Let me paint you a picture: pouring rain and eerie fogs, sleeping under a tarp in a ski lift shack during a monster thunderstorm, snowy peaks from which hikers must hurriedly descend, wickedly sore legs, refuges where thin, narrow mattresses are laid shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor (read: tons of stinky hikers crammed into a tiny space and snoring through the night). This is Marc's life.
But also: more French hot chocolate than you could dream of (served in soup bowls), buying freshly made cheese from a swiss lady as you pass by her farm, sunny intervals that light up the magnificent grandness of the alps and make your heart want to burst, copping a squat to 'do your business' in a field and discovering that the cows crowd around with great interest, refilling your water bottles at the shack of a bearded hunchback in a never-washed, unraveling sweater, who makes you realize that the meaning of life is relative. That's his life, too.
And this is my life. Lots and lots of this. Sure, I'm not trekking over grand mountaintops with a pack on my back and a belly full of fresh cheese. *sigh*
But I am..... I am...... hmmm, trying to think of something positive here.
Oh yeah! as Marc reminded me before he left, in these intensive days we are both accomplishing major life goals. His is just way better.