I’ve been feeling strange lately.
I feel restless, like I’m supposed to be somewhere or go someplace, and I haven’t gone yet.
Last week, I typed up a note to myself–“I want to throw myself out the house and into the outdoors. I want to climb things.” Yesterday I suppose my body knew more than my mind, because I woke up at 6:30 am–eyes just opened, no jarring alarm blaring. I got dressed and drove out before I even really decided where to go: beach or the hills? We’ve been having great summer-like weather in our area, so I decided to avoid the crush that would inevitably descend the beaches and I headed for the rocks.
To get up here was less than a half-mile. You can walk along the top of the hill for about another 0.40 mile before it slopes down into brush. I didn’t opt to go further at that point because my back started to hurt. Running is starting to put pressure on my knees and hips, so I’m trying to be careful of how much I push myself during other exercise.
It’s not the highest peak in the city, but it was enough to feel like a small escape from everyone and most things. I took some pictures. I left my phone on shuffle and it picked out some funny songs. A group of hikers passed me by, confidently weaving their way through the loose dirt. I was gingerly tiptoeing around the rocks and in some cases I just crawled my way down. I rationalized it by saying I’d rather look like an idiot than go home with scrapes and bruises. It felt good to be up high. A literal change in perspective helped and by the time I left I felt a little calmer and more tranquil than I had been all week.
I feel much better after having gone on the hike. I want to do more of this–when you write something down, it’s more likely to happen because it’s a step in admitting the need (to climb) and committing the steps necessary (waking up early, driving out, actually hiking) to accomplishing the goal.
Now if only the rest of the week could go as peacefully! Here’s to cautious hope!