How to Be Impressive

Several days ago, I woke up feeling sick. It wasn’t that horrid, all-consuming illness that makes you want to swaddle yourself with your own blanket, shuffle dramatically to the kitchen where you chug orange juice directly from the carton before plunging your head in the freezer for just long enough for everyone to notice and muster a sufficient amount of sympathy, then return to bed where you resolve to just lie down and die, but secretly hope that someone who witnessed your behavior pities you enough to come check on you because you really regret not getting an Otter Pop out of the freezer while your head was in there. Even if it was that kind of illness, I couldn’t act accordingly because I woke in a house full of three Marines and one tattoo artist, none of whom are in the business of sympathizing with pain or of fetching Otter Pops.

Instead, the rawness in my throat, the ache in my ears, and the mild flush of fever were simply a foreboding, urging me rest and recuperate or risk being miserably ill just in time for the holidays. Unfortunately for my body, I do not succumb to threats. So instead of peacefully slumbering and ingesting large quantities of liquids until I felt better, I drug myself out of bed at 5:00 a.m. after a mere three hours of sleep and went on a four mile trek through unfamiliar wilderness led by three Marines.


Guilty parties.

 Initially, the purpose of said voyage was to go shooting. Roughly four minutes into the hike though, the focus shifted from shooting to a competition for who could tread the most dangerous path without dying. What I was originally promised would be “like a walk through the grocery store” suddenly became four straight miles of bouldering.


"Oh look, here I am on this giant cliff of unclimbable rocks. I'm not really sure how I got here, but I expect you to emulate my success. And I'm not going to help you do it; I'm too busy posing for pictures."

About 1/64th of a mile into the hike, I was consumed by an overwhelming feeling of doom. I hoped that my parents and my dog knew that I loved them because, as far as I was concerned, death was imminent. It's not that I'm some dramatic girly girl who cries hopelessly when an acrylic nail is ravaged by the forces of nature. Actually, by most accounts, I probably fail completely at being a girl - I've never worn an acrylic nail in my life, shopping malls give me anxiety attacks, whiskey is my drink of choice, and if I come across a snake, you can pretty much bet that I will find a way to snuggle it.

My concern for survival on this excursion lied in the fact that my physical stamina and agility have failed me over the years. Once a martial arts instructor with abs of steel...no, make that titanium*...I now consider walking my dog to be a pretty decent workout.

Though I feared that there was a very real possibility that I would be leaving this canyon by air-evac helicopter, anyone who knows me will tell you that I refuse to be perceived as anything less than a complete badass, so I made no mention of this.

As I trudged on, I found myself shimmying down a particularly unclimbable rock and landing with a delicate hop across several jagged rocks that looked as though they wanted to bash my skull in, all while forgoing the aid of the Marines. I didn't ignore their helping hands to show off, but rather because I was fairly sure I was going down and it was going to be bloody, and I worried that taking one of them with me would piss them off and prompt them to leave me alone in the wilderness with nothing but the tube of Carmex in my pocket, which I don't think would sustain me for long. And there were wild cows abound that would possibly shank me with their horns and eat me.


Seriously. Wild cows.

Back on solid, relatively safe ground, I noticed that one of the Marines (the one who decided that it was not enough to simply complete the hike at a reasonable speed, instead opting to dart ahead of everyone and climb everything) had ceased his frantic climbing of surfaces and was giving me an amused look. Certain that he was about to tease me for my dismount, I contemplated the liklihood of survival if I tackled a six-foot-four Marine with a gun holstered on his leg admist a canyon of jagged rocks. Before I had time to fully calculate the odds though, he chimed in, "Liz, you're like a gymnast AND a ballerina."

It was then that my perception changed. The goal of this hike was no longer mere survival, the goal was to be impressive. When everyone else is carefully stepping around a rock, I will get a running start and hurdle the bastard. If the others are moving a little slower because the rain has coated the boulders in a slippery muck, I will climb them carelessly and twice as fast.

Here I am doing something incredibly impressive. The fellas wanted to take a picture because they were so amazed by my skill right here:

See the giant rock wall behind me? I just climbed down that. And that's my equally impressive partner in crime by my side. We might be amazing.

I also did a handful of really unimpressive things, like trip and fall on my ass on completely level ground for no good reason and hug a thorny bush for stability when I nearly lost my footing one time. However, those incidents can easily be overlooked by all my more impressive endeavors.

The trip turned out to be a success. We scouted out dwelling possibilities and discussed entry/exit and tactical positions throughout the canyon for the zombie apocalypse. We also fulfilled on the the Marine's dreams of eat cacti. Basically, it tastes like demon honeydew. Despite being sick, the hike wasn't nearly as exhausting as I thought it would be. The most painful part of the morning was being asked to wear these horrible, orange earplugs that expand in your ear canal while shooting. If you have an ear infection, I don't recommend shoving things in your ear.

Fast forward to the following day, which happens to be Christmas Eve. I woke up feeling like I swallowed a Costco-sized pack of throwing stars and rolled through fire until my body reached an internal temperature comprable only to hell. Apparently, four mile bouldering excursions in the rain are not recommended to treat any sort of illness.

I spent the bulk of my day on Christmas Eve at the urgent care, where I learned that I am afflicted by severe tonsilitis and an ear infection. The doctor, seeing that my tonsils were basically swollen shut, tried to convince me to go to the ER instead; however, my insurance provider thought that this would be a good time to drop me so I had to politely decline and let the doctor know that I would just go ahead and die if it came down to it. I asked for some pain medicine and was given a measly quantity of codeine, which I settled for even though it wasn't the tub of percocet I had hoped for. Unfortunately, the codeine did little to negate the ungodly amount of pain I was in.

Christmas day was equally horrible. I wasn't able to attend my family's Christmas celebration for fear of exposing my grandmother, who had already been under the weather, to my illness. So I curled up in ball in my bed, chowed down on codeine and soup, and contemplated the poor decisions that landed me alone in bed on Christmas day. A couple people called, which I originally thought was quite nice even though I struggled to speak, but then it turned out that they just wanted to discuss what they were currently angry at me for, which is slightly ironic because I can't remember the last time someone was genuinely upset with me for anything.

Anyway, the point is: If you feel you may be getting sick, it is not advisable to allow three large Marines to lure you into the wild and drag you on a four mile hike over large boulders, up steep rock walls, through thorny brush, in the rain. But if you do let that happen, at least try to be impressive about it. Here's how:


Step 1) Study what those around you are doing. Replicate their actions, but with twice the speed, vigor, enthusiasm, force, or cartwheels as they used.

Step 2) Draw attention to yourself. You could go around be impressive all day, but if you fail to draw attention to yourself for your impressiveness, no one will give you credit for it. I suggest a full-body sequin leotard for this purpose. Regular clothing can be worn over it, then simply removed when it's time to be impressive. Make sure you cover up though when being less than impressive or it will lose a great deal of its impact.

Step 3) Be nonchalant about your impressiveness. Pretend you don't know that you're impressive. If someone compliments you on being impressive, act undeserving of their praise. In turn, they will think you're even more impressive for not thinking what you just did was that impressive. They will assume that you just do so many impressive things, that you're jaded by your own impressiveness.






*If titanium is stronger than steel.