Things That May Go Through Your Mind on a Tough Hike

Brian and I have always bonded over our love of nature, but it wasn’t until we lived in Southern California for a while that we embraced that hiking lifestyle. There was just too much around us that required a little sweat equity.

Since then, we’ve seen countless national parks that have only solidified our status as fairly proficient hikers.

I’ve come to appreciate hiking for what it is to me: an inefficient way to get to some beautiful vistas that I wouldn’t be able to see otherwise.

That doesn’t stop me from having all kinds of thoughts, intrusive and otherwise, while I’m on the tough hikes that seemingly have no end. You know the ones I’m talking about.

They have elevation gains your own mother would blush at, on top of already being at elevation. Maybe they involve some bouldering you didn’t sign up for, but essentially got roped into because there’s no other way to get to your end goal.

These are the thoughts of a gal who fancies herself a hiker, even when the hiking gets tough.

I’m not going to look at my map, I’m not going to look at my map…

And yet you always do, instantly disappointed by what you see staring back at you. You’ve only gone a mile, dummy, and you’ve already eaten a large portion of the Twizzler supply.

What in the fresh hell is this…

You’ve come across animal scat that you don’t recognize because you’re not some naturalist type like John Muir who has access to that kind of information in their brains.

More likely it’s dog crap, especially on trails that aren’t dog friendly because nobody gives — or picks up — a shit. They’re out here just walking the dog.

Fun fact: When a sign from the national park service says “No dogs,” that includes service animals. That signage is likely there because there are predators out there, like mountain lions, who will eat your dog for lunch whether they’re wearing a vest or not.

Perhaps you hear a boom box approaching, blasting “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” messing with any attempts for you to push these thoughts aside and become one with nature.

More likely, it’s an unexpected switchback or a friggin’ waterfall scramble that you were not ready for, despite the comments section on AllTrails warning you of just that.

OH, C’MON!

You start climbing, one foot in front of the other, your husband all cheerful and delighted by the additional challenge.

Approximately every 10 steps or so as you tackle this fun bonus, you stop for a rest, panting like a cheetah that failed to chase down its meal.

More accurately, you’re like a sloth, moving one long arm just past its other long arm, calling it a day after that level of overexertion.

Fun fact: Sloths only poop once a week. You’re welcome.

He should just leave me. I’ll catch up on the way back.

You threaten to give up on hiking trails all the damn time, and your husband is the most likely recipient of whatever personal crisis you’re going through at that moment.

Sometimes he’ll go on up ahead with a blessing from you, just so you can have a minute to pant as loudly as you want without judgment.

Maybe you tell him it’s so that you can take that photograph you claim you really need to take, when really it’s an excuse for you to catch your breath.

He’s always up just ahead, waiting there, smiling, which somehow makes everything worse.

He could smile less.

What’s he even smiling about? He’s also very sweaty on this hiking trail but seems to be enjoying all of this tremendously.

An older man speeds by, proving age is just a number, hiking with walking sticks clacking against the surface below his feet. If he’s really the obnoxious sort, he’s whistling and throwing greetings into the air.

You know the type.

Others you’ll encounter, like showing off, pretending they’re not showing off. They’re all breezy and such in their walking shoes, making sure to act cool as they pass in those cargo pants that turn into shorts.

I hate small talk even in the best-case scenarios. Stop talking to me.

A woman gives the camera a look on a hike.

You grunt a response back, especially if they pull the old, “It’s much easier on the way down!” move that’s never welcome in these circumstances.

You don’t know if it will be easier on the way down, sir. I may have issues with the down part, too.

So I put my hands up, they’re playing my song…

Am I hearing voices or just thinking? Inevitably you start thinking nonsense by this point, namely the lyrics to “Party in the U.S.A.” from Miley Cyrus or similar anthems of happier days.

They’re the days when you were on party buses with your gal pals, ready to sip on some wine or eat something beautifully plated or snack on a charcuterie board.

I’m starving.

A woman snacks on some Pringles after a hike.

You remind yourself that if this excursion takes too much longer, you’ll have less time at the payoff at the end.

Note: You don’t mean the vistas at the top, but the lunch/brewery/winery you were promised on the way back home after your hike.

Like, ‘Who’s that chick, that’s rockin’ kicks? She gotta be from out of town…’

You’re that chick. The kicks are new. You decided breaking in a new pair of hiking shoes on the trail was a good idea because you were too lazy to do it around your regular neighborhood walking path. You’d be wrong.

Blisters forming, you create a mental bubble of safety around the pain. It’s best to ignore your throbbing foot at this point, as you forgot to bring a Band-Aid or two in case of this very thing.

Note: Do better. Be prepared when you’re out on those trails with all of the essential gear, even if the hike you think you’re doing is an itty-bitty one. Mini first aid kits are never a bad move.

You’ve got this.

Well, look at you. You’ve turned into a motivational human by this point, assuming you must have made some progress on the total distance as you’ve been hiking for what seems like days.

Has it been days? Feels like days.

Your husband announces that it isn’t too much more to the top, another quarter mile or so that didn’t need to be said, as you’re trying not to look at your map.

Your mom’s nearly there.

You chuckle to yourself, ignoring your husband when he asks, “What’s so funny?” He likely assumes you’re just losing it, reminding you to drink some water.

You take a long swig quite dramatically and look up. Well, there it is.

Am I dreaming?

A woman poses with some jerky on a hike.

You can see the vista point, or more simply put, the point of all this.

It’s just up there, just past another bitchy round of switchbacks that just won’t allow you to get there already.

Just keep walking.

You make it, chest heaving, legs jiggling, mind immediately going to the rest of those snacks adding to your pack weight than what’s in front of you.

Those calories burned hiking are no joke and must be replaced.

It’s likely fantastic, this vista. It’s likely all worth it in the end.

It’s a rushing waterfall that you can put your barking dogs in or a panorama where you can see miles in every direction. Maybe it’s an interesting geological feature that you can’t see anywhere else and can’t describe the purpose of in layman’s terms.

That’s a beautiful…rock formation.

You think to yourself, trying hard to define said geological feature anyway, as you fancy yourself a nature enthusiast.

You’re tired as hell, and it was all mostly worth it. Now where are those Pringles?

That was worth it.

This was all very much tongue-in-cheek. Hiking is actually something I mostly enjoy, not really for the health benefits but to get to places I can’t see otherwise.

While it’s not about the journey in the slightest for me, the things we’ve seen at the end of trails or those blessed turnaround points make all the crankiness worth it.

When we’re visiting the national parks, we like getting far away from those crowded boardwalks by hitting the trails less traveled.

That’s where the magic happens, those moments of solitude where it’s just you and your labored breathing, thinking about having to make your way back to the car somehow.

More often than not, though, I feel proud of myself at the end. I did it, I saw the damn thing, and it was awesome.

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1 thought on “Things That May Go Through Your Mind on a Tough Hike”

Leslie
at 10:03 am
Ha! You and I should hike together one day… we sound like we’re both on the same wavelength: Really wanting to get into it, but finding just the process of getting into it a journey (and that’s in addition to the hike itself).
Bonus points for having hoking poles. I bought some and my husband has made fun of me ever since (but they’re so worth it!).

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