For a couple of years, my husband and I have been talking about climbing Pinnacle Mountain. Often one of us would mention going, but the other would think that it was too hot (me), or too cold (him), or we’d have something else to do that interfered.
Last Friday, when the weatherman informed us that Saturday would be beautiful—sunny, with a high near 70 degrees—my husband said, “Okay. Tomorrow’s the day. If we keep on putting it off, one of us will have to push the other’s wheelchair up the mountain.”
Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration; we’re not quite that old. But he was right. What were we waiting for? “I’m game,” I said.
We climbed the West Summit Trail to the top (1011 ft. elevation), a 1 ½ mile round trip. And after seeing the view from the top, we’ve decided we’re going back. After all, we haven’t climbed the East Summit Trail yet . . .
And the best thing? I didn’t think about my dissertation all afternoon. Not even once.
Last Friday, when the weatherman informed us that Saturday would be beautiful—sunny, with a high near 70 degrees—my husband said, “Okay. Tomorrow’s the day. If we keep on putting it off, one of us will have to push the other’s wheelchair up the mountain.”
Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration; we’re not quite that old. But he was right. What were we waiting for? “I’m game,” I said.
We climbed the West Summit Trail to the top (1011 ft. elevation), a 1 ½ mile round trip. And after seeing the view from the top, we’ve decided we’re going back. After all, we haven’t climbed the East Summit Trail yet . . .
And the best thing? I didn’t think about my dissertation all afternoon. Not even once.
