My relationship with hiking is one of love and hate. Hiking and I have a history. When I was 16, I participated in the Duke of Edinburgh Silver Award. This was an award where the participant needed to take part in one physical activity, one skills activity and one volunteering activity for a period of time. You then had to go camping, which included a lot of hiking. For the silver award, we went on 2 practice camping trips, before finally going on our assessed trip for 3 days and 2 nights. This was my very first experience of hiking, and I loved it. I loved walking for 9 hours each day, going up mountains and hills, it was amazing.
From the age of 16 to the present day, I have gone on numerous hiking adventures, hating each one a little bit more than the last. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of hiking, I love the amazing view and the feeling of accomplishment I get at the end. I love spending time in the outdoors, but I hate the pain of climbing up. I can climb down so easily! Usually I’m in a lot of pain and hating every step on my way up. Then as soon as I reach the top I feel a sense of accomplishment and forget the hatred I had moments before. I start to mentally plan my next hike whilst enjoying the fresh air. Then I make my way down with ease, wondering what I was complaining about on my way up.
I go through the same endless cycle of love and hate. I could hike on flat land for hours and I would love that. I love walking. But up hill? Nope, at least not until I reach the top.
Thank you for reading.