There’s really nothing like a straight uphill hike on a dusty, austere terrain, devoid of living plants that reminds you how out of shape you may be.
For our anniversary, Husband decided it would be fun to take time off work and spend the day together and go on a hike. The upside of doing something like taking a hike at the hottest point of the day, in long pants, without sunscreen, is that you can easily eat frozen yogurt and pizza and candy thereafter without feeling particularly bad because you’ve just burned so many calories.
But back to the hike.
We decided to try something new – we’d originally planned on a hike we’d done previously that was in a beautiful locale, covered with trees and had spots to rock climb, but I’d heard a lot of students throwing around the words “hike the Y,” and I thought, “Hey we should do that.”
Things that are wrong with the above assessment: Just because all the students are doing it doesn’t mean I should too. College students are full of energy and stamina and are capable of singlehandedly eating pizzas with little to no consequences the following morning, like upset stomach, diarrhea, or extreme weight gain. (I’m not saying that’s what happened when we ate our pizza, btw. We’re smart and old and we saved most of it for a later day.)
I hadn’t realized hiking the Y was more like a rite of passage than an actually enjoyable experience, and it is, as it turns out, straight up. Just straight up. On a dusty, lame trail, without any foliage at which to stare upon. When we finally arrived at our destination (a large, concrete Y plastered on the side of a mountain), we took a couple pictures and then headed back down because … there wasn’t a whole lot else to do.
Back down sucked almost more than up because we are old and have crappy knees. *cue Baz Luhrman graduation speech/song now*
Also, something newlyweds should consider: You hit a point in your marriage when taking time off work to celebrate your anniversary includes a trip to the DMV to remove a lien off your recently paid off car and a stop in a mothball-scented stamp shop because Husband collects stamps. Also a visit to Petsmart to buy nail clippers for your cat, who has taken it upon herself to make teeny tiny scratch marks on your rather expensive leather recliner.
Yep, the night of our anniversary, in between rounds of “Black Ops II,” we trimmed our cat’s nails. It was a wild night, kids.