The Clumsy Interloper

11:51AM – 30,000 Steps – Hitting the most steps you’ve ever recorded on your Fitbit before noon is an exhilarating yet unnerving feeling. Imagine taking a road trip across the country in a Dodge Neon circa 1991 (Hi!) and you drive NY to Nebraska on the first day. The front of the car starts vibrating unnaturally and it slowly dawns on you that you’ve never driven this vehicle outside of the city limits before. You assume everything will work out because you are up to date on your oil changes and tire rotations, but really you are in uncharted territory and pot committed. To my sister Sarah, this section was meant to disparage my physical abilities and in no way debase your beloved first car which was an incredible driving machine and most certainly did not have Styrofoam in the bumper.

Observatory Hill @ 10:52AM (11.9 miles)

Walking along the base of O-Hill within close proximity of 29-South was an incongruous experience. For 360 degrees my visual field was stacked with lush vegetation, a gorgeously swaying tree canopy above and flora bursting along either side of the trail. However, my auditory senses were peppered with a jarring mix of ambulance sirens and diesel trucks shifting gears like they were barreling down behind me on the trail. A strange disconnect to be sure.

Eagles Landing @ 11:53AM (14.1 miles)

Surging now, my tired legs catch a second wind as I pump them up an incline into an open field. I am 66% complete with my endeavor and feeling great. Inside me a growing sense of accomplishment swells and I wear a gentle buddha smile at the corner of my lips. Just then, I see a jogger up ahead closing quickly on my position. I instinctively step to the side to allow passage and this fast moving 20-something probable UVa student passes me, barely making eye contact, with a perky “Thank you, sir”. The word “sir” lands on my chest like an anvil. Before I have a chance to reply they have darted out of sight as quickly as they appeared. I stood frozen in shock for a moment, meekly touching my greying temples and slumping my shoulders in defeat. The final insult was that as I resumed my hike and my initial surprise subsided, my second thought was – “What a polite young man”. This is 42.

Behind Alamo Drafthouse @ 12:52PM (16.3 miles)

I just listened to a podcast about The Bear. I’ve never been a “foodie” but I can appreciate an exquisite meal. However, being fixated on the quest for a Michelin star feels like an abstract concept, one devoid of substance and joy. That is why I’m so drawn to this show. The characters are struggling with generational trauma and loss, siloed off in their pain caves, and the food is both their salvation and their cross to bear. My thoughts drift from the decisions Carmy has made in Season 3 to my own. Pushing those away who are eager to listen. Moving through painful emotions with blinders on. The themes are so relevant that I must stop the podcast and meditate on myself for a moment. Sometimes getting locked in the walk-in fridge during service is exactly what you need to grow.

Quarry Park @ 1:39PM (18.3 miles)

2:00PM – 40,000 Steps

The last 15 minutes of the hike are painful. I tweaked my knee along the tilted, rocky path through Quarry Park. The insides of my thighs are chaffed and rubbed raw. I’m out of water and dragging my feet. I check my AllTrails App every 50 yards to see if my destination has miraculously appeared around the bend. I resolved to do this hike again in the fall or winter as June was a decidedly poor choice. The heat is stifling. To continue on, I tilt my body forward at the waist ever so slightly and use this forward momentum to carry me across the finish line. Stopping only compounds the problem.

Riverview Park @ 2:49PM (21.0 miles)

I get home, draw a bath and ice my knees. I then continue binging The Bear, eat steak and potatoes and promptly fall asleep by 8pm. It was a worthwhile experience and I feel closer to my beloved Charlottesville, but if you are in your 40’s don’t forget your Advil and don’t expect to meet up with friends later.