Tales of Trails

I know I said in a previous post that I need to exercise more.

But this was a bit much.

It all started when Jim and I decided to spend the afternoon hiking while the girls were at my in-laws.  At first, when I saw that the weather forecast was 77 degrees and sunny, I worried that Jim would make a last-minute plea for a boating excursion, but he never even mentioned it (although I may have seen him cast a longing glance or two toward the barn where our boat is stored).  We dropped the girls off and headed North to Mt. Greylock, the highest peak in Massachusetts.  It was a gorgeous drive on scenic back roads, and I nearly fell asleep I was so relaxed.  It was such a nice change of pace to be in the car and not have my ears constantly scanning for choking/gasping/breath holding sounds (the stuff of nightmares for first-year moms while babies are in rear-facing carseats and you can’t tell if their silence is due to contented sleep or frantic choking).

Anyway, we arrived at our destination and grabbed a trail map.  I pointed out to Jim that there were several lovely hiking loops labeled “Easy” and I suggested that we pick one of those, given that I hadn’t engaged in any serious exercise (other than my one hula-hooping attempt) in a year and a half.  Jim scoffed and informed me that “Easy” is boring.  “What we need,” he said, “is a trail with lots of big rocks to climb.”  He recalled how much fun we had in Stowe, Vermont hiking up a steep mountain peak.  I reminded him that we did that hike two years and two children ago, but he’d already found the perfect trail on the map: one labeled “Strenuous.”

Strenuous.  Not even Moderate.  Strenuous. 

It started off gradually, in an open meadow, and I hoped that the map-labeling cartographers had overestimated the severity of the hike.  And then we started to go up…and up…and so did my heart rate.  Within minutes, we were deep in the forest and climbing.  Strenuous, indeed.  Jim was covered in sweat, and I was regretting the big McDonald’s meal we had prior to arrival (I figured we were going hiking, after all – so a few extra ice cream cone calories would get quickly burned off!).  We paused to take a breather, and I checked my watch to see how long we had been engaged in such muscle-making exertion.  Ten minutes.  Well.

I was further dismayed when I noticed that every other hiker we passed was hauling backpacks and serious equipment around with them.  I hadn’t even brought a water bottle.  One man even carried a pick-axe.  Jim observed he was probably a trail maintenance volunteer, but I voted for axe-murderer, or at least something else macabre like grave-digger for exhausted, underprepared, out of shape hikers.

But despite the incline, and despite my weariness, it was a thoroughly enjoyable hike.  We didn’t make it to the trail summit, but we saw some amazing scenic views nonetheless.  And as I trudged through the underbrush, I even had some time for philosophizing.  Jim had advised me that hiking is easier when you keep your focus on the path ahead of you, rather than looking down at your feet.  As I attempted to follow his advice, I thought about how this tip is applicable in many areas of life – keeping my head up and not getting overly concerned with the metaphorical roots and rocks in my midst indeed makes daily life easier.  Of course, maybe I should have also noted that hiking is easier when one keeps one’s thoughts out of the clouds so as to pay attention to the task at hand – namely, putting one foot in front of the other on a rocky path.  I’m not great at multi-tasking, which includes walking and philosophizing.  

We descended without incident and collapsed into the car, tired and sweaty and happy.  We drove the rest of the way to the summit, and I snapped this picture.  Hey, at least I saw the top, even if I can’t say I hiked there!

The views were awe-inspiring.

But you know what was the best view of all?

The one we saw when we got back home.  Guess who was waiting outside for us on the porch swing!

Now that is awww-inspiring, is it not?