Ah, Fridays. They swoop in like a superhero, signaling the start of the weekend marathon: launching laundry into the machine with the finesse of a discus thrower, navigating the grocery aisles with the strategy of a chess master, and embarking on the sacred pilgrimage to Kettlehouse. But, in a twist that would shock M. Night Shyamalan, my internal clock decides to join the dark side, thinking 3AM is the prime time for a wake-up party. Seriously, why do I suddenly become the life of the party when the rest of the world is off in dreamland?

Then there’s that magical morning view from Mount Sentinel, a reward for last night’s adventure. The plan was a group conquest of Sentinel, but it turned into a solo mission. Middle ring engaged, I summited alone, and let me just say, I’m doing a victory dance over here. Who’s the MVP? Yours truly.

Looking ahead, the weekend’s agenda is a deep dive into refreshing the trail descriptions on my blog, with a sprinkle of optimism for hitting those trails myself. But alas, the sands of time wait for no one, and my brief escape is up. Back to reality, I go.

On this day in history, ‘Hey Zeph! Want an Action Wipe?‘ I asked, after cleaning the blood from my shin.

— Saved by a Package, 2013