A walk in the country

Six years ago, Cubby went snowboarding with his Boy Scout troop at Catamount, a small ski area in the Berkshires. I watched the kids zip around for a little while, until I got the notion to walk up to where they were. The kids, of course, weren’t walking up. They rode up, on the chair lift, and boarded down. I set out on foot.

Bad idea.

Within 500 feet I was exhausted. I was gasping for breath, and struggling to keep moving. My asthma kicked up and I could barely breathe. What was wrong with me? When I was Cubby’s age, I’d gone up slopes like that as if they were downhill.

Could I be that bad off now?

I sure was. I worked at a desk, did no exercise, and ate too much. I had become a fat slug.

I decided to do something about it. I signed up with a trainer, and began working out. One of the first things he said was, “Your asthma is just because you are out of shape. You’ll see – when you get fit, it will go away.” I didn’t believe him, but he was right.

Today I can walk till I drop, free of breathing troubles. I’d never have believed it, but my asthma was indeed a sign of my poor health. As I got fitter, it ceased to bother me. Today, what once sent me to the hospital several times a year is nothing more than a minor nuisance around horses and cats.

You may still call me a fat slug, but I'm a pretty strong and fit slug.

For some reason, I remembered that failed walk up a ski slope this weekend. I decided to try it again. For this attempt, I picked the tallest mountain within 75 miles – Stratton, Vermont. I drove up and set out toward the trails. It’s mud season up there, and all the ski areas are pretty much deserted. Stratton was no exception. The lodge was all closed up and the lifts were quiet. I looked up from the base lodge.

That’s no big deal, I thought. I’ll bet I can walk up there in 20 minutes, tops!
Appearances can be deceiving, though. The top isn’t quite visible from the base. It’s a mile and a half in a straight line, two thousand feet up. But I didn’t know that then. I set out up the mountain.



Partway up I saw a white pile. With a start, I realized there was still snow in spots, even though it’s the end of May. I patted my backpack to make sure my fleece was inside. It would suck to get stuck up high if night fell, I thought.



The lift I was following ended partway up the mountain. I looked up to a steep slope to the top.



I looked down. Could I do this? I plodded upward. With every step, I became more keenly aware of the great contributions mules and Land Rovers have made to journeying mankind. I did not have a mule, or a Rover. I just had my legs and a flimsy hiking pole.

The closer I got to the top, the farther I could see. Birds and bears sang in the trees, and I considered the old saying: "I don't have to outrun the bear. I just have to outrun you!" But today, I had no bait. I was alone with the denizens of the woodland. Luckily, the singing bears deigned to come out and fight. I continued toward the top, unmolested. Hazy conditions kept the Canadian Rockies out of sight, but you can still see a long way in this shot . . .



I finally made it. Here’s the summit of Stratton, empty in springtime.



I realized I now had to do the whole thing in reverse. Clouds were moving in, the day was ending, and the bugs had become vicious. Sunburnt, sore, and bleeding from insect attack, I set off down the slope. Partway down, a dad, a kid and a dog passed me, barely breaking a sweat. I guess fitness is relative.

And here I am, back home to tell you about it. This is a Google Earth view of the mountain



If there's any kind of moral to this story, it's this: You can become fit at any age, and if you do, you can go places you couldn't go before.