Death as a Pastime

Part 1 - The Day Before

Doesn't it sound like fun? Dying for recreational purposes. The best thing about it is that it's relatively inexpensive as far as hobbies go. Not like some of the hobbies I've been dragged into. By my "friend".

Mark.

Somehow, I get sucked into everything Mark decides to get into. Magic. Football cards. One hobby after another. Not that Mark is flakey. Quite the opposite. When he gets involved in a hobby, he goes all out. He doesn't just skirt around the fringe. He reads. He studies. He talks to everyone in the game. He becomes an expert on the subject. He is probably the most dedicated person I have ever met, whether it's his job or his hobbies, he always gives 150%.

Unfortunately, when it comes to his hobbies, the extra 50% he gives usually comes from me.

Football cards. Yuck. I gag when I think about it. It sounded so exciting at the time. Go to the store. Buy a pack of cards. Open them and flip through the Beckett's guide to card prices. Every time we opened a new pack, Mark was making a tremendous profit. How could I not get in?!?

So I got involved. Turns out, what the magazines say the cards are worth, is not really what they are worth. It's what the shop will sell you a card for. Not what anyone really wants to pay for one. Not what cards are selling for on eBay. Not to mention all the worthless junk cards, no-name players that nobody wants to collect. But it's fun. So I keep collecting.

The thing about Mark and his hobbies...he has two speeds. Break-neck, and stopped. There's no waning or fading out of a hobby. It just ends. Ends with the intensity of someone throwing a brick through your windshield while you're driving 80 on the open road. He one day just decides to stop collecting, sells his entire collection to one guy and it's over.

And I'm left with box after box of mostly worthless cardboard that I have no inclination to make the effort to sell. An expensive hobby that lingers years later.

I managed to avoid the next obsessions. Autograph collecting and geocaching. It took effort. He tried to suck me into them. I fought tooth and nail to stay away. I seem to have finally developed an immunity.

So now, I finally have a hobby that I can afford. Dying on Mount Charleston.

12,000 feet. Higher than I've ever been in my life, at a time when I'm as out-of-climbing-shape as I've ever been. In the desert. In August. After I've spent the last 7 months in California. Barely above sea level. Cool ocean kissed air. Gorging myself on fine cuisine.

After almost 8 months of hike-free living, we're going to climb to the summit of a 12,000 foot high mountain. Or rather, Mark is going to. At about 10,500 I expect to start hemmoraging and having my heart explode. I give myself about a 30% chance of reaching the destination. I give myself about a 25% chance of surviving if I do.

The good news for everyone else is that I bought a digital video camera for this adventure. That way, I can film my death for everyone to enjoy.