The 3-Day event camp is a place as amazing as it is frustrating. The amazing part is getting there. And the pink tents. I really miss my little pink tent, I wish I could have kept it, but they are donated to charity after the event. The frustrating part is that after walking all those miles, you can't just collapse and do nothing. You have to keep walking.
On Day 1 you have to walk to find your luggage. Which is not that bad, the organizational system is pretty good, as long as your pack is clearly marked and has something on it that makes it easy for you to pick out. Mine had an obnoxiously pink luggage tag on it, with the picture of (naturally) pink shoes. Then you have to walk to get a tent, find your tent spot and pitch the tent. It's not the most complicated tent, and I have seen some mutants pull theirs up single-handedly. For the rest of us, mere mortals, it is better to assemble it with another person. Then, of course, you have to get all your stuff in and situated.
Thankfully, due to weather concerns and logistics, event organizers in some cities are sticking with a single camp site. So, you don't have to pack up and break camp on the morning of Day 2. Still, even with unpacking out of the way, there is still some walking to be done. To the shower trailers. Back to camp to drop off dirty clothes. To the buffet. To the dinner hall, where you can finally sit down and stretch your legs. Then, of course, you have to get back up and go back to your tent, by which point you are seriously wishing for a gurney.
During the Atlanta event, someone with a pedometer had tracked how much a walker actually walks from the moment she gets up to the moment she turns in for the evening. It turned out to be 25 miles. And that was on a day when our walking route was only 22.
Walking aside, camp is fun. It's kind of a huge pajama party, because once people get showered, they change into their pajamas and slippers right away, and just walk around that way. Nobody cares. It's all good.
Bill Engvall in his show Here Is Your Sign complained that his wife was in total denial about her snoring. She stated that women in general and she in particular just... didn't... snore. Oh, how vindicated he would have felt had he walked a 3-Day camp in the middle of the night.
Whenever I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, there would invariably be a couple more lonely heads bobbing between the roads of tents, heading in the same direction as I was. But the rest of the space was filled with... snoring. All kinds of snoring: high-pitched, low-pitched, basso profundo-pitched, patterned, random, all of it blending into one fabulous sea of sound. 95% of the event's participants are women, so you do the math. Some people complained that they had trouble sleeping? Me? Not a bit! All that lovely snoring worked better than any dream machine.