….so far this summer, I’ve done more switchbacks on the pavement trying to keep my 4-month-old content (Keep moving or I’ll cry!) than I have switchbacks up a mountainside. The mountains for me feel like a distant friend, like someone you see through a crowd but just can’t get to to say ‘hello’ (and it has been forever).
Parenthood aside, how we evaluate and choose to take risks in the outdoors is already a rather heated, or at least passionate, debate. Add kids into the mix, and that heat turns to blazing inferno.
Wikipedia tells me that our feet and ankle structure contains 26 bones, 33 joints, and more than a hundred muscles, tendons and ligaments. Each of these tiny parts bears not only my weight but often the pack on my back, and they are called to manouevre over uneven, often accident-prone terrain. Yet, all things considered, very little has happened to them and they continue to take me faithfully wherever I’d like to go.
It’s 2 am. After one of my many trips to the washroom, I lie awake in bed thinking about the other times I have spent awake at this time of day. This hour has become very familiar to me throughout this pregnancy. But the wee hours of the morning are also familiar to me on a very different level. Beyond the all-nighters I spent studying and writing through university, I associate these precious early hours with very fond memories of alpine starts in the mountains.