There’s too much to say and not enough short blurbs to describe it. If you want a more in-depth explanation of what happened (provided the WB people don’t come down on my head for spilling some off-camera beans), click the link and I’ll try to provide you all with some additional insight.
When the host introduced the challenge, I was really excited. I hadn’t been hiking/camping for a couple years and I was looking forward to doing it again. Whenever someone asked me if I’d done a lot of backpacking in the past… tee hee hee…
So Scarlet and I loaded up our gear, I was tossing her some stuff that I thought we’d need (things like a lightweight rainjacket that I’d brought), I told her to keep the heavy stuff away from the bottom of the pack because it can drag you down onto your backpacking ass, etc. Once that was done, it was time to jump in the RV and go for a ride, during which time I was already screwing up.
The ride to the challenge site was probably a couple hours, seeing as how we had food packed away to eat in transit. I had a sandwich, a granola bar and plenty of other yummy foods that would supply me with tons of energy. I even had half a banana with about half an hour left to cap off the feeding frenzy. What I didn’t do was drink enough fluids. I had one bottle of water and a can of Coke, took a pee just before the starting gun went off and then it was time to go.
As such, here’s a list of stuff I did wrong:
I wore jeans instead of shorts. (Cotton holds in heat, doesn’t allow for ventilation—big no-no on the trail.)
I didn’t drink enough water beforehand. (One year during a 12-day hike in the mountains of New Mexico, I kept a journal and wrote in the margin, “Hydrate or die!”)
I didn’t drink any water on the trail. (My canteen was resting in the depths of my pack to make sure it wouldn’t be swinging around and potentially smacking me in the head)
I overestimated my physical condition. (I’d played indoor soccer the winter before, but my team ditched me, so after summer soccer was over, I spent many months almost completely sedentary.)
I pushed myself too hard at the beginning, trying to run instead of walking up the hill.
I kept pushing myself too hard even though the hill kept going up and up and up…
I didn’t maintain a decent pace and thus overexerted myself.
(And did I mention that the hill kept going up and up and up? The rapid increase in altitude may not have been my fault, but it certainly didn’t help.)
Thus, once the challenge was over, I had plenty of time to reflect on just how stupid I’d been during the course of the day.
Like I said on the show, after reaching the peak and heading downhill, the muscles in my legs and the right side of my neck and back were starting to lock up. I kept walking until we reached a midpoint where everyone could take a break—I spent part of it hunched over at the waist, then part of it kneeling, then sitting… by the time it was time to go, I couldn’t stand up. I was on one knee, tried to stand, sat down… I couldn’t get my legs to lift me off the ground. That’s when people took off my pack and laid me down alongside the trail.
The paramedic at the site put a little oxygen tube in my nose and took my blood pressure. (158/58 is bad… very bad.) I was lying there, thinking I could have used a nap right about then, and the medic told me I should let him know if I was going to throw up so he could get out of the way. I didn’t have time. I felt it coming, turned my head to the side and lost some cookies. And then lost some more cookies. And then said, “Mmm, tastes like banana…” (Personally, I think the sound editors added a little extra “BLEARGH” in that first heave, but it’s hard to say—I was busy vomiting at the time.)
I’m not sure just how long I was lying there—probably just a couple minutes—and the medic eventually asked me if he should call a helicopter to fly me to the emergency room. The moment those words escaped his mouth, I sat up, tossed off the oxygen tube, stood up, grabbed my pack and started walking again. If he’d told me I needed to go the emergency room, I probably would have added a polite “Fuck you” before doing the exact same thing. Maybe I wasn’t going to win the challenge, but I was going to finish. Period.
This is where people need to drop at least a little Scarlet-hate. Yes, she ran ahead while I hobbled down the trail and reached the fishing section just before Chuck and Caitilin. However, as soon as she finished reeling in her fish, she ran back, grabbed my pack and urged me along until I got down there to reel in my own. She grabbed the bucket, ran ahead to where the tents were, then ran back, grabbed my pack and urged me along until I got to the tenting site.
Sad to say, I was fairly light-headed coming down the hill, which is probably why I was so confused upon grabbing my fishing rod. It was an open casting reel, something my grandfather used to have, and the reel was always on the bottom. I had always used a covered reel—it required you to push a button on the reel when casting, so it was always on top. Given my past experience plus remembering what Grandpa had used, I rolled the fishing rod around in my hands for a bit, wondering why the hell they gave us left-handed reels.
I was still feeling light-headed when I got to the tent, but I’d set those suckers up plenty of times before—I opened up the bag, then grabbed the bottom and yanked it, sending the bag’s contents all over the tarp. From there, it was just a matter of putting stuff together. Which was more of a pain in the ass than I’d expected.
Perhaps you heard me saying our Scout troop has tents similar to the ones we had in L.A. It was true—they were similar. However, there’s a distinct difference between plastic hooks attaching the edges of the tent to the poles and essentially having to threat the poles through the edges of the tent. It was tedious, but we got it done. The struggle and confusion came when we tried to put together the rain fly. (And for those of you who think Scarlet and I did so poorly, consider this: while building their fire, Richard and Mindi’s rain fly was lying crumpled on the ground next to their tent, so screw you! …Sorry, had to get that out of my system.)
Alas, our efforts came too late—Chuck and Caitilin set their marshmallow on fire first, the challenge was over and we didn’t come out on top. I think that’s the moment when the censor finally matched his workload from the previous four episodes. And he wasn’t done yet—there was plenty of frustration that lingered for the next 24 hours.
But now for a few light-hearted moments: “See what happens when I start talking smack? I barf.” And then I kissed Chuck when Caitilin refused to do so. “It was consensual, what’s the big deal?” (I can’t say whether Chuck’s a good kisser or not—a peck on the lips to make everyone go “Eeeewww!” is a lot different than making out and a guy’s got to draw a line somewhere. He would’ve had to buy me dinner at the very least…)
While this portion of the entry may not ease any Scarlet-hate, it’s an admission: if I could have cloned myself, I would have spent the rest of the day cussing myself out as well. (I suppose I could have cussed myself out anyway, but people start to look at you funny when you do stuff like that…) I was extremely mad and disappointed with myself, so I could relate to Scarlet’s immediate reaction to what happened.
Now this might change some people’s minds about their Chuck-hate. Yes, he was getting pissed at Richard, but so was everyone else (for good reason). Yes, it was probably stepping over the line to ask whether Richard had ADD in front of everyone, but consider two things:
He realized what he did was wrong.
For once, Richard stopped screwing around to get laughs and became completely sincere when he defended himself against what Chuck said.
I also want to add that Scarlet remained upset with me throughout the evening. Each time she got mad, yelled at me, then headed in the other direction, Chuck sat down next to me to make sure I was okay. I never started singing, “Who’s in the doghouse? Woof, woof, woof woof…” but I thought about it.
Now I get to have fun explaining my lack of reaction while Scarlet spent so much time getting in my face. When I was younger, I had a horrible temper. A lot of times, it didn’t take much to send me over the edge; when it did, I would bring down the thunder. I ruined a couple friendships that way and have spent a lot of time trying to become more tolerant and less volatile. Screaming in someone’s face doesn’t accomplish much beyond helping you blow off steam and I could tell Scarlet had a lot of venting to do. Thus, I spent a lot of time standing there and taking the heat, but eventually, I came very close to snapping.
It was when I asked, “Are you done?” At that point, if she’d started yelling at me again… that would have brought down the thunder. I would have gone ballistic in her face and God knows what might have come out of my mouth, let alone how she might have reacted to it. Because she did stop, I was able to remain (relatively) calm when I told her that I didn’t give up. I didn’t add the whole “telling the paramedic ‘Fuck you’” stuff, but I figure if what I’d said didn’t convince her, nothing would.
So she went storming off again, but apparently sucking it up for most of the day did its job: I was given the option to sleep in the tent that night. I decided to sleep under the stars instead, which may have been another mistake—there wasn’t any cloud cover, there was a strong breeze blowing across the field, the mummy bag wasn’t particularly warm, the “pad” they gave us to sleep on was extremely thin and provided minimal insulation from the ground… I was freezing when we woke up. To stay warm, I’d curled up towards the bottom of the sleeping bag so you couldn’t see a head in the opening where one should have been.
Even though I could have spent the night in the not-so-cozy confines of four tent walls that night, Scarlet was still pretty ticked by the time we got back to the mansion the next morning. You all got to see her “You gotta study hard and tell me stuff” and most of you are understandably disgruntled about it. Truth is, so was I, but much like yelling back at her, protesting what she was saying wasn’t going to accomplish anything, so I hit the books. And so did she.
Then it came around to elimination room time and we got some moral support from both Caitilin and Chuck (I can’t imagine why they’d want us to stick around versus Richard…). I also shared a big hug with Chuck. When it comes to hugs, gender doesn’t matter to me—I hug my parents, I hug my brothers, I hug my distant relatives and I hug both my male and female friends. If you can’t deal with that, warn the medic so he can jump out of the way when you toss your cookies while watching that portion of the episode.
I’m not sure how many people noticed, but at the end of said hug, the camera shot was from behind my back and you could see Scarlet. She was looking at us. And smiling. I still haven’t figured out how to interpret that, but she must have had a soft spot for at least one of us at that moment.
Then we walked down the stairway of doom into the elimination room and started to answer the questions of doom. I can at least be proud because part of what I told her was about orienteering, so she definitely knew what a compass was. (Yay us!) For her third question, immediately after saying “hyperventilation,” she said, “No, uh, hyper—” and then got cut off before she could say something else. (Boo host!)
When it was the guy’s turn, you got to see what happened. I got two tough questions and I could have answered Richard’s question over 15 years ago. Here’s what was running through my head during the course of my stay in the elimination room:
Name two diseases passed by ticks. I immediately said, “Two?!” I’d only heard of Lyme disease before, but I didn’t want to say, “I dunno,” so I added “influenza.” I’ve never heard of anyone who’s been bitten by a tick when he’s got the flu in the wintertime, but like I said, I didn’t want to say, “I dunno.”
How many leaves are on poison ivy or poison oak? “Shit. It’s over.” It wasn’t over.
What’s the most popular game fish in America? Sad to say, my first thought was bass. I then spent my remaining time thinking, “No, can’t be bass… trout. Large-mouth bass, small-mouth bass, sea bass… can’t be right—trout. Large-mouth bass, small-mouth bass, sea bass…” and so on. When I finally answered, I stuck with trout. They then showed a clip of a previous facial expression—if they hadn’t, you would have seen me drop my head down and mouth, “Shit.”
So we I left the mansion, which is another point that might soothe some Scarlet-hate. For those of you who have previously checked out the WB’s Beauty and the Geek page, you’ll note that each couple has an exit interview. Basically, it’s a chance for us to say what we’ve learned during our “social experiment.” In ours, Scarlet says upfront that she needs to learn to control her temper. (You should note she said this less than 24 hours after chewing me a new one.) That seems like a pretty good starting block for teaching herself to chill a little more, don’t you think?
Now you’ve got a little background on the “real story” in front of the camera. It may have been edited out because it didn’t “affect the eventual outcome of the game,” but that doesn’t eliminate its significance. For the first time in ages, I was able to open up to someone and tell her how I feel about life in general, mine in particular; I was able to get and share moral and emotional support from a guy who’s been “portrayed as having his sense of humor surgically removed.” I don’t care how much Scarlet-hate and Chuck-hate may be floating around on the Internet—during the course of our stay at the mansion, I gained much more than confidence or the ability to buy women’s clothing: I gained family.
As a final note, I should let you know that while I’ve learned to keep my temper in check for the most part, I’m very protective of my friends and family. As such, if any of you try to post something like what I’ve deleted in the past—all the girls are whores, Chuck eats man ass, the other guy’s a faggot—I guarantee that I will bring down the thunder. But I’ll do it in a polite way.
