So I decide to walk to 125th street tonight, because Baskin Robbins was selling ice cream for 31 cents (I know, right?) and there is nothing to motivate me for exercise like cheap ice cream. I'm feeling all badass, in my nice spring coat and new Old Navy flip-flops (2 for $5, yes please), when I decide to call my friend Anna.
My friend Anna has been living for the last 8 months in Breckenridge, Colorado, where she has skiied 5 days a week in her job as mountain watch, and skiied the other 2 days a week because she likes it. She has also been going to the gym. She also ran 6 miles the other day. Two summers ago she biked from Minnesota to Connecticut, just because. This girl is a beast.
And I, city-dweller, am about to go visit her. We went hiking together in Nova Scotia last summer and I managed to hold my own, though this picture indicates my feelings about the occasional steep hill:
Bitch bounded up those damn hills. Anyway, I knew when I decided to visit her that she would be dragging me out to the great outdoors, which I was genuinely looking forward to, but tonight on the phone she started warning me about altitude sickness and the odds of getting struck by lightning while on a sheer rock face and of climbing over boulders and...Oh shit. I do not fear this trip-- last time we went hiking I tried to keep up, and this time I will not even try-- but my God, what have I gotten myself into. I triumphantly reached the summit of 125th street and Amsterdam, nearly 40 blocks from my starting point, and felt the burn in my shins. I hung up with Anna and walked back via Morningside Park, admiring the view from the top.
What ice cream was I eating from the Great Morningside Peak, you ask? Rocky road, of course. Anna will train in her way, and I will train in mine.
To the Rockies!
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