Practice Makes... Me Really Need A Nap

Today Canyon Girl: Wilderness Woman went for a test run up a local mountain. And by test run I mean sweaty, bug-infested failure of an attempt at summiting Tussey Mountain.

My trail guide, Felts, and I decided to forgo the often over-populated party hike of Mt. Nittany for a more exotic hike at Shingletown Gap. The Gap offers a much longer, and we thought, less steep hike to a view of Happy Valley, PA. Also, not as many drunk students climbing in flip-flops or random foreign students taking pictures of rocks and tree branches.

We started out at a good pace and my spirits perked as we were forced to cross a large felled tree over a running creek, a la Dirty Dancing. It's always been a dream of mine to cross (ok, dance) across a tree log over running water. Obviously, I have seen a certain movie, and its sequel, far too many times.

About two minutes into the hike we were passed by Fitness Woman accompanied by her Fitness Dog pals. She had a large daypack with hydration pack, dark khaki shorts made for hiking and a light-colored fitness shirt. Fitness Woman meant business. Remember her, we'll get back to her later.

And so Felts and I made our way up an increasingly steep blue-blazed trail. Begin sweating. After about five minutes my heart rate monitor no longer reads my pulse because I'm sweating too much. Bugs are now being drawn to my sweatiness and begin dive-bombing my ears; this continues all the way up and back down the mountain.

Every so often, Felts and I spot what we believe to be poison ivy, in which case I'll be in some serious trouble later on. Having grown up in Texas (and partially in California), I can spot you things like ground squirrel holes and red ant hills, but poison ivy is not so much in my rolodex of a brain.

Far be it from me to admit to my hiking partner the immense amount of effort this hike was forcing from me to keep moving. Wilderness Woman may be carrying a pack of 10-15 lbs, but Flabby Woman is silently cursing her lack of cardio abilities. Felts insisted the blue-marked trail was the way to the overlook, and at the time it seemed like the better choice: the orange markers were nearly straight up the mountain in a vertical fashion. It took us about half a mile to severely regret this decision.

The trail gave the illusion of being near the top over and over again, but around the corner of a semi-flattened patch of trail was a straight-up hike for another extended patch. Our steps became slower, shorter, and more carefully placed as rocks became the only foothold between us and slipping down the mountain (don't be too afraid, there were plenty of large tree trunks to break our falls). It was as we were barely at the top, in much thinner air, that we stopped to lean against tilted trees and catch our breath. I took off my pack--correction--peeled off my soaked pack and dropped it to the ground at my feet. Felts and I exchanged tortured glances, but neither of us wanted to be the one to give up and suggest we head back down the trail.

It was just as we were discussing whether to finish out the trail to the top or turn back down, lo and behold, the sound of barking and two charging dogs alerted us that we were in the presence of Fitness Woman. She had already surmounted Tussey and hiked the mile from the overlook, and when she came into view, wasn't even sweating. What kind of freak is this?! She stopped to talk to us, as we were still stalled by those leaning trees assessing our options.

Felts: "Do you know where the overlook is?"
FW: "Oh you mean the Roman Tower? Well, the top of the mountain is just up that steep trail right there, and then it's just a one-mile hike on over to the overlook, and then a steep and quick way down."
Felts: No words, just meaningful silence, followed by, "OK thanks."
FW: "OK, have a good one you guys!"

As soon as Fitness Woman is out of sight, we agree to give her some space and then hike back down. On our descent Felts lets slip a, "I wish I was as fit as her." To which I emphatically agreed; THIS is the woman I need to become to have any hope of survival.