Towards the end of one of our desert hikes, we came across a pretty steep sandhill. Like, almost 90 degrees steep. And then our tour guide told anyone with a bit of extra energy they could run up it. Ryan, for your own good, I suggest you stop reading now.
Stop.
Now.
I ran my pregnant butt up that sandhill as fast as my little legs would carry me. Which was not very fast. Especially since it quickly got so steep that you couldn't run or walk--you literally had to bear crawl up with your hands digging into the hill as if you were rock climbing. Except, you know, with sand instead of rocks. And then I slid down on my butt. And ended up with pants full of sand. Because I'm sexy like that.
A few days later we got all dolled up for a night out on the town in Jerusalem. And by dolled up I mean I searched desperately through my suitcase for something I could fit into. What? That's not a good idea of your time? What about if I tell you that I got myself a nice hot cup of decaf tea while the rest of the group had themselves some delicious Israeli beer? Oh, that's not so fun either?
It's ok, a little bit later I got myself some delicious pitas to make myself feel better. One filled with goat cheese and honey, and another filled with a creamy chocolatey spread. I'd pick that over beer any day.
