My body is strong and healthy. My hips and shoulders carry my pack, and my strong legs carry me up and down hills. My fingers, hands, and arms are adept at setting up tarps and cooking dinner. I feel good in my body. It is a pleasure to move.
I take care of my body, especially my feet and hands, for I have learned I can do little without them. I attend to scrapes, bruises, circulation, and sensation. I eat when I am hungry, knowing I need the calories to fuel myself. I drink water plentifully, knowing dehydration is one of our biggest risks.
My clothes are functional. They keep me warm and dry. They are comfortable--never impeding my movement or breath, nor distracting me from the task at hand. I wear the same things every day, adjusting layers with the changing weather and activity levels. My hair is out of the way--something I think little about. I smell like a human. I could maybe use a rinse in the stream or to wash my clothes, but there is fresh air to air things out, and at least I smell uniquely and precisely like me.
People like me for my personality and my sense of humor. They trust me for my skills, my judgment, and my leadership capabilities. They care about me and look out for me because we are in this together, and because I do the same for them. They know my fears and frustrations, my strengths and weaknesses, and my medical information and menstrual cycle. They know what I eat and what I don't, and they are next to me when we sleep. They know when I poop, and they ask me how it was.
I haven't looked in a mirror in two weeks, but what does it matter? We're sitting on the ground in the rain and the mud, eating peanut butter with a stick and squeezing jelly straight into our mouths. We are having so much fun, and we are happy.