Turn Around

I learned early. This is serious business.

 

Sink or swim.

 

My own pace, dammit.

 

Enjoy.

 

“Your face is red, your shirt is wrong, your coat is too heavy, and you need different shoes.” But really what she was telling me was I was just too slow. I get it. She’s the leader of the group and she’s frustrated. She wasn’t being tacky, and told me more than once she hoped I understood. I did. I understood. I wasn’t keeping pace, that’s just a fact.

 

I asked to sign out. She suggested I take a shorter hike, less strenuous. She suggested numerous other hikes.  I could just turn my heaving bosom right around and quit. (She didn’t say that. Out loud anyway.) I look her in the eyes, with the other six ladies standing around behind her, and I told her, calmly, “I’m not going to quit. I will set my pace.” (Emphasis ‘I’)

 

My face was red because that’s what my face does when I get my heart rate up. These are badass seasoned women. (One climbed the Grand when she was 65. Another woman climbed it when she was 55.) They aren’t fooling around. And I was holding up progress. On the other hand, I was wasting much needed oxygen explaining to her that my shirt was a moister wicking bamboo, breathable, coaches always were concerned because my children turned darn near purple when they pushed themselves, we are fair complexion people, my coat wasn’t too heavy, and you wear the shoes you have. I’ve not worn my boots on a long hike and wasn’t going to start on what turned out to be a 13.5 mile hike. To top things off, I had to pee, because you know, water. My military grade backpack weighed a ton and is inscribed with, “Hydrate or die”. I took it to heart. 

 

When I have a few extra bucks, I may or may not go to Eddie Bauer, as suggested, and get me a shirt that looks like everyone else, and a thin coat to match. Or not. I’m seriously one of a kind. I like my uniqueness. Took me a while to get comfortable with all this goodness. 

 

So I now find myself alone, except for the occasional hikers, headed down the mountain, or passing me on the way up the mountain. And I was relieved. I set my pace, seldom stopped, except to get a short video, and eat half a peanut butter and blueberry jam sandwich. My phone dies, halfway up the mountain, and my pretty blue and pink five dollar lightening cord didn’t work with my portable charger. This was probably the most frustrating, as I missed photo ops, gorgeous photo ops. A young man passed me, and then I pass him as he sits on a large boulder. I forget, he tells me, that air is much thinner once I reach 7500 feet. No joke. I was just glad to see this very fit young man needing to pause for a minute. 

 

I saw several deer, a pika, other little critters. The bears were hiding behind the bushes, laughing, placing wagers as to whether the “slow one” would make the trip. Don’t eat her, they said, she’s making it too easy. 

 

When I was within about 100 yards of my destination, my lady friends were starting back down the mountain. Each of them had a “well I be damned” look on their face. And then big smiles. I know I was smiling ear to ear. Red face and all. You made it, they say, in disbelief. With a calm, low voice, I tell them again, “I wasn’t going to quit.” I told them I would be down once I took in the view. Leader tells me to get a pic. I can’t, my phone died. She tells the others, “This is too good, I have to get a picture.” And she did. Old mountain goat broad practically ran that hundred yards, with me pacing myself behind her. 

 

Our bodies are capable of so much more than we give them credit for. I hope to often challenge myself. If I can do a 13.5 mile hike (it’s like walking several hours on the treadmill at about a ten incline) I can certainly do a half marathon, and then a marathon. This was one of a series of challenges. I want to move my body until I take my last breath. It feels marvelous, and is good for the soul. 

 

As we are getting ready to drive home from the park, Mountain Goat Broad says, “Say, how do y’all feel about stopping and getting a beer?” HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND was my thought, are you CRAZY?  Actually it sounded great, but I returned to work today, and needed to drag my tired tush home to rest. And hopefully be able to fall out of my car and crawl up the stairs at my place. Besides that, I sacrificed a day without Maggie Rose, so I could prove to myself that I’ve made progress in the mountains. I needed to see my schnauzer. 

 

Driving home, dear leader, MGB (Mountain Goat Broad) said, “you know what I’ve noticed about women who hike? They have no hips.” Oh dear, MGB, my shapely hips and heaving bosom aren’t likely to leave any time soon. But I’ll sure take the pretty legs all the ladies in the Wild West seem to sport. 

 

I will admit to an inward satisfaction when the ladies got out of their cars and were stiff from sitting the brief ride home. I wasn’t the only one. 

 

I’m proud of me, immensely so. I’m grateful I can put one foot in front of the other, and achieve yet another goal. I’m grateful for the ladies who rejoiced with me when I met my goal. 

 

Never quit. Inspire authenticity.

 

Note: A difficulty rating of less than 5 is generally considered to be an easy hike. Between 5 and 10 is moderate, and anything over 10 is considered to be a strenuous hike. Prior to this hike, 6.63 was my most difficult hike in the park. This particular hike has a difficulty rating of 18.15.