I had planned out another big 15 mile, 3 peak hike for this weekend. My bag was packed meticulously, all the clothes I would wear laid out in the order in which I'd put them on, an itinerary written out, and a letter written to my girlfriend to tell her where I would be in case I got lost or hurt. I was uncharacteristically in bed by 10 o' clock, ready to wake up before dawn to get a start on my big day. But then I woke up with a ghoulish feeling, as if a behemoth was standing above me, ready to come down on the back of my neck.
I began thinking about my hike the next day. I would have to wake up really early to get to the Garden parking lot before it was too full and then race to complete it before it got dark. I wouldn't be here in the morning to spend time with my girlfriend and I probably wouldn't get back until late. It seemed like I was rushing through the 46 peaks instead of enjoying the journey.
I had, at first, planned on an easy day of hiking Lyon Mountain. It's not a 46er peak but it's only half an hour away and I could take my time. I wouldn't have to deal with a crowded parking lot or a long drive. In fact, I had wanted to hike Lyon Mountain for over a year now but I've never gotten around to it. Becoming a 46er should be a journey, not a race. The peaks will always be there for me, what's the hurry?
Instead of sleeping I decided to get some apple pie and ice cream and listen to some music that I just downloaded. I'll sleep in tomorrow and have a nice relaxing day.
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