“She just doesn’t know when to quit.”
I hear my mom in my head every single time I find myself in yet another stupid situation I’ve dug myself into. This time was no different.
I had a quick flashback of 16-year-old me snorting another huge line of meth, knowing I’d likely just stepped into territory I couldn’t come back from, but not caring one bit.
“She’s right. Why is she always right.” I cursed myself as I dug into my pack for my phone. I was sixty some odd miles into my latest 100 mile effort. It was pitch black. My headlamp battery had died, my charger wasn’t working, and I was fumbling trying to find a light–desperate for anything to help me navigate the rocky technical terrain in this section of the Pinhoti Trail. The next aid station was four miles away. Rookie mistake.
