I hiked a mountain once.
It was this weekend eleven years ago that I started college. Part of orientation was to hike Mt. Greylock or do some community service. I was too naive to realize that this was College and really I didn’t have to do either. So in red high top Chuck Taylors and jeans I hiked up Mt. Greylock.
(here are my Chuck Taylors while I was somewhere in Ohio).
I had danced at least three times a week for the past four years and I thought that meant I was somewhat in shape, but I wasn’t. In fact, I was miserable. The leaders on this trip continued to insist that we’d be so proud of ourselves when we got to the top. I was one of the last people to finish, never knowing how close I was. It was miserable the entire time. I got to the top and wasn’t proud. I didn’t think “I climbed this mountain, I can do anything!” like it was suggested. I was thinking that this was a terrible introduction to college.
And that was that.
Fast forward to almost thirty-year old me and I’m thinking more about movement and what it means to be strong and capable. I’m thinking more about nature and being in nature and the view from the top of a mountain. I’m wondering if somewhere there’s photographic evidence that I climbed a mountain once.
(here’s photographic evidence of a 18-19 year old dorky me wearing the t-shirt I got for hiking up a mountain)
And now, almost-thirty year old me is thinking I want to hike more mountains. I want to do something I can be proud of myself for (though I know, I know, I am doing things I can be proud of. This is more concrete.) I could stand at the top of a mountain somewhere and look off into the horizon and take too many selfies and consider writing about my experience. And I will. In a lot of ways, this month for me is just the beginning.