I don’t know whether it’s due to his innate inability to show up anywhere on time or part of some evil scheme to get me in shape, but JK always, always comes home late when we have sunset hiking plans. Even now, on such a short trail and so close to the summer solstice, I had to race up the Chirico Trail in order to make it to Poo Poo Point in time.
Now, I realize that “racing” for me is like a Sunday stroll for a lot of other people (in fact, I was passed by a denim-clad gentleman who was jogging effortlessly up the hill), but for me it was impressive. Dani says I should stop comparing myself to insane people – namely TNAB and various ultrarunners – and just be proud of the fact that I’m out there at all, hiking up a mountain at night when I could be eating peanut butter cups and watching New Girl.
And proud I was, once I was able to catch my breath and peel myself off of the astroturfed launch pad. I was pleased with my ascent time (I made it just in time for sunset!), but I was worried that the sustained high heart-rate would result in one of my dreaded exertion headaches. Fortunately the mountain gods smiled on me and let me off the hook – I hope it wasn’t a one-time deal, because it would be nice to be able to step up my workouts without risking a night of moaning and puking as my immediate reward.
Instead of a headache, I reached one of my happier states of endorphin-induced bliss; what JK affectionately calls “skravlepus” in Norwegian. I’m usually pretty quiet and not much of a talker, but if I hit just the right amount of exercise, I can’t. shut. up. Luckily this is helpful when you’re hiking down a mountain in the dark since my inane banter will scare away the sneakiest of cougars and the creepiest of bunker-dwelling survivalists. JK just smiles and pretends it’s not annoying, knowing full well that this is the risk he takes when he shows up late.