am ready. Excited. Looking forward to spending a weekend with three thousand other female activists. Better yet, I’m looking forward to three interesting days alone with my daughter. I’m thinking this will be one of those experiences that cements meaningful memories – the kind we will both carry into our old age. That alone is worth any number of blisters or sore feet.  And of course, I’ll be thinking of my own mom.  Afterall, this is mostly about her.  

I am bringing a camera, so I’ll return with pictures. Not like we’ll be our glamorous best, but I’m counting on the scenery to be interesting enough to make up for that.

Think of me when you snuggle up in your comfortable bed. I’ll be passed out on the hard earth, feet trobbing,  in a tent covered in bows and jelly boobs.