and then you do

backdated from June 8:
I feel like this hiking log may be of use to anyone planning to hike Mount San Gorgonio- Vivian Creek Trail in the near future.

5 something a.m.: Apple Jacks & 7-ll coffee breakfast

7:20: not an alpine, but an early start.

every 5 minutes or so: "look, a beautiful tree! i will take a beautiful picture." "look, a beautiful rock! i will take a beautiful picture."

a few hours in: fantasizing about cheeseburgers (pickles, crunch, heavy mayo) and nachos (guac, sour cream, some real mexican cheese)

a few hours later: i notice the uncomfortable presence of an unwelcome companion. he goes by the name of poop.

on and on: the mind goes to funny places after a few miles. serious places. light places. strange places. for a good stretch of the path, i was trying to remember if my cousin/uncle/relative Tom was alive anymore or not. then brevity. legacy. what matters (the usual). then back to cheeseburgers. then some random church songs from elementary school.

a few miles from summit: run out of water

3:22 p.m.: i can see the top, but it is impossible to reach. my legs are angry. i sit on a rock and pout for awhile "i am overwhelmed. i can't conceive of how this is possible." it has taken us over 8 hours, and we aren't even to summit. we are out of water. i have to poop. so many overwhelming things. in these situations, j become optimistic. in these situations, i become angry.

4:30 p.m.: summit. turns out, it was possible. you can't always believe your legs. or your mind. or your wants. sometimes you just say, "quiet, you." and those things you didn't think could be done... sometimes you just do.

somewhere on the descent: once my body realizes it isn't going to get what it thinks it wants or needs, it takes on this superhuman kind of ability. i can walk for the rest of my life. i can lift cars off small trapped babies. i can go for months without cheeseburgers. or pooping. i am not thinking of anything, and still i have found a cure for cancer and am close to understanding the language of the trees.

sometime estimated around 8:43 p.m. (no watch, both phone batteries dead at summit): headlamp. dark. blister on the back of my heel bursts. shooting pain. slow to a crawl. superhuman powers brought down by a blister.

20 minutes later: adrenaline or some mysterious body hormone kicks in. heel tolerable.
the stars are out. by the light of the moon. so quiet. so still.

9:50 p.m. THE CAR.