Blast Radius

The house is on fire, and I need to get the hell out. There is no plan or time, motion is of primary importance. Goals must be of rapid motion and swift execution. Life changes fast but I will be faster. My plan to “get in shape” this year will fail unless I strike it with such ferocity my neighbors flip shit and their ill trained pit bull runs for cover. Next my new job, house payments, kids, parent’s death, and finally the nail, my all-consuming business venture. I never have time, and I never will. Time runs along a brutal asymptote in which existence is squeezed into the sweet eternal oblivion. Plans must be pointed, and while I never know where, the general direction does the job. It all goes, and the crack of the sonic boom does not materialize until I am far, far away. Only then do I see the linear trajectory. Lines between two points are always straight.

The M-80 just exploded in my skull, shrapnel ripping apart every neural connection. It is a blessing I will survive, but no surprise. I am the one who lit the fuse many months ago, it was only a matter of time before it blew. I just summited Mount Rainer, and the blast has left me dazed and baffled in the state of silence. My body’s baseline has been cranked and has been redlining for months, if not forever. I have been ripping mountains, depressive swings and all hell in between. No time for life logistics, let alone me. I was running for my life. I knew I would summit and I had to move fast. After the bang, I can look back.

The main charge had been accumulated through my extensive outdoor adventures, backpacking trips and skiing experiences along with an intensity built through the abrasion of life. I strike the match, time for the fuse. I found this book of matches at Alpine Ascents, a mountaineering course I received for a college graduation gift (how fantastic!). I bought expedition gear and this was the beginning of my poor financial decision to summit mountains. While I was moving out to Utah, and eventually to Mexico and the East coast, I knew I would be back.

Strike and light, the whole world is narrowed to the fine line of the fuse, drawing into itself as the hourglass sand rips past my face. Here I lost vision, and sense of time. I shifted into fifth gear and there was only one way to go. Stay between the lines. At the summit of Hood, I caught on fire. One, the next. Peter threw me into the mountaineering community, and I met other psychos sprinting down the line. I learned the z-pully, prusik, alpine butterfly, double fisherman; tools all in the bag. Adams, Helens, Middle Sister, Baker, Hood, over and over and over. The great gear collection, the curse of the sport. Straight for the main charge. While the detonation has a blast radius the spectators will never forget, the process is very simple really. You show up and run, fast.