Never pass up an opportunity to celebrate. Celebrate every 100 miles, celebrate every state crossing, celebrate minor holidays (Pi Day, Memorial Day, National Ice Cream Day, Summer Solstice), celebrate major holidays (Easter, 4th of July), celebrate birthdays, celebrate every month spent on the trail, celebrate every week spent on the trail, celebrate for no reason at all except that celebrations equal good food and friends and excitement and fun. But mostly the food. That's the big thing. Only two days crossing Maryland put us in Pennsylvania and the official halfway point.
I stood before the halfway sign. In one step I would tip the balance. With one step I would be closer to where I was going than to where I began. To celebrate, there would be food, and lots of it, for as I took a step away from the sign, I took a step closer to the Half Gallon Challenge.
I stared at the ice cream. Is stared back at me. Could I really do it? Could I really eat the whole thing? The half gallon challenge: eat a half gallon of ice cream in one sitting. Would I hate ice cream forever? Maybe, but that was a risk I was willing to take. Would I feel sick afterwords? Probably. Would I puke? There was a possibility. Would I have explosive gasses? Likely. Would I have diarrhea for days? Most definitely. So why do it? Why put myself through all that misery? For the prize: a small wooden spoon. But it's not the spoon itself that is desired, it's the meaning behind possessing the spoon. It means success. It means hardcoreness. It means I ate a whole half gallon of ice cream, and never again in my life would I have this guilt-free opportunity to binge on the delicious frozen treat. I had been preparing mentally and physically the whole hike for this. I was so nervous. It was mind over body. All a mental game.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking: A half gallon of ice cream? That's easy, I could do that! Well, now is your chance, you have an excuse, for I dare you to sit down with a half gallon of ice cream and eat it and one sitting. Call me up when you do so I can personally congratulate you. And those tubs in the store, those "half gallon" cartons you buy aren't truly a half gallon. They are a pint short. Pick your flavors wisely, and good luck. It's not as easy as you think. Grown men are brought to the point of puking doing this kind of thing.
I plucked up courage, picked up my spoon, and began. I started at the edges, for they were softer. It seemed nearly an impossible task as I took those first few bites. My flavor was chocolate moose tracks. I was devastated, literally devastated, when I learned they were out of mint chip. I knew I could succeed with that flavor, but chocolate? It was so rich. But bite after bite, I slowly worked my way through it. I started to feel the effects of the 252 grams of sugar pouring into my system. Suddenly I looked down and there was only a quarter left. My taste buds hated me. I wish I could cut out my tongue. I felt like I could gag and I did a few times, though I managed to hold it down and finish the last few bites. I hate chocolate.
Surprisingly I was still hungry, for I had intentionally skipped my morning snack, and was ready for the final pint as long as it wasn't chocolate. Thankfully we could choose a different flavor (I don't know if I could have made it with only chocolate), and in order to maximize my chances of victory, I asked for a sample of the peach and coconut before deciding on peach. It reminded me of the good old days working at a peach orchard and eating homemade peach ice cream.
There is a moment in every competition when you know the victory is won. As I started on my pint I knew this was that moment; it was only a matter of time before I would claim the prize. I paced back and forth to work off the sugar as I made my way through the peach, and soon I stared at an empty cup. YESSSS! I had done it! Victory was ours, for Firefly had succeeded as well. 54 minutes. Dreams do come true. I proudly marched into the store to receive my prize.
As we waited for our ice cream to digest we walked over to the AT museum. I located all the bathrooms and exits in case of a reconstituted ice cream emergency but thankfully I only felt a tiny bit sick. After a while we headed back to the store to celebrate our ice cream victory with some french fries, and then to the beach to let everything digest as we swam and made sand castles. Such is the life of a thruhiker... on a good day, that is.
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