Anytime a new friend notices my license plates and asks how I got my car here, I usually give a vague answer, “Oh, I just drove it.” The conversation then shifts to other topics.

I’m not lying when I say I drove here. Technically, I did a lot of driving along the way. However, to pretend that commitment was the only thing that stood between Colorado and California is an understatement.

Last summer I went home to Colorado to visit friends and family. Knowing I would have to get my car back myself, I gave myself three days to drive the 1,100 miles from my hometown to Santa Barbara. Of course, this plan went out the window when I discovered that my best friend would arrive in Colorado only two days before I had to be back in Santa Barbara to housesit.

To be able to spend one day with my friend, I would have to make the drive in one straight shot. It was a stupid idea, but I decided to do it anyway.

The morning before I left, I woke up around 8 a.m. to be able to spend as much time with my friend as possible. We saw a movie, grabbed lunch, went to the local reservoir and talked and laughed well into the night. The experience was worth the wait, but I didn’t hit the road until 4 a.m. the next morning.

Only a few hours into the drive I felt myself falling asleep at the wheel, so I stopped when I reached a town called Grand Junction. Looking for a nice parking lot to sleep in or a grocery store to buy some snacks, the maze of one-way streets and bizarre parking lot designs turned my “quick stop” into a two-hour detour. It did not include a nap, or a good meal.

I found a Wal-Mart and washed my face in the bathroom. I chugged a few energy drinks and hit the road again, surprised at my ability to stay awake despite the fact that I had now been up for more than 24 hours.

Determined to make it to Santa Barbara by that evening, I continued, only stopping for gas. After a coffee break in Utah, another distracted detour in Las Vegas (of course I stopped in Vegas, it’s right on the way!), and the torture that is rush hour on the 405, I had finally made it to Santa Barbara.

I was amazed with my own ability to actually stay awake for almost 48 hours.

This might seem like a happy ending, but after two days with no sleep, little food or water, driving without even attempting to stretch or shift positions, and way, way too much caffeine, my attempts to be a super-human caught up with me.

When I finally made it home, I passed out for 12 hours.

I woke up with the worst headache I’ve ever had, suffered weeks of back pain and the complete inability to enjoy socializing, the outdoors or any of the other staples of a nice summer break.

Basically, I spent the last week of summer sleeping during the day and wishing I hadn’t thrown off my sleep cycles and digestive patterns. All in the name of proving to myself that I could handle this long of a road trip on my own. It wasn’t worth it.