My husband and I went hiking on Sunday. We've ventured into the mountains ever since we met in the Copper Canyon of Mexico. We trekked Nepal and we ran a business atop the crest of the Dolomites for 10 years. My children were born in the mountains as was my husband, mountains that go straight up over craggy rocks that slip from under your feet.
And while I love the mountains and choose to live at 9000 feet, my idea of a hike will never have anything to do with his. Nearly seventeen years of marriage and I haven't gotten it. While I stop to admire the aspens changing or the flowers underfoot, he moves forward. Upward. Onward. He goes and goes until the trees are behind us, there is nothing but bear poop and big horn sheep.
The sky darkens and snow flakes start to swirl around in September. There is no chance of a picnic, and my lungs are tight from being up so high. The air is thin and I feel drunk, and even a bit scared that I have no business being up so high. How will I ever get down? Why am I here in the first place?
What is it that makes him push so hard and go so far? It is a man thing? A conqueror thing? Or is it just the difference between me and him? All these years and it is still a mystery to me.