Yesterday, exactly one day after my eighth grade graduation, I for some reason to decided to try to get back to my passion, which resulted in me pretending to be a mountaineer for a day. As if that statement “pretending to be a mountaineer” wasn’t ridiculous enough, I chose to do something so incomprehensibly absurd, it runs the fine line of “wow, that’s amazing!” and “Why the f**k would you do something like that?”. So at seven a.m, my cousin Jo and I set out to walk the 19 miles to Stinson beach. For those of you who are familiar with the bay area, you are most likely laughing at me right now. For those of you not familiar, Stinson is an hour drive from San Francisco, a weekend beach trip destination for us fog-dwellers. The original (and infinitely more intelligent) plan was to spend a couple days backpacking in Yosemite, but that fell through because of time constraints. So on a whim, beginning as more of a joke than an actual itinerary, we decided on the previously stated idea.
For me, although the idea is completely laughable, it was an amazing example of the places we can get on our own accord. That it what constantly stuns me about climbing; There is of course the technical skill, and logistics and gear, but broken down to its raw core, it is just about you getting somewhere. There is nobody who can inspire that notion upon you but your own heart. So I guess that’s part of what mountaineering gives me. A confidence about what my body, and the mind and heart inside of it, can achieve.