I've never had much of an appreciation for mountain climbing. There's really no reason to hang out on a mountain, or so my reasoning has gone, unless you're a goat or perhaps bear strong resemblance to a ski lodge.

Mountains, named for the word "mountainous", are really, really big. Even a small one can make "Pier One" Kirstie Alley look like "Cheers" Kirstie Alley. And because mountains are so huge, most people find other things to do, like not climbing a mountain. I'm an expert on avoiding mountains because I grew up in Indiana, a state where the largest peak is marked with a sign advising "Caution: Bump Ahead". I've actually ramped it with my bike.

So it was with great apprehension that I recently hiked my first mountain. I wish I could say my inspiration came from a desire to get back to nature, or to impress a girl, but the truth is I just needed to do some laundry.

Let me explain. People can be divided into two groups. The first group asks, "Why would anyone want to climb a mountain?" Answers the second group, "Because it's there." The first group proceeds to pummel the second, because nobody likes a smart aleck, and in the ensuing scuffle a third group emerges, one that says not only, "Because it's there," but adds, "and why not starch my shirts while I’m at it?"

Those people are aficionados of "Extreme Ironing". According to ExtremeIroning.com, Extreme Ironing "combines the danger and excitement of an 'extreme' sport with the satisfaction of a well pressed shirt." Enthusiasts carry an iron, a board, and "a few items of laundry" to the top of a mountain where, with a suitable "extreme" expression, they show off what they learned in Home Economics.

Though I'm sure there are still a few wrinkles to work out, the sport is — wait for it — gaining steam. The book Extreme Ironing by the pastime's creator, Phil Shaw, was released in the UK last year, and nearly 1,500 of the sport's disciples exist around the world — proving the Internet can make just about ANYTHING seem popular. The Guinness Book of Records, in its 2004 edition, even recognizes Extreme Ironing as the first global combination of a household chore with an extreme sport, narrowly edging out "Whitewater Bed Making" and "Bungee Jump Chimney Sweeping".

The Ironists came to my attention when they passed through Boston last year. The Household Superheroes displayed Martha Stewart-meets-Evel Knievel skills by hanging from the side of Boston's famous "Duck Boats", pressing pants and driving through the city. Most Bostonians assumed they were tourists, or street performers, and dutifully ignored them. But I found myself eyeing my laundry in a new light. Could it actually be a coincidence that all my shirts, piled on my floor, resembled a mountain? Or was I subconsciously expressing my desire to practice an extreme laundry sport?

I can't iron a shirt to save my soul, but something about the Ironists' cavalier attitudes toward starch and personal safety appealed to the extreme homemaker hidden within me. So I grabbed a tiny ironing board left over from my college days and picked out a mountain suitable for beginners: New Hampshire's Mount Monadnock (from an Algonkian Indian phrase meaning "Ages 6 and Up!").

If you've never hiked a mountain before, I don't suggest carrying an iron or an ironing board on your first attempt. In fact, I really don't recommend it even if you're an accomplished climber. Not only is ironing equipment ungainly, but you will be laughed at for your stupidity by people wearing silly hats and fanny packs.

Nonetheless, after what seemed like days of a grueling climb, I finally — huffing and puffing — reached the welcome center at the edge of the parking lot. They kindly pointed me where I needed to go (Up!) and I began the ascent. And that was how, a gallon of sweat later, I came to stand atop Mount Monadnock holding a portable board, a white button-up shirt, and an iron. Despite my prejudice against all things alpine, I had conquered the summit. And I was about to conquer some pesky creases and wrinkles.

Or, at least I would have. It seems this new sport has a fatal flaw — I couldn't find a power outlet anywhere. I guess not having a place to plug your extension cord in is just one of the dangers of an extreme sport. But I was determined, so with my shirt flapping in the gusts of wind, I just kind of… pretended to iron. Then I hiked back to my car and did what I should have done with the shirt to begin with: I took it to the cleaner's.

You may not think I'm extreme, but just wait until I show you the bill.

Copyright © 2005 Andy Murphy
Please do not remove the copyright from this work.

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