The Battle Between Arturo and Arthur

This week I find myself in a bit of a pickle (pun intended).  I received a text message several weeks ago from my friend Scott that read, "Arturo, I put in for Mt. Whitney.  I will let you know if we win.  I put in for several dates in mid-August.  I'll let you know."

The first clue that I may be in trouble was the way the message started.  Only my high-school buddies call me Arturo.

Before I get to the meat of this story, let's describe how I became Arturo.

I had enrolled in French when I first entered the doors of Derby High School.  I had visited my grandfather in California and he advised me that Spanish was the way to go.

I pondered this during the Summer of 1976 and had made up my mind to drop French and enroll in Spanish 101.

There was just one problem...as a freshman, I kept getting moved to the back of the add/drop lines.    The lines were impossible to negotiate and every time I made some headway a junior or senior would cut in front of me.

As a result, it took me nearly two weeks before I was finally able to drop French in lieu of Spanish.   During those first two weeks, I continued attending French and to this day, the only French phrase I know is, "Je m’appelle Mademoiselle, Heitz.”  Since my name is not Miss Heitz, this phrase has proved to be utterly useless to me.

The first Spanish lesson had the class introduce ourselves in Spanish.  We went up and down each row, starting with Joe Daddio.  "Mi llamo es Jose," he said.  "Mi llamo es Juan, Mi llamo es Nilda, Mi llamo es Maria," and so on and so on.

When it was my turn, I stood up and said, "Mi llamo es Arturo."

Suddenly, Tony Battaglino stood up and yelled in a booming voice, "Arturo!!!"
The class erupted in laughter and Tony was sent to the office for disrupting the class.  That, my friends is how I came to be known as Arturo.

Recently, I must have commented to Scott to let me know the next time he was going on a hike.  You see, Scott has been posting some fantastic photos of his hiking adventures.

I looked up Mt. Whitney and discovered that it has an elevation of 14,501 feet which makes it the tallest mountain in California AND the tallest peak in the lower 48 states.

I had one saving clause is this hike business.  In order to hike Mt. Whitney, one had to be selected in a lottery.  Well, Scott just sent me a message informing me that his group of six (which includes my name) has been selected.  In other words, the hike looks like a reality and is scheduled for August 10th.

Scott provided me the "good news."  "Arturo, we're going to about 8,000 feet and camp for the night, so our bodies get acclimated to the high altitude.  Then, we'll get up before sunrise and hike 11 miles up the peak and then 11 miles back down.  It's going to be awesome."

I could think of a lot of adjectives to describe what I just heard, but I don't know if awesome is one of them.  Tiring, strenuous, insane, and irresponsible, all come to mind, but hey, I'm Arturo.  Arturo would try anything.  Therein lies the problem.

Arturo got me in a lot of predicaments.  Arturo made bad choices.  Arturo was a fun-loving guy, but he knew no limitations.  Arturo had to apologize for his antics to many people.  Arturo ceased to be Arturo in 1988 and became Arthur.

Arthur realizes he needs to train and get in shape for this endeavor.  Arthur should probably say no to this hiking proposition, however, buried somewhere deep inside Arthur, Arturo lurks.

Arturo would never back down to a challenge and guess what...neither will Arthur.  See you in August, Scott.  Mt. Whitney, both Arturo and Arthur look forward to your wimpy little 22 mile walk.