“What’s wrong?” Tilting my head, I tap my cane against the rocks stacked up on the path.
We’re only a mile into the hike and it’s been easy. The trail is flat, outside of loose stones and pebbles, with a defined edge, allowing me to mostly use my cane and Garrett’s verbal directions to navigate. Between visually scanning and my cane, I deduce that there’s a rock pile made up of large misshapen stones and small rocks in the middle of the trail.
I scrunch my nose. “Are we supposed to climb it?”
“According to the map, it’s this way.” He looks around. “There’s no sign saying it’s closed, and there are people down the trail, so I think the rocks are part of it.”
“Just part of the experience.” I make jazz hands, causing him to snort.
“Maybe we just do the one-mile trail that led us here? We could do a few laps, and then head back to get your latte and giraffe.”
“Embracing a world without binaries?” I wink.
“More like a world with you smiling like that?” With a soft kiss, he takes my hand. “Come on, let’s just do a few laps.”
“But you wanted to do this…” I tug him to a stop.
Even if I whine a bit about this hike, it does sound cool. According to the website, the trail offers lovely desert landscape views and vegetation. It’s like a mini escape in the middle of the park, simulating what it might be like to do some of the trails in nearby Joshua Tree. Plus, Garrett geeked out just a bit while planning this. It’s cute to see his excitement, even if it’smore understated than mine about getting to feed baby giraffes. I don’t want him to miss out because of me.
“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugs. “We can just?—"
“No, we should do it.” Head shaking, I wrinkle my face. “It’s just a few rocks”—I tap my cane on top to gauge the height—“it’s doable. What’s the trail’s intensity level ranking, again?”
“It’s low to moderate for beginners.”
“Which we can handle?” I don’t intend it to sound like a question, but it does anyway.
“We can.” He brushes his palm against my bare arm.
It’s not needed, but his confirmation is reassuring, nonetheless. Even if I know his hesitation is a mixture of his default mode about my safety and comfort, I’m happy to hear the certainty in his voice in my ability to handle this.
“Especially if you give me a piggyback ride over these rocks.” I flash a saucy expression.
“I’m tempted.” He rubs his nape. “But I’m concerned I’ll not have my bearings with the rocks and accidentally drop you.”
“Anker would be pissed if you killed me on a hike.”
He loops his arm around my waist. “I would also be very pissed about that.”
I tip my head back and coo, “Because you’d besosad without me.”
“Yeah… Also, I’d prefer not to be featured on aDatelinespecial.Man goes hiking with girlfriend, and returns without her…”
I elbow his ribs. “Jerk.”
He laughs. “Let’s do human guide over the rocks.”
“Good idea.” I fold my cane and slip it into his backpack with our two bottles of water.
Just like running, the cane isn’t ideal for something like this. There isn’t a clear barrier to trail along the path to keep you on it. After we climb down from the rocks, the trail is a mixtureof loose pebbles, stones, and rocks. It’s more intense than I expected with the many obstacles and steady inclines between short plateaus. Something like this doesn’t just test my physical endurance and strength, but my emotional bandwidth.
With this hike—just like marathon training—I went into it thinking about how I’d physically do this. If the last six months have taught me anything, it’s that this is a mental game. I need to stay tapped into not just my surroundings and body, but Garrett’s to navigate the path safely. Unexpected drop-offs, ruts, rogue branches, and whatever I just heard rustle in the distance all keep me on edge.
They keep him on edge as well. It’s the same when we run. We trust each other and work together, but there’s always a level of hypervigilance for both of us. I feel the way his muscles tighten, and his posture stiffens at different portions of the hike. Unlike with the rope, where we just have verbal communication and tugs connecting us when we run, human guide allows me to take in everything his body telegraphs. The same is likely true for him with my death grip as we traverse several large, uneven rocks with our upward climb.
Even if the hike is more challenging than I expected, it’s exhilarating. Besides some tame beach paths, I’ve never done real hiking. Yesterday’s hike wasn’t this intense, which is strange because according to the map, they’re both the same intensity level.
Accomplishment surges within me as the fitness tracker on my wrist pings with another mile completed. We’re four miles into this hike, and I’m doing this. I kind of feel like a badass.
