My calves gave me a wake-up call at 3 a.m. Monday. Actually it was more like a no holds barred kick and a half.
There’s nothing like a severe Charlie horse to bring you out of a deep slumber.
I knew it was coming. My quads 12 hours before were letting me know I had a bit too much lactic acid buildup.
I had it coming.
On Sunday I opted to push myself a bit and do what ended up being a 10-mile round trip hike using the Snow Creek Trail that climbs out of Yosemite Valley to the rim 2,600 feet above. To give you an idea of what the Snow Creek Trail is like, it climbs 2,600 feet in 1.7 miles while the Upper Yosemite Falls Trail climbs the same distance in 3.2 miles, the Four Mile Trail in 4.7 miles, and Panorama Trail takes eight miles.
I did the trail five years ago so I knew what to expect. But when I did it last time it was not there days after having every imaginable reaction to my first COVID-19 vaccine shot except for throwing up and the very next day after doing a platelet donation.
I figured I was good from the shot. But I didn’t give much thought to the platelet donation. And to top it off I didn’t devour a half gallon of ice cream afterwards as I usually do as my excuse to “rehydrate”.
After some people found out I had gone for my usual daily jog Tuesday after developing muscle cramps, pains —et al courtesy of the good folks at Pfizer — and had to sit down when I got back to the driveway they seized upon that as proof positive that I was obsessed with exercise. Actually it kicked up enough endorphins to allow me to deal better with the vaccine reaction.
Apparently there was some truth to what I thought was a white lie I was telling myself to justify putting away a half gallon of ice cream in one sitting. I ended up taking on more water than the Titanic on the hike downing 2½ liters even though it was only a tad warm. That explained the Charlie horses.
After some people found out I had gone for my usual daily jog Tuesday after developing muscle cramps, pains —et al courtesy of the good folks at Pfizer — and had to sit down when I got back to the driveway they seized upon that as proof positive that I was obsessed with exercise. Actually it kicked up enough endorphins to allow me to deal better with the vaccine reaction.
I’d be remiss not to mention how I felt Monday morning when I woke up.
As what usual what happens after I go for broke on a hike, I enjoyed the deepest and most restful sleep.
The worst part of the hike as always when it is the same day up and down from Manteca was the two hours plus driving back. My muscles act like they will never forgive me. But after one night of sleep that admittedly started out a bit painful as I stretched my legs out, I felt like I had a full body massage. Every muscle was relaxed and warm. I assume that is as nature intended.
The afterglow, for want of a better way to describe it, lasts for days
My goal for my mental and physical well-being — despite the lactic acid and Charlie horses this time around — is to hike somewhere in the upper reaches of the western Sierra ever Sunday I get the chance until the snow returns.
That means a pattern similar to Snow Creek. Leave Manteca at 6:30 a.m., start hiking at 9:30 a.m., enjoy a quick 30-minute semi-nap at my turnaround point atop some peak or by a lake or stream, get back to the car by 6:30 p.m., and be back in Manteca by 9 p.m.
Did I mention I don’t have a life?
All kidding aside, hiking does more than just keep me sane, give me perspective, and clear my mind. It has become a passion.
It is also a payoff for exercising daily.
I am not going to lie. When it comes to hiking I’m more tortoise than hare. I couldn’t be a “hare” if I wanted to against most others that are more than casual hikers. Besides having feet that would make a hardened podiatrist wince and a slew of issues you collect along the way to 65 years of age, competing against anyone except perhaps my own self is not why I hike.
Once I hit the Snow Creek Trail after the prerequisite hike from Curry Village and left Mirror Lake 1½ miles behind me, I encountered only six others hikers — including a solo hiker that was a young woman who appeared to be in her 20s that passed me going up and passed me going down.
She was making the 20-mile trip to North Dome, the same destination I reached using the Snow Creek Trail five years ago.
That was also my intended destination Sunday but early in the hike I realized I wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders. Even if I was, she could still lap me regardless of how well conditioned or fit my 65 year-old body could ever be. And to be honest, I have no problem with that.
What kept me going Sunday instead of heading back to the car was a flashback to an 81-year-old with a backpack and bedroll that my nephew and I came across after clearing a thicket of aspens on a hike in the eastern Sierra seven years ago that led to two stunning lakes after climbing 2,200 feet in seven miles.
She was hiking in the same direction we were, although she seemed to be struggling.
After assuring us she was alright, we chatted a bit. She was from San Jose and had been hiking since her 50s. She had hiked the trail we were on 10 years earlier.
She shared how she’d “recharge her batteries” by recalling from her memory the stunning vistas, flora, smells, pristine lake, and night skies laden with stars from this particular hikes and others she had taken. She said she wanted to re-enforce the sense of calm the hikes gave her.
We wished each other well and continued on our way. On our way back down she was still heading up the mountain. We talked again. She shared how she was going to stop near a footbridge at the end of the climb, camp for the night, and then hike into the lake just as the sun was rising.
“Spending the day with what nature has created is worth the pain,” she said with a smile.
At the time, I thought it was a lovely thought and not much more.
On Sunday I realized that the words of a stranger were words to live by as I enjoyed views of glacier carved Half Dome towering above Tenaya Canyon as I made my way up the quad busting trail and then at the top watched the icy water of Snow Creek tumble toward a smooth granite lip and cascade downward 2,140 feet as I rested 20 yards away.
This column is the opinion of editor, Dennis Wyatt, and does not necessarily represent the opinions of The Bulletin or 209 Multimedia. He can be reached at dwyatt@mantecabulletin.com
