The sky was as blue as ever, a perfect covering for a day of exploration and a weekend out of our dusty border-town home. We had been hiking all day, sweating under the Ugandan sun and clinging to the hope of potential shade that offered a drop in temperature in the dry heat around us. It was a day of peace and serene beauty despite the salt dripping in our eyes and down our backs, competing for a little attention and a much needed breeze.

As the path came to an end, we methodically found our way down the rocks to the edge of the water.

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I needed to get out, I needed a breath of fresh air, a moment, something, anything to quiet my racing mind and pounding heart. My emotional swinging outdid any roller coaster and it was time for me to get off the ride and find the nearest bathroom.

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The sand was warm beneath my wet bare feet, the grit settling between my toes with each forward step. The mud attempted to contend with the texture, offering the squish and slime to balance it all out as my walk in turn created more of the combination.

My body was tired and sore with my flesh a little cold from the breeze of the coming rains looming in the distant sky above us. Our squad trudged on, as one by one we hopped out of rafts to the safety of land, bypassing the top part of a rapid only known to us as “The Bad Place,” and continuing on until it was safe to drift away again.

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It was that feeling of defeat; the type that makes you hang your head and close your eyes, wishing with every ounce of strength left in you that you could magically disappear to anywhere else in the world. Anywhere other than this rooftop in Nepal, anywhere other than standing in front of your entire squad. It’s the type of feeling I had experienced all too often; it’s the thing that makes you want to run away.

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