Sometimes I Hate Hiking

And maybe everyone else secretly does too?

Sometimes I hate hiking. That wave of dislike has an annoying tendency to hit when I’m at the furthest point from my car and there is no way to easily throw in the towel. I could give up and refuse to move any further, but then I would just be condemning myself to sitting in the (likely tick-laden) brush for eternity. Except in the most dire situations, if I walk into the woods, I have to walk myself out of them again—no matter how much I wish I could teleport to the nearest spot serving burgers and beer.

Hating hiking is a different feeling than being in the midst of a Type 2 Fun adventure. Though Type 2 Fun sucks in the moment, there is almost always an external factor that is contributing to the misery—bugs, rain, dehydration. When I hate hiking, nothing is going awry; I am just plodding along until I have the realization that I absolutely do not want to be hiking in that moment…or maybe ever again?

After all, what’s so great about hiking anyway? Fresh air, scenery, and snacks with a side of cardio, I guess. But hiking can also be monotonous and lonely, even when out on the trail with others.

Monotony: A green tunnel of invasive buckthorn or an endless carpet of immature maples that hide the contours of the landscape so every sweeping curve of the trail feels designed to prolong your journey rather than bring you to your destination.

Loneliness: Walking single file on a narrow trail on a windy day so you can only hear every fifth word of the story your hiking companion is telling.

When the cresting waves of those two feelings collide, they amplify into a singular, clear voice that says: Why am I doing this?

I’ve quietly broached this topic with other hikers and have learned that I’m not the only one with a private fantasy of being rescued from having to finish a hike that I’ve decided I’m done with. Though I won’t speculate about how widespread the hatred of hiking is among hikers, it’s reassuring to know that at least I’m not the only one. I will, however, speculate that these feelings are probably more common among avid hikers than occasional ones. Who is more likely to be on the trail when the weather is bad? Who is more likely to seek out a stretch of trail for its length rather than its scenery? Who is more likely to lace up their boots even though they woke up that morning with a strong desire to drink tea and read on the couch?

I’ve tried to get better about discerning which days I’m just annoyed about rolling out of bed before dawn and which days I actually don’t want to hike. It’s harder than you might think because often it takes me a few miles before I get into the swing of being on trail. Muscles need to warm up and I need to get my brain tuned to the right frequency to notice the nature around me—how I feel at the trailhead and how I feel at mile three can be worlds apart!

However, even with the best of intentions I still occasionally find myself hiking when I’d rather be doing just about anything else. And when those waves of loneliness and monotony amplify into a searing dislike for hiking that no quantity of peanut M&Ms can appease, I tell myself that if I get back to the car under my own locomotion, then I never have to do this again.

I’ve always made it back to the car.

I’ve always done it again.