Hole In The Rock

So imagine, you plan a trip to Phoenix Arizona. You’re so excited for the heat, the mountains, and hiking. However, we’re not talking about most YOU. We’re talking about ME.

I planned a trip to Arizona to escape the craziness that is my life, and visit my friend and her husband. Bonus was that it was my friends birthday weekend, and there is no other gift as special as my face.

So, I plan the trip and I explicitly tell them my plans. I’m sleeping, sitting by the pool, and probably going to cry a little bit (still missing my babies!). I threw in ‘a hike’ for good measure, not thinking we’d actually be motivated enough to do it.

Second day I’m there, and I get dressed in my bathing suit and pop some yoga pants on over it. With every single intention to sit at the pool, I pack a backpack with a towel, and I walk out into the living room where my friend and her husband were sitting.

Friend: so, do you want to go on an easy little walk? You can probably even wear those! (Pointing to my flip flops..)

She follows up with ‘its mostly flat, and its easy. Promise.’

Her husband says, yeah, you probably don’t want to wear flip flops. Throw some sneakers on.

So I do.

We hop in the car, and drive to an incredibly scenic spot called ‘Hole In The Rock’ in Papago Park. It’s a mountain… ok fine, a large ass hill. To my credit, it wasn’t flat, like my friend PROMISED. Thank god I had those sneakers on, huh?

We get out of the car, and my friend grabs her bottle of water with a mister at the top. Hmm, prepared. Me? Nothing. Convenient.

We start our trek to the ‘flat’ mountain. The first part is pretty easy. We’re walking on an incline to the back of the ‘rock’. It’s hot- like 95 degrees. To an east coast girl, that’s like 3,000 degrees. We make it to the back side of the rock, and there is a humongous hill. The hill is so steep, that there are make shift stairs built in. We take a deep breath, and begin our journey to the top.

OK, so it’s not too bad. I’m holding it together. Just a little misty sweat covering my face. Totally normal. Half way up the hill, and I’m just reminding myself to breath, as I focus on where I step. Guys, I’m not a hiker. I’d like to be adventurous, but I’m just not that person.

We make it to the top- my friend misting her face and gulping her water. Me; secret sweat dripping from the back of my hair line, down my back, and into my bathing suit. Super cute.

Here’s where my friend is THE BEST. She’s kind of sort of obsessed with taking pictures on her phone- and she’s really good at it. Whenever I’m with her, I feel like I’m in the middle of a photo shoot. So, I took the opportunity to climb some rocks and pose like a sexy model- in a bathing suit and gym clothes covered in sweat. Just like you’d see in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. I thought I looked amazing. Rocking my moves. Laughing and smiling and having a blasty blast. Little did I know, I looked like I looked more like a bad glamour shot.

At this point, we move to the top of the rock, where you can look through the ‘hole’ at the magnificent landscape of Phoenix. I’m talking, picture perfect palm trees, cactus, mountains… and if you looked past all the crazy people climbing all over this rock, and scaring the shit out of me as I picture them falling, it was incredible.

We felt accomplished. We felt like we had worked our asses off, and we were the epitome of fitness and strength. We high fives each other, and started our trek back down the enormous mountain.

When we get to the car, we decide that we obviously need Starbucks, and we set off on our next adventure to find caffeine.

That’s the story about how I became a mountain climber.