As I exited the vehicle that facilitated our journey to the suburban Metro station, the fortitude of people fighting for passage through the security gate gave me hope for the estimated 150,000 marchers making their way to D.C. that dreary Saturday morning. Our prepaid Metro Cards gave us ample time past the mass of spontaneous shoppers shaking their money at ticket vendors.

The train itself began at our station, Shady Grove, allowing the lucky few with padded thrones to include our rebellious group of four. The doors shut, separating us from the early wind chill passing by ever faster as we began our travels to the Women's March on Washington.

The organizers and pollsters believed estimates to reach upwards of 250,000 as the festivities inched ever closer. The train ride began to cramp as more stations piled people into standing room slots. Many meeting each other for the first time, initial conversations spanned people's activities at their respective schools or recent federal legislation for which to write congressmen over. Eventually, the Metro regulars informed us to depart at the Union Station.

Just on the platform, mounds of pink hats and homemade signs decorated the rising elevator as volunteers with bullhorns directed us away from chaos. I pulled on my "pussycat hat" and tinted, circular peace glasses and marched my first step on the former Potomac wetlands we call our Capital.

Most of the inaugural infrastructure remained in place from the previous day, enhancing the efficiency of the march strategically and ideologically. As we made our way to the National Mall, I indulged a street vendor on a legitimate-looking Women's March flag he was selling. Also, organizations like the ACLU printed up free signs slapped with a double-sided "Dissent is Patriotic" in bipartisan red and blue.

Like a magnet, the Capital building brought together women and men from all around the country, including protesters from Michigan, California, and Texas. Upon arrival at the Mall, we had the realization that the prerequisite rally would be three hours.

The stage was at least four blocks away from our closest possible position. There were also a minimal amount of speakers, rendering the stage work non-existent to the majority.

Instead, our secondary purpose became filling out an ocean of crafty creations on-a-stick as well as several chants, including: "Love Trumps Hate!" "This is what democracy looks like!" and "Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, Defund Planned Parenthood, and We're Coming For You!" as well as many others.

Many characters paraded our collection of compatriots, including more than a few Donald Trumps and most memorably a Sikh Captain America.

The most impressive aspect of the thousands strong group was the lack of garbage on the ground, making our values and the streets seem less trashy.

Eventually, the chanting and personal murmurs turned to an organized wail as the gates to the March route opened.

Our first road was fenced, most likely from the Inauguration, proving to slow our walk to a turtle-like pace towards George Washington. By the time we reached the grassy knolls preceding the first president's pillar, the compassionate crowds branched out to different roads and paths. This did not fix the pace, given the constant additions of hundreds from each passing Metro Station.

The final stint towards the White House proved much more lenient, opening to eight lanes for our traffic jam to disperse onto. Once reaching Trump's new residency, the grass disappeared from the sheer numbers of pink garden gnomes parading the lawn. My group decided to beat the crowd of a now estimated 500,000 by reaching the Metro Center with the other thousand who had the same idea.

Walking down Pennsylvania Avenue proved more difficult than the main route, hosting the overflow march which seemed thicker than our congregation. Our plan to beat the crowd at Metro Center became futile when we began our slow descent into the packed corridors of the suffocating subway.

After the third attempt to push the limits of the train, we finally squeezed all four of us into the flying sardine can. The ride began with the mass protection of a small infant from being as crushed as the rest of us, proving our liberal values to be most helpful in collectively playing with the baby. The train slowly thinned out as we crept closer to the final stop.

Upon return to Shady Grove a mere 10 hours later, the exhausted and pained patriots belted one last scream on the platform, concluding the day's contributions to the living history of the First Amendment of the Constitution.

Waddling my aching legs back to that vehicle of which facilitated our day's journey, I peeked a glance at the ever-smaller station behind me. Trains in quick interval brought the now-estimated 900,000 back to their daily lives after making history on that beautiful Saturday afternoon, beaming a pink light of revolution at the incoming administration with grace and civility.