Never has choosing a pair of pants seemed so important.
The trek to Machu Picchu is now three weeks away and I have read everything I possibly can on packing tips and the like. Some say travel pants, some say workout pants, others swear by those ones that zip into shorts. I’m literally sweating about this decision.
Whichever pants I choose, I will be in them for three days. I’ve never worn anything for three days unless you count my favorite pjs when I’m sick, and even then I usually change by the end of the second day.
I mean, I could bring another pair of pants, but all the cool hiker blogger people say to just wear one and my fleece zip up is hot pink so I’m already pushing my luck with the earthy set.
I’m sort of stressing about have to carry everything on my back too. I have these panic daydream things where I imagine myself collapsing and someone with a hip bandanna and a million string bracelets from all the international treks she’s been on pulls open my pack, as I lay with my face in the dirt, and says, “Of course, pinky here brought an extra pair of pants.” The dream ends with the whole tan, hand carved stick carrying crowd laughing at me as I crawl to my tent.
I have accepted the need for one pair, but these suckers need to be super pants. They can’t be too tight, they need to stretch out just the right way or I’ll be swimming in them by day three. They need to be dark because I can be messy, but not too dark because it’s dusty.
I realize there are global issues, domestic travesties, but right now all I can think about are these damn pants.
The hike is going to have some yucky parts in the first two days. The pants need to hold up. I’ll be worrying about falling and breathing, the pants need to be that sturdy friend that tells me it’s all going to be okay.
Adding to the enormity of the decision…they need to be sort of cute. I know that sounds silly vain, but pictures will be taken along this journey. Chances are pretty good that I will only do Machu Picchu once in my lifetime. I don’t want a bunch of breathtaking badass pictures where my first thought is, “What the hell was I thinking with those pants?”
As of this post, I’ve narrowed it down to three pair. I’ll just keep staring at them, listening to each silent sales pitch as they run down their great features. Yes, at this point the pants are talking to me.
I’ll try them on and bend down, walk around the house, put my hands in and out of the pockets, make sure there’s a choice spot for my lip balm. I’m sure each pair will cry out that they are the perfect three day pants. Eventually I’ll have to choose and off we’ll go.
Three days…I really need to get this right.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Sleeping in My Clothes.