On this day, three years ago

So in preparation for the Tongariro Crossing, I did a bunch of gym classes with cardio and weights and stuff. Look, I tried really hard. Really, really hard. I wanted to peak on that peak in peak condition. I was a lady with shit to prove, to noone in particular, but still.

We started off the trek a little late in the morning, owing to my need to stand in a long queue for a very unrewarding longdrop toilet experience at the foot of the mountain. We then carried on at a leisurely pace, a little hampered by a couple of niggly injuries, including my goddam recidivist right knee.

On the way down, it became clear we weren't quite going to make the 4.30 bus pick up at the end. At 4.00, we rang the tour bus guy from the last station on the descent - with its sign warning there was 45 minutes and 3.1 kilometres left.

The tour bus guy on the phone confirmed gently that we didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of making it in time for the last bus - unless, of course, one person could go ahead, make the bus, then pick up the car in Tūrangi and drive back to collect the others. Maybe a person who'd been patiently doing gym classes in Upper Hutt, while dreaming quietly of glory.

IT WAS MY TIME TO SHINE.

With 24 minutes left, I began to run down that mountain like rolling thunder in a bright yellow hoodie with 'I'M A CAT' on it in a VERY cheerful font. Ran using one of those dork hiking poles, because I'd hurt my right knee and it had stopped participating. Ran like my friends' lives depended on it, which they actually didn't. RAN LIKE THE WIND.

As I passed other people finishing their tramp, running with my pole and my cat top, I at first breathlessly tried to explain so they wouldn't think I was a fruitloop. I soon realised I had nothing and gave up. I simply ran.

At 4.27, my phone rang. I took the call while running. It was the tour bus guy. He explained that he'd just sent the bus home early, because all the other people were on it. Out of pity, he would personally drive me back to Tūrangi.

That's right: 4.27. What did I do? I RAN. When you're that invested in being a dick, divestment is no longer an option.

I burst out of that bush on time and under budget. The tour bus guy welcomed me into his 4 wheel drive as I sweated profusely and brandished my pole and panted like a cat. Panted like a cat wearing an 'I'M A CAT' hoodie.

When the lovely tour bus guy dropped me back at Tūrangi, I couldn't find the car key, although I did find some Milky Bar with dust stuck to it, so I resorted to trashing the motel unit like a burglar. But not a smart one, like, say, a cat burglar.

I was really fricking late by the time I picked up my patient tramping mates at the base of the mountain. During their wait, they'd befriended a stray: a young hitchhiker from Hungary. She was headed to Taupo.

I realised I couldn't let her hitchhike alone on a Friday night, so I dropped the team in Tūrangi and offered her a lift up to Taupo, assuring her I wasn't crazy as I wore my sweat-stained cat hoodie.

We drove through the spectacular dusk by the lake, and she told me about her PhD. It was actually more boring than mine.

What a magic day. Thanks to my tramping chums for sharing it. And most of all, cheers to you, Aotearoa, for hosting. You know I would thank you on bended knee, if my knee still worked.