A Simple Walk

It was Saturday and Geri and I had just a few hours.  Just time to finish last week’s walk to Heritage Oaks Park and maybe go a few blocks further.

So we planted our feet across from the painted mailbox and started on along Altamead.  It was one of those streets that turns 90 degrees to the left and changes its name all while staying the same street: there’s no other way to go. But after a dreary block beside the cement diversion canal, it was a relief to turn 90 degrees and walk away from it.

A block later we reached busy Portland Ave. Geri has lots of friends in Portland, OR, and I smiled at memories of happy hours walking around that city. We’ve also done some real hiking, not just walking city streets.

Hiking changed for me that day three years ago when I got myself way too high in the hills with only an hour and a half until sunset. I faced a plunging fire road which would take three agonizing hours to go down on my wobbly legs.

But I did have one other option…

Three Years Ago: My Other Option

That option was to sit down and slide.

I’d thought of sliding on other hikes as I stepped gingerly down endless hills but the one time I tried it, I stood up quickly again, feeling stupid.  And somehow sliding felt like admitting I was never going to beat CMT and get stronger again.

But that plummeting fire road!  I already felt the ache in my thighs and the terror of a fall.  And I’d have to walk in the dark: how long since I changed my headlamp batteries?  Like toast landing buttered side down, they’d fail as soon as it got dark.

Blushing and looking both ways, I sat where the fire road went over the hump.  Gingerly as a medieval lady keeping her skirts clean, I crab-walked on palms and shoes, keeping my bottom off the ground.

I made progress: 30 feet down in half a minute instead of the ten it would normally take me.  But gravel pushed sharp edges into my palms and wincing, I let my bottom brush the ground.

Another few minutes and I was at the end of the monster hill. The trail rounded a corner and now I saw the route ahead: a hill just as steep, up!  I’d have to regain all that height and then go down it again.

My arms ached and grit fell out of my shorts as I pushed to my feet and stared, swaying.

Heritage Oaks Park: a Bit of Real Trail

A few more easy blocks brought Geri and me to Heritage Oaks Park.

We sat near a dry creek at the north end of the park.  The map called it Permanente Creek.  Oh yeah, the sign we saw last time said the ugly cement diversion canal was to drain Permanente Creek if there was flooding danger. No danger today: kids scrambled down the crumbling dirt banks, across the dusty rocks and up the other side.  Not “Permanente” at all.

We left the park to the west and for a few hundred feet, there was an actual trail. So exciting to walk a trail instead of just sidewalks. We’d reach the hills soon and I’d have to deal with ups and downs.

Three Years Ago: Ups and Downs

I dealt with the ups and downs three years ago by first meditating and breathing until I could stop blindly hoping things would please please please get easier. When I stood again, the panic was at bay.

I walked up the hill, which wasn’t as steep or high as it looked.  The road did roller-coaster but I stubbornly walked each short downhill stretch, until the final hill. It plunged to a vanishing point somewhere below and the shadows were already long.

It was time to accept “defeat.” I wouldn’t beat CMT by denying it. I sat down again, glad nobody was around. This time I let myself slide flat out on the seat of my pants. It was a lot easier!

Soon my bare thighs burned and my shorts were packed with grit. In the shade of some live oaks I changed into long pants, even though the ending day was still hot.

That was the magic bullet.  On the next stretch I was comfortable.  I chewed up meters with a scrumble scrunch and a billow of dust.  My legs felt good, my arms and abdomen were getting a full body workout and I was having fun!

I had energy to enjoy the view as Mt. Diablo loomed against the sky, laced with ancient stone, draped with gold and dotted with dark green of live oaks.

I refined my technique, looping my walking sticks around my wrists so I could push with both hands and let the sticks follow, little racketing trailers.  In fact, I could grab the sticks, dig them in and push like they were ski poles.  Faster!  Push, push, push!  I was really going!  I whooped with joy a few times (but in a cautious, experimental way).

In two ten-minute stretches, I lost most of the elevation I needed to lose.  When the hill finally became normal, I stood and slapped the seat of my pants but gave up when the dust refused to stop billowing.

I reached the parking lot tired but happy shortly before sunset.

Game Changer

I’ve said that hike three years ago changed my life and I meant it.

No longer would hikes mean a pleasant climb followed by three hours of tottering misery.  Even better, beloved places which were locked behind impossible downhill stretches were now open to me again.

I could hike anywhere!

On to the Hills

We ended at the corner of Lisa and Oakmont, beside a high hedge.  I showed Geri my proposed route going forward and she got excited. “We could actually make it to Rancho tomorrow if we wanted to.”

“You wanna come back here tomorrow and get to the hills?”

“Yes!”

Here’s a map of our walk so far.