I think even on days like today where conditions are less than ideal and the second half of the adventure is spent not being able to feel forward of the arches in my feet the sentiment still applies. The out of doors is a wonderful place to be. Even when my lips are purple, even when I can't walk fast enough to feel warm, even when four layers aren't enough, even when the blood has raced from my extremities seemingly never to return and the smear of sunshine behind the clouds fails to bring warmth, the out of doors is a wonderful place to be.
Commenting on the superiority of the out of doors, a friend said, "Fuck the inside." Some days I absolutely agree. Yesterday was like that. Blue skies and so beautiful outside that the thought of sitting in some fluorescently light room for hours on end exchanging carbon monoxide and experiencing collective neuron death is repulsive. Some days it seems a sin to be inside. Even on the days that aren't quite as lovely as one might wish them to be this is true. And then some nights, after being exposed to the elements all day, after being drained of blood and heat, being wind blown and never quite warm, it's really lovely to have an inside and a cup of tea to come home to.
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