Since January of this year, as evidenced by my last post on this blog, I have been seeking more of a physical challenge in an effort to facilitate some sort of emotional release, some catharsis. This has popped up in various forms and manifestations over the past ten months or so. In January I felt restless, seeking a more palpable and possibly earth-shattering evolution. I began trail running and I remember noting my excitement at the days getting longer, allowing me to spend more time outside cavorting in the woods.
Then I seemed to lapse into a sedentary period. I got busy, I guess. In April my old man cat died, which threw me off something awful. I kept dating and feeling wholly unfulfilled by the ritualistic passivity that is the online dating beast. Instead of feeling grateful for my resilience, independence, ability to run the trails, I tended to feel lonely. This blue period lasted from about April in varying degrees of severity until my birthday in October. Existential crisis or the numbing cycle of chronic dysthymia; as much as I'd like to believe my personal angst and turmoil is real and true, I also find comfort in knowing that we are all just knots of funky neural connections and hormones sometimes gone awry. Humans be strange creatures.
Then in August I took a long weekend and ran away to Big Sur with a friend and my sister. We stayed at two different campgrounds - first was Ponderosa in the Ventana Wildnerness, and second was Kirk Creek right on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. Getting out and getting away was like soul food; getting out of my humdrum routine and into my hiking boots, a tent, and a tiny Primus stove got me itching to get back out as soon as we got in the car to come home. I felt drawn to finally focusing on slowly building a decent stash of gear so that I could get out more often. I felt invigorated for the first time in a few months, and although the continued frustration with having such a consistently low paycheck made me hesitate (asking myself questions like "do I need a sleeping bag or groceries" have become a de facto internal dialogue) I have continued to be inspired to seek that wild escape over my regular and expected daily furnishings.
Over the past several months I've purchased a Kelty Ignite Down sleeping bag, a Klymit sleeping pad, and a Sawyer Mini water filter system. I had my basic Primus stove, a few pairs of hiking boots, and my REI backpack from over ten years ago when a friend and I backpacked around Europe for a few months. I also had my Sierra Designs Sirius 2 tent.
As far as I was concerned, I was ready for my first solo backpacking trip, and had visited Point Reyes National Seashore campgrounds several times with friends. Point Reyes has four hike in campgrounds - Wildcat, Coast, Sky, and Glen. Each campground, depending on which trailhead you start your trip, has varying distance and degrees of difficulty in getting to them, and they are all insanely popular due to all having running drinking water, toilets, and just being downright breathtaking. In September, in an attempt to scratch the itch that had been growing and steadily gaining momentum since Big Sur the month before, I booked a two night trip to Point Reyes, my first night at Wildcat camp, and my second night at Glen camp.
Monday, November 9, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Turbid
My favorite word is turbid. Turbidity is usually referred to within geology, specifically when measuring sediment levels of water. Murky muddy river beds, for example, are considered to be high turbidity. Turbid. It can also be used to describe a foggy mental state. In psychotherapy, the clinical term is "mental clouding". It can be related to types of dissociation, of checking out.
I love this word, and have been feeling turbid lately. Overwhelmed, rocky, and a little murky. Muddy and opaque. It helps to be able to describe it using a word rooted in the physical world. I feel like a mucky river bed.
I have been drawn to chasing more and more extreme levels of activity, not just climbing a hill on the trails, but feeling compelled to sprint up them. To run until I cry or throw up. I know it will be painful, but I guess I am seeking that pain. I wonder what it means that the two most prevalent and comfortable mental states are either dissociated murkiness or being painfully frantic.
Maybe I am seeking some sort of catharsis. Maybe this is my new drug. Maybe this is my own nutter version of self-flagellation. On the trails lately I am focused almost entirely on a strange prayer, the origins of which are unknown to me: let the trail beat the angry out of me. Sometimes "angry" is replaced with "anxiety", "worry", or "sad". I don't know where this came from, but I can't not repeat this to myself silently as I sprint for as long as I can, which unfortunately (and embarrassingly) is not too long. Maybe I am in need of a container, something to bring me focus and balance, although each time I consider this my head shoos the thought away and I only imagine running or screaming as fast and as loud as I can until I can't anymore.
It's kind of sad, I've found that the end of hikes don't leave me feeling satisfied like they did before. I've just been a bit more frustrated that my body won't take me further, that I don't sweat as much as I want to, that I don't feel completely drained and beat down. I don't feel like there's been sufficient release. I have no idea what the release is that I'm looking for. I've started re-listening to the frenetic punk of my teenage years, this provides a little of the release I think I want.
I've been dating people and have been simultaneously bored, exhilarated, elated, infatuated, terrified, and heartbroken. Maybe it's this mixed bag of feeling that begat the muck. Maybe it's my denial that any of it really means anything, that it is not real. There was one person that I met recently who has struck me as so hurt and lost and subsequently made me feel hurt and lost. The brick wall I built between myself and those emotions showed me more than the feelings themselves.
This urge to sprint or fall in love or lose myself in punk again may just be the way I'm moving forward. It feels like letting go. It feels like jumping off a cliff. I suppose I wonder how to do this gracefully. I wonder if grace has a rightful place here, or if the mucky and ugly and terrifying needs to shine for a bit.
I love this word, and have been feeling turbid lately. Overwhelmed, rocky, and a little murky. Muddy and opaque. It helps to be able to describe it using a word rooted in the physical world. I feel like a mucky river bed.
I have been drawn to chasing more and more extreme levels of activity, not just climbing a hill on the trails, but feeling compelled to sprint up them. To run until I cry or throw up. I know it will be painful, but I guess I am seeking that pain. I wonder what it means that the two most prevalent and comfortable mental states are either dissociated murkiness or being painfully frantic.
Maybe I am seeking some sort of catharsis. Maybe this is my new drug. Maybe this is my own nutter version of self-flagellation. On the trails lately I am focused almost entirely on a strange prayer, the origins of which are unknown to me: let the trail beat the angry out of me. Sometimes "angry" is replaced with "anxiety", "worry", or "sad". I don't know where this came from, but I can't not repeat this to myself silently as I sprint for as long as I can, which unfortunately (and embarrassingly) is not too long. Maybe I am in need of a container, something to bring me focus and balance, although each time I consider this my head shoos the thought away and I only imagine running or screaming as fast and as loud as I can until I can't anymore.
It's kind of sad, I've found that the end of hikes don't leave me feeling satisfied like they did before. I've just been a bit more frustrated that my body won't take me further, that I don't sweat as much as I want to, that I don't feel completely drained and beat down. I don't feel like there's been sufficient release. I have no idea what the release is that I'm looking for. I've started re-listening to the frenetic punk of my teenage years, this provides a little of the release I think I want.
I've been dating people and have been simultaneously bored, exhilarated, elated, infatuated, terrified, and heartbroken. Maybe it's this mixed bag of feeling that begat the muck. Maybe it's my denial that any of it really means anything, that it is not real. There was one person that I met recently who has struck me as so hurt and lost and subsequently made me feel hurt and lost. The brick wall I built between myself and those emotions showed me more than the feelings themselves.
This urge to sprint or fall in love or lose myself in punk again may just be the way I'm moving forward. It feels like letting go. It feels like jumping off a cliff. I suppose I wonder how to do this gracefully. I wonder if grace has a rightful place here, or if the mucky and ugly and terrifying needs to shine for a bit.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Supergiant
I got into a conversation recently with a friend about commitment. More specifically, we talked about our respective abilities and inabilities to stay committed to personal projects, hobbies, interests that serve nothing besides our own pleasure and creative growth.
Why is it so difficult to stay committed to these things? When everything inside tells me that staying with these things is a positive thing, what is it that makes me rebel and stay complacent? Is it simply laziness? I suspect it's something more - maybe a fear of how deep I might actually go within myself and my own exploration. But whatever the reason, time and again I find I am unable or unwilling to return to myself.
I've never been one to see things through. I tend to burn strong with any project or hobby, then, like a Supergiant star, the light fizzles out quick. The huge burst of energy at the beginning seems to use up all the momentum and I drop whatever it is fast, unfinished. This blog is a good example of this fast and bright initial burn. I started out strong and excited and inspired by the creative juices flowing while on my many hikes. I wrote two posts, and then.... nothing. I thought about it, about reposting, adding to this, continuing. But I just haven't, despite continuing to notice new ideas and lessons learned on the trails.
I'm in an interesting place now though - I'm still in the reinvention stage of my post-breakup stuff, and the many potential directions to move in still have me excited. So, here I am, oddly enough. Actually returning to something. How interesting.
Let's see if I can commit. Let's call this an experiment. For science. Nothing to lose on either end, but potentially a great amount to gain. This is a hiking blog, looking at lessons I learn and what I discover on the trails. It's a hiking blog, but also a bit more. Let's just see where it goes.
Why is it so difficult to stay committed to these things? When everything inside tells me that staying with these things is a positive thing, what is it that makes me rebel and stay complacent? Is it simply laziness? I suspect it's something more - maybe a fear of how deep I might actually go within myself and my own exploration. But whatever the reason, time and again I find I am unable or unwilling to return to myself.
I've never been one to see things through. I tend to burn strong with any project or hobby, then, like a Supergiant star, the light fizzles out quick. The huge burst of energy at the beginning seems to use up all the momentum and I drop whatever it is fast, unfinished. This blog is a good example of this fast and bright initial burn. I started out strong and excited and inspired by the creative juices flowing while on my many hikes. I wrote two posts, and then.... nothing. I thought about it, about reposting, adding to this, continuing. But I just haven't, despite continuing to notice new ideas and lessons learned on the trails.
I'm in an interesting place now though - I'm still in the reinvention stage of my post-breakup stuff, and the many potential directions to move in still have me excited. So, here I am, oddly enough. Actually returning to something. How interesting.
Let's see if I can commit. Let's call this an experiment. For science. Nothing to lose on either end, but potentially a great amount to gain. This is a hiking blog, looking at lessons I learn and what I discover on the trails. It's a hiking blog, but also a bit more. Let's just see where it goes.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
April 13, 2014*: Wildcat Canyon Regional Park
This was my second trip to Wildcat Canyon. The week before, I went with a few friends, and while it was good to catch up, I wanted to return on my own and take in the trails in silence. I have to admit at this point, how nervous I was to hit a trail on my own. Just two months ago, I left my first long-term relationship, and I've been worried about developing my own interests again, building a life, and maintaining it. I have not been used to living my life on my own for years, and I didn't know if I could do it. If I could keep it up. The thought of building a full life and a full personality completely detached from the ex has kept my brain pretty scrambled. However, I knew that I had to try. I had to take these first steps, build a solid foundation for my new life.
I had planned to take the exact same route as the week before, as it clocked in at just a little over 6 miles, according to my GPS, and was sufficiently ass-kicking terrain while also being varied, and downright beautiful. As noted in my first post, we had originally followed the route outlined in Jane Huber's blog. Here's the link for that particular hike on her site, for anyone interested.
I started in the Alvarado Staging Area (the parking lot) and from there walked up the paved road to the first trail junction. At the junction, I stayed right to follow Wildcat Creek Trail, but could have gone left on Belgum Trail. Wildcat Creek curves around and stays relatively flat, minus a few small dips and peaks. After roughly a mile and a half, Wildcat Creek meets Mezue Trail on the left. Mezue (the pronunciation of this baffles me - is it Me-ZOO? Me-ZWAY? I wonder if rangers argue about this, I bet they do) hits an ascent immediately. It is long, and long in the way that you see exactly how far up you have to go, which can be both blessing and curse. It's the kind of hill (for me anyway) that immediately fills me with dread and regret that I ever left my apartment. But it's beautiful, or at least it was as it has been raining. Normally, rolling hills in the bay area are brown and kinda scratchy looking. But after the rains, these hills put Ireland to shame. Mezue is a delight, and I needed to stop multiple times on my way up to catch my breath but also to take in the endless green of it.
It was on this second trip to Wildcat that I again felt that rush of dread and regret upon first laying eyes on the ascending Mezue Trail, and even when the burn in my chest forced me to stop the first time, it was on this second trip that I met that dread head on. Normally on a hill like that I stare at the top the whole way up, as if I could will my body to float effortlessly to the crest. I burn daggers with my eyeballs, and only feel loathing for the terrain, and myself for causing myself such horrible anguish (slight discomfort tends to turn me into a three year old, apparently). This trip, though, I only watched the trail in front of me. Not because it was particularly rocky or slippery, but because I was starting to understand that coveting that crest would do nothing for me. The only thing that would serve me in any way would be to regulate my breath, and put one foot down at a time. What I found was remarkable - the realization that in mindfully taking each step one at a time, I would get to the top, was not a surprise. I would have gotten to the top regardless. Even when I'm regressing to toddlerhood, I still go forward. But I'm miserable. Taking each step slowly, carefully, and methodically, without focusing on the payout or end result, was light years more enjoyable.
I still needed to stop a few times, but when I did - I shit you not - I caught my breath easier. I got back to the trail quicker. And then I got to the top. And it was just as easy as that. Ok, not easy - like I said I'm in bad shape, and a smoker. But it was easier.
Mezue wraps around the ridge for about 1.3 miles, until it hits San Pablo Ridge Trail on the left. Except this time, I got caught up in thought as I was walking, and completely missed the turnoff for San Pablo. About a tenth of a mile later, I found the turnoff for Old Nimitz Way, which I thought was San Pablo, so followed blindly without checking my map or anything. After about a half mile on Nimitz, I finally noticed that this was not the trail we had followed the week before. Not knowing at all where I had actually turned off, I started to panic a little internally. Should I turn around and retrace my steps to try and get back to San Pablo? What if I end up miles from the staging area? Do I have enough water? What will I use for warmth in the night and should I stay exposed so that the rescue teams can find me? Seriously. Just to give you some context about how ridiculous this panic was, Wildcat Canyon Regional Park is roughly 1.5 north to south, and maybe 3.5 miles east to west. Not the fucking PCT or anything, you know? Try telling my brain that.
Seriously, though, I got over that pretty quick. Reason won out, which is always a good thing. In the end, I decided to just keep going. Even if I didn't know where I was, there'd be a sign eventually, and I would deal with that information then. Obviously, this is not sound advice in every situation, but it worked out in this instance. About another half mile in, I ran into two older men (the kind who are all decked out in gear with hiking poles, and big floppy hats, you know the ones). They confirmed that I was indeed on Nimitz, and after consulting my map once more, I saw that I had taken myself about a mile out of my way. I followed Nimitz, which rolled around the foothills of the ridge, as opposed to San Pablo, which cuts right across the top. Nimitz eventually what the maps says is Leisure Lane, and then makes a sharp left back to the original trail I was planning on following.
After seeing the junction with San Pablo on the other side, which is where I would have come off the ridge had I been paying attention and took that trail earlier, I felt a relief. I had been uncertain and nervous, but kept moving and I found my way.
It was at this point, after a few steps further on the trail that I intersected with Belgum Trail, that I started to think about what I wanted to eat for dinner. This has, historically, been my favorite part of hikes. When I can see the end in sight, and can start to feel the hunger set in that is really very particular to hiking, and can take some time to think about what would whet that appetite. Eating after a long hike can take on a holy tone - the feeling of truly nourishing yourself after exertion is a pretty amazing thing.
Hitting Wildcat Creek Trail from Belgum again felt pretty awesome. For a first solo hike, I was surprised at myself for being more mindful and methodical than I had ever expected I would be. I took time at the end to stretch well, and I stood by my car and basked in the endorphins flooding my brain while I drank some water. I slept really well that night.
Total hike distance: 6.84 mi
Increase in elevation: 833 ft
Took me: 2 hrs, 36 min
*As I post my backlog of past hikes, I'll note the date in the title.
I had planned to take the exact same route as the week before, as it clocked in at just a little over 6 miles, according to my GPS, and was sufficiently ass-kicking terrain while also being varied, and downright beautiful. As noted in my first post, we had originally followed the route outlined in Jane Huber's blog. Here's the link for that particular hike on her site, for anyone interested.
I started in the Alvarado Staging Area (the parking lot) and from there walked up the paved road to the first trail junction. At the junction, I stayed right to follow Wildcat Creek Trail, but could have gone left on Belgum Trail. Wildcat Creek curves around and stays relatively flat, minus a few small dips and peaks. After roughly a mile and a half, Wildcat Creek meets Mezue Trail on the left. Mezue (the pronunciation of this baffles me - is it Me-ZOO? Me-ZWAY? I wonder if rangers argue about this, I bet they do) hits an ascent immediately. It is long, and long in the way that you see exactly how far up you have to go, which can be both blessing and curse. It's the kind of hill (for me anyway) that immediately fills me with dread and regret that I ever left my apartment. But it's beautiful, or at least it was as it has been raining. Normally, rolling hills in the bay area are brown and kinda scratchy looking. But after the rains, these hills put Ireland to shame. Mezue is a delight, and I needed to stop multiple times on my way up to catch my breath but also to take in the endless green of it.
It was on this second trip to Wildcat that I again felt that rush of dread and regret upon first laying eyes on the ascending Mezue Trail, and even when the burn in my chest forced me to stop the first time, it was on this second trip that I met that dread head on. Normally on a hill like that I stare at the top the whole way up, as if I could will my body to float effortlessly to the crest. I burn daggers with my eyeballs, and only feel loathing for the terrain, and myself for causing myself such horrible anguish (slight discomfort tends to turn me into a three year old, apparently). This trip, though, I only watched the trail in front of me. Not because it was particularly rocky or slippery, but because I was starting to understand that coveting that crest would do nothing for me. The only thing that would serve me in any way would be to regulate my breath, and put one foot down at a time. What I found was remarkable - the realization that in mindfully taking each step one at a time, I would get to the top, was not a surprise. I would have gotten to the top regardless. Even when I'm regressing to toddlerhood, I still go forward. But I'm miserable. Taking each step slowly, carefully, and methodically, without focusing on the payout or end result, was light years more enjoyable.
I still needed to stop a few times, but when I did - I shit you not - I caught my breath easier. I got back to the trail quicker. And then I got to the top. And it was just as easy as that. Ok, not easy - like I said I'm in bad shape, and a smoker. But it was easier.
Mezue wraps around the ridge for about 1.3 miles, until it hits San Pablo Ridge Trail on the left. Except this time, I got caught up in thought as I was walking, and completely missed the turnoff for San Pablo. About a tenth of a mile later, I found the turnoff for Old Nimitz Way, which I thought was San Pablo, so followed blindly without checking my map or anything. After about a half mile on Nimitz, I finally noticed that this was not the trail we had followed the week before. Not knowing at all where I had actually turned off, I started to panic a little internally. Should I turn around and retrace my steps to try and get back to San Pablo? What if I end up miles from the staging area? Do I have enough water? What will I use for warmth in the night and should I stay exposed so that the rescue teams can find me? Seriously. Just to give you some context about how ridiculous this panic was, Wildcat Canyon Regional Park is roughly 1.5 north to south, and maybe 3.5 miles east to west. Not the fucking PCT or anything, you know? Try telling my brain that.
Seriously, though, I got over that pretty quick. Reason won out, which is always a good thing. In the end, I decided to just keep going. Even if I didn't know where I was, there'd be a sign eventually, and I would deal with that information then. Obviously, this is not sound advice in every situation, but it worked out in this instance. About another half mile in, I ran into two older men (the kind who are all decked out in gear with hiking poles, and big floppy hats, you know the ones). They confirmed that I was indeed on Nimitz, and after consulting my map once more, I saw that I had taken myself about a mile out of my way. I followed Nimitz, which rolled around the foothills of the ridge, as opposed to San Pablo, which cuts right across the top. Nimitz eventually what the maps says is Leisure Lane, and then makes a sharp left back to the original trail I was planning on following.
After seeing the junction with San Pablo on the other side, which is where I would have come off the ridge had I been paying attention and took that trail earlier, I felt a relief. I had been uncertain and nervous, but kept moving and I found my way.
It was at this point, after a few steps further on the trail that I intersected with Belgum Trail, that I started to think about what I wanted to eat for dinner. This has, historically, been my favorite part of hikes. When I can see the end in sight, and can start to feel the hunger set in that is really very particular to hiking, and can take some time to think about what would whet that appetite. Eating after a long hike can take on a holy tone - the feeling of truly nourishing yourself after exertion is a pretty amazing thing.
Hitting Wildcat Creek Trail from Belgum again felt pretty awesome. For a first solo hike, I was surprised at myself for being more mindful and methodical than I had ever expected I would be. I took time at the end to stretch well, and I stood by my car and basked in the endorphins flooding my brain while I drank some water. I slept really well that night.
Total hike distance: 6.84 mi
Increase in elevation: 833 ft
Took me: 2 hrs, 36 min
*As I post my backlog of past hikes, I'll note the date in the title.
An Introduction
In the words of the freshest of princes, my life has recently been flipped turned upside down. I am 30 years old, out of shape, two months out of a sad and heartbreaking relationship, and living on my own for the first time in my life (not counting my cat, who is officially named Mouse, but also goes by fatty, rathead, mouserat, jerk, jerkle, and dickhole, depending on my mood and his behavior).
After my recent breakup, and desperate for not only a clean transition to singledom but also a new serene home where I could recover and get my shit together, I signed a lease on a small studio apartment in Kensington, CA. For those not familiar with Kensington, it sits in the hills just to the north of Berkeley, and just east of El Cerrito. I have found that it's helpful to only pronounce it "Keeensington!" in the style of a hysterical yet composed socialite from England. Probably over 60 years old, is what I'm thinking. It helps that there is a pub here called the Kensington Circus Pub, lending the town a sort of British sensibility. Anyway...
What I mean to say is that Kensington is in the woods. As in, there's a creek in my backyard. I see deer every day. Yesterday I saw a baby deer (are they called fawns or something? Did Disney make that up?). A fucking baby deer!
I've always appreciated hiking, but never did much of it. Growing up in San Francisco, my preferred method of transportation was always walking. I found it a testament to the quality of my life if I had both the time and the energy to walk everywhere. So I tried to prioritize that when possible. I think some assholes probably call that "urban hiking" or some other bullshit. In any event, now I am in a prime location for lots and lots of hiking, and have thus far found time to go for a hike at least once per week in the surrounding areas. The closest parks to me are Tilden Regional Park, and Wildcat Canyon Regional Park. A little further southeast are Redwood Regional Park and Anthony Chabot Regional Park. Even further east is Mount Diablo.
Originally pursued mostly to stave off boredom, I have found some pretty amazing benefits to hiking regularly. I am excited at how much stronger I've gotten in the short time I've been hitting the trails regularly, and I hope to chronicle my physical conditioning in depth in future posts. Beyond the physical conditioning, I have also been pleasantly surprised at the psychological, emotional, and spiritual benefits I am feeling. I hope to describe those in future posts as well.
I have mostly followed Jane Huber's excellent blog: www.bahiker.com. Jane Huber is also the author of 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles: San Francisco: Including North Bay, East Bay, Peninsula, and South Bay. Although most of the hike descriptions have not been updated in several years, the ones I have been on have continued to be fairly accurate, for which the East Bay Regional Parks Department should be given some credit as well. While I have historically relied heavily on this blog to choose hikes, I am also interested in designing hikes of my own, and look forward to sharing some of those here.
So, I suppose I should get writin' about my hikes now! I hope you enjoy reading as much as I am looking forward to sharing my journey here.
After my recent breakup, and desperate for not only a clean transition to singledom but also a new serene home where I could recover and get my shit together, I signed a lease on a small studio apartment in Kensington, CA. For those not familiar with Kensington, it sits in the hills just to the north of Berkeley, and just east of El Cerrito. I have found that it's helpful to only pronounce it "Keeensington!" in the style of a hysterical yet composed socialite from England. Probably over 60 years old, is what I'm thinking. It helps that there is a pub here called the Kensington Circus Pub, lending the town a sort of British sensibility. Anyway...
What I mean to say is that Kensington is in the woods. As in, there's a creek in my backyard. I see deer every day. Yesterday I saw a baby deer (are they called fawns or something? Did Disney make that up?). A fucking baby deer!
I've always appreciated hiking, but never did much of it. Growing up in San Francisco, my preferred method of transportation was always walking. I found it a testament to the quality of my life if I had both the time and the energy to walk everywhere. So I tried to prioritize that when possible. I think some assholes probably call that "urban hiking" or some other bullshit. In any event, now I am in a prime location for lots and lots of hiking, and have thus far found time to go for a hike at least once per week in the surrounding areas. The closest parks to me are Tilden Regional Park, and Wildcat Canyon Regional Park. A little further southeast are Redwood Regional Park and Anthony Chabot Regional Park. Even further east is Mount Diablo.
Originally pursued mostly to stave off boredom, I have found some pretty amazing benefits to hiking regularly. I am excited at how much stronger I've gotten in the short time I've been hitting the trails regularly, and I hope to chronicle my physical conditioning in depth in future posts. Beyond the physical conditioning, I have also been pleasantly surprised at the psychological, emotional, and spiritual benefits I am feeling. I hope to describe those in future posts as well.
I have mostly followed Jane Huber's excellent blog: www.bahiker.com. Jane Huber is also the author of 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles: San Francisco: Including North Bay, East Bay, Peninsula, and South Bay. Although most of the hike descriptions have not been updated in several years, the ones I have been on have continued to be fairly accurate, for which the East Bay Regional Parks Department should be given some credit as well. While I have historically relied heavily on this blog to choose hikes, I am also interested in designing hikes of my own, and look forward to sharing some of those here.
So, I suppose I should get writin' about my hikes now! I hope you enjoy reading as much as I am looking forward to sharing my journey here.
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