Hiking is Harder than I Imagined!

After a family vacation in Maine, I’ve decided I need to redefine the difference between going on a nature walk and hiking. After we “climbed” Diamond Head in Hawaii a few years ago, I thought I had this hiking thing under control. I walk, I work out with a couple of personal trainers (shout out to Shae and Nick), and I’m a beast at doing squats. For the average sixty-something-year-old woman, I consider myself to be in reasonable shape. We did ten miles a day at Disney, and I did not die. Imagine my surprise to find out I had no idea what a moderate hiking trail was really like! Dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and athletic sandals, I figured I had this made. However, I discovered I was totally unprepared. We were on the Gorham Mountain Trail in Acadia National Park. This hiking involved scrambling up large rocks and smooth granite surfaces at 45-degree inclines with no railings. I didn’t even bring a bottle of water!   

Shortly after starting the real hike, two toes on my right foot were bleeding, and I hadn’t packed bandages either! I was using all available trees for support, resulting in sticky, sap-covered hands as I slowly made my way at less than half the speed of my family.  My kids and grandkids were in their element, and even Mark wasn’t bothered by the trail. It was just me imagining tumbling down the mountainside, wondering if I would pass out right away or if I would have to live through the pain of a rescue.  I have to admit, I turned around at about the halfway point, fearing my impending death. Mark held my hand as I navigated my way down, disappointed in myself. 

The next day, we hiked the North Bubble trail, and I had wised up just a bit. Now I had bandaged my toes, which were safely inside my tennis shoes, borrowed trekking poles from the hotel, and had a bottle of water. I nearly made it to the summit, which was a vast improvement but still fell short. We then hiked Jordan Pond on a trail made of wooden planks. By this time, my legs were tired and my right hip hurt with every step. Thankfully, my three-year-old grandson decided he was done with hiking for the day and started screaming. It was a sign from above! We turned around and headed for a famous popover at the restaurant. We then drove up Cadillac Mountain in the van where I was safely seatbelted in and walked the summit trails which were blacktopped. Now that is what I call hiking!

The struggle is real!