A few days ago, I went hiking at Camelback Mountain for the third time. I always forget how different hiking is in Phoenix. The trails are swarming with people, and the trailrunners scare of the bejesus out of me as they hurtle themselves up and down the mountain. When you stop to take in the beautiful vista (and regulate your jagged breathing), you're rewarded with a dreary view of the sprawling city. What ever happened to hiking as a way of communing with the natural world and/or a well-deserved silent retreat from everyday life?
Plus, hiking there always makes me feel wretchedly out of shape. My nose runs continuously and I never remember to bring tissues, so by the time I'm done, an amalgam of sweat, snot, and dust has coated my face. The jagged, uneven rocks and gigantor stone steps murder my ankles and knees, and about 15 minutes in, I recall that I have the world's worst balance.
On the upside, some of the rocks looked like sun-washed Georgia O'Keefe skulls, and desert plants can be astoundingly beautiful. And I'm sure once my calves and hamstrings recover from their severe beating, I'll remember my little foray on the trails with fondness.
*note: The pics aren't from Camelback. The one where I'm wearing the orange tank top was taken in Glendale and the other was at Piestewa Peak.
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