Mountain Hugs

Today's workout was supposed to be a muscle endurance workout. "Supposed to be" is the key phrase here. The workout is nominally carrying ⅓ my body weight (which is 47 pounds, btw) up a steep hill for an hour, then turning around and carrying it back down. Forty seven pounds is a lot a weight for me. I can't lift 47 pounds. I nearly fall over backward when trying to adjust the 47 pound backpack on my back. Lunch time was the only time I had to go on this hike, so I went at noon. My car's thermometer read 38˚C when I exited my car, which would be 100˚F.

I was okay for the first 20 minutes of going up, but not really. Forty seven pounds is a lot of weight for me, did I mention? The next 10 minutes were all grit, but I couldn't go a full hour.

Turning around on a mountain is some kind of skill, I'm told. Knowng one's limits is crucial to surviving some of these mountains.

I turned around.

As I turned around, a wind started up. The wind was hot, intense, and surprisingly strong. At first, I thought the mountain was telling me to go back up, keep trying, keep going. A few more steps, and I realized, no, the mountain wasn't telling me to turn around and keep going. No, it was hugging me, telling me that going down was okay, telling me that it'll be here when I'm ready, more rested, stronger.

Next time.