On Hiking

"Everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it." 

-Andy Rooney

It may be a little known fact to most, but let me just come out with  it now, that I hate to hike. I like the idea of hiking. I like to act like I like a good hike. But when it comes right down to the inner workings of my heart of hearts, I really loathe hiking. 

Don't get me wrong. I love being out in nature. I love a nature stroll particularly in the cool forests of the Pacific Northwest. But hiking, in my mind, generally points to some sort of elevation gain, and as soon as you're talking an elevation gain of say more than ten feet, I'm out! When enduring that ordeal we call a "moderate hike", I quickly am reminded that I have the lung capacity of a chain smoker, the heart rate of one who just saw a ghost, and leg muscles resembling that of a bowl of jello or over-cooked spaghetti noodles.

But herein lies the problem...the amazing man to whom I am married adores hiking with all of his big heart. He spent every summer of his youth leading hikes at scout camp in beautiful Yellowstone. The man has climbed the Tetons. You can see him get all giddy as he puts on his microfiber hiking pants and his wool socks and one of eight pair of pricey trail shoes or hiking boots. His face lights up as he fills his camel pack and perches his Indiana Jones/BSA hat on his head. But because this man to whom I am married thinks only of my happiness a good 98% of the time, he rarely suggests that we throw on our hiking shoes and start trekking up a mountain. For this reason, my children tend to harbor my attitude. That is, except for little Jonah who is a Mini-Neil in both body and spirit.

So every summer, I attempt to be a good wife and recommend that we go on a family hike. I do this because I love my husband and love to watch his face light up, and because I feel that hiking is literally the best exercise you could do, and because I get tired of watching my children slowly atrophy due to extensive idleness. 

But there are conditions. I will only hike in Utah under two conditions. It must be under 90 degrees, preferably significantly under 90 degrees, which means we generally have to hike before 5:00 a.m. or just about the time the sun is setting. (This proves problematic with teenagers) The other condition is that there must be some worthwhile reward at the end of the ordeal in the form of a breathtaking piece of nature. Hiking for the sake of hiking offers me little reward. An occasional pine tree or stream along the way is also insufficient. If I'm going to enjoy a tree, I'd prefer to be lounging underneath it. If I'm going to revel in a stream, I'd rather soak my feet in it whilst reading a good book. Don't make me just trudge along such things in 100 degree heat. 

The other reward at the end of a hike generally involves a treat of some sort, and I'm not speaking of trail mix or green smoothies. I generally prefer the milkshake variety, because you know I don't like to be parted from my calories for too long, and hiking seems to burn them at an appalling rate.

So a couple of weeks ago I suggested that we hike up to waterfall canyon in Ogden. Everyone who is anyone in Davis or Weber county has hiked waterfall canyon, except of course for yours truly, and her four offspring. I had done my research. Google described this hike as everything from easy to strenuous. Something told me that the latter would hold true. I think the 1400 foot elevation gain in less than a mile tipped me off. I needed practice so that the hike up to Delicate Arch a week later would feel like a cake walk. We started up the mountain at our regular one hour before sunset.

It took about ten minutes for me to start muttering that this was the stupidest idea ever, and why didn't anyone talk me out of it, and that I didn't care about some stupid waterfall, I just wanted my milkshake. My thighs were burning, the mosquitoes had begun feasting, I needed an oxygen tank, and possibly a stretcher. My face that turns several shades of red after a walk to the mailbox was now purple, and the amount of sweat gushing from my pores was obscene. But Neil was right by my side reminding me to take it slow, Sabrina and Spencer seemed to be enjoying themselves, and Jonah was running up the mountain like a hyper puppy.

We did make it up the mountain in the end, albeit in double the time that google suggested it would take. I did it. I did it to see these kiddos sucking in every ounce of fresh moist cool air their lungs would allow. And to watch them scouring the rocks and standing under the waterfall arms outstretched.

I did it because the reward at the end was worth it. The falls were beautiful!

 I was panting like a dog, sweating like a pig, and spent the first five minutes looking for a rock to lie down and die on. But such discomforts seemed to evaporate and mix with the mists coming off the cliff and cooling my tired face.

I did it for this view. One perk to making that 1400 foot elevation gain.

And for this beautiful view of a beautiful daughter who came along for the milkshake but in the end enjoyed so much more.

And most of all I did it for this remarkable man whom I adore with the same intensity that I hate climbing a mountain. And for this little boy who is destined to become just like the man he shadows every day of his life. Neil asked me on the way down the mountain, "You did this for me didn't you?!" I gave a sheepish out-of-breath grin. I would hike a hundred more mountains for these two, but just not tomorrow, and not until after I've had my milkshake.

We hiked off the mountain. The sun was setting. The air was cooler. This time it was my knees that were throbbing, but my heart was happy, as it usually is after such a "sacrifice".