Death March


It started out so beautifully, so innocently. Since it was such a gorgeous day out, Olaf suggested we go for a hike. We got in the car and then drove to a little town called Güster, where we were to begin our walk. Olaf had researched some hikes and had decided on this one he had not tried before. We were about 10 minutes into our walk when Olaf made what I thought was a joke about the 10 miles ahead of us. Ha ha, I thought, whatever Mr. German Drillsergeant. Olaf had prepared some sandwiches that we would eat at some point along the way, and about an hour and a half later I was feeling a little hungry and asked if he wanted to stop. “Not until we reach the lake.”, he said. And when I asked how far the lake was, he showed me a map of our trail and I noticed that it seemed like we were only about halfway to the lake which was about the halfway point. I thought perhaps the map wasn’t to scale, so I fired up Google Maps and realized to my horror that he had not been kidding about the 10 miles. By the time we reached the lake, the bottoms of my feet were already starting to hurt (note to self: don’t hike this far without proper shoes). We stopped for about 20 minutes to eat, then began the second arduous 3 hours to complete our circuit back to the car. It started to rain on and off. For the last hour I could barely walk and by the time we reached the car I was weakly hobbling and muttering references to the death march at Auschwitz that Olaf’s forebears had subjected mine to. In total, the walk was over 18km (which sounds even worse than 11.2 miles), and I am glad to have made it, but informed Olaf that I would be having a say in the next walk.

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