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to a guy who pours everything into being an exceptional adventurer, you will always come in second. Andrew, at least, doesn’t deny it. “Sometimes I feel like I’m throwing a Hail Mary with women,” he said. Every last one of his relationships has hit the skids because of his all-consuming hunger for unexplored terrain, and we’re not talking the your-bodyis-a-wonderland variety. Part of it is that he’s simply gone most of the time. In the four months he’s been with Anya, he’s traveled to the Sierra Nevadas, Iceland, Seattle, Yellowstone National Park, Portland, and British Columbia. Even when he’s around, he’s obsessing over his next big project. “At heart I’m a good guy,” he said, “but it’s difficult for women to carve themselves a piece of this lifestyle.” And Anya? “Anya is a girl who deserves to be treated like a queen, and I’m not the guy to do it.” Hmm. Does this mean it’s best to steer way, way clear of these extreme adventurers? Anya told me to check back in a few months: “Maybe then I’ll say, ‘Don’t bother.’” Oh, but you know we will bother. The qualities that make elite athletes hard to love are
the very same ones that suck us in like magnets. They’re passionate, exciting, and dazzlingly good at what they do—a potent combination. And when that single-minded intensity turns its high beams on you, well . . .
C’mon, who among you hasn’t met a climber/ skier/mountaineer/ whatever whose muscled excellence made you bite your lip and sigh? Reaching the treeline, we scrambled for the summit. Boulder hummed beneath us; the Indian Peaks soared just ahead. Even after
all Andrew had told me, the spark between us was undeniable. No, seriously. “What’s that sound?” he asked. I heard it, too: my shoelaces were buzzing with electricity—the kind that portends a lightning strike, not imminent romance. As we turned tail and dashed for the safety of the trees, the hair around my face reached for the sky. “Wow,” he said when we found a sheltered spot. “That’s never happened to me before.” Oh, me neither, Andrew. As the high-voltage cloud passed us by, I realized: That’s just it. That’s why these guys are irresistible: it’s the possibility, however remote, that lightning will strike, that you’ll be the one who finally tames his wanderlust and outranks the adrenaline fix on his priority scale. “We very rarely stop this lifestyle on our own,” Andrew had mused earlier that day. “It’s always a woman. Some guys are just sucker-punched by a woman.” So date an obsessed adventurer if you must. He’ll probably break your heart, but maybe, just maybe, you’ll be his suckerpunching woman—and that’ll be an adventure for you both.
Women’s j Adventure 31