11,000 feet, a runaway dog and lots of soreness

So, I guess David and I are outdoors-y now. Never would have called that. But this state makes you want to get out and do something with you weekend instead of spending it all on the couch watching football (preseason mind you. I'm sure that my tone will change when the real season starts). So, my coworker Paris and her fiance Drew wanted to go hiking this weekend (Saturday). David and I were pretty active this week (I ran on Thursday, we played tennis on Friday, he played golf Friday night), so we were pretty sore already from all of our semi-athletic activity. But, we ante'd up and decided to pack our bags to go on a hike.

I would like to pretend for a moment that we were prepared for the hike. Neither David nor I had "hiked" since we were kids. We certainly did not know how to dress, what to bring, where we were going, etc. Instead, we decided to trust the extremely capable and avid hikers-and-campers, Paris and Drew. Because of how out-of-shape we are, we had to stop a lot to take rest in the shade. Luckily, everywhere we stopped was beautiful, so we didn't feel like we were inconveniencing our hike leaders that much.

Of course, the second we would stop moving, inevitably, an old man or woman would trot on by us, not even winded from the high-altitude physical activity, while David and I were panting like crazed dogs in the summertime. (See old man on the bottom left of the photo on the right trotting by without a care in the world. Jerk. Thanks for making me feel like a 300-pound woman). So, after a brief rest, we moved along down the road.

Now, we had brought the dogs. Paris and Drew have two smaller dogs, Boomer and Romeo. They are pretty well behaved too. So, after much convincing (mostly from Drew because he knew how well behaved Milo is), we let Milo off the leash too. He loved it. He was bounding up rocky hills and splashing in the pooling water around the trail. He especially loved the waterfalls we encountered on our trek. I mean, look how happy he is in that photo. Don't believe his happy face. I'm about to tell you a story of pure horror.

Did I mention the waterfalls? I mean, there were hundreds of them. Some big, some huge, some small and some trickling. But, they were everywhere you looked. It was serene and lovely. We were really enjoying our time. We were enjoying our time just long enough to let our guard down. Milo had to use the bathroom. So, after he did his business, David and I went over to pick it up and try to find a landmark to memorize so we could pick it up on the way back. After finding a significant-enough-looking tree, we moved on. Then, suddenly, David says, "Where's Milo?"

A rush of panic entered my body. I felt like the mom who had taken her kid to the mall and had let go of the kid's hand for just a second. Just long enough for the kid to wander off with some stranger. Then, a new wave of panic. What if Milo had jumped into one of those rushing waterfalls? He loved them. He had stared at them. "Oh please God, let him still be on the path." Of course, he had run away at a fork in the road, so we all decided to split up. I went uphill (silly decision looking back on that...) and was shouting his name while clapping wildly. I could hear his name being screamed in every which direction. What I couldn't here was the happy jingling of his collar as he sprinted back. After ever call of his name, I only heard the worst sound: Silence.

Finally, I encountered a couple of dudes and asked them if they had seen a dog as they came downhill from the way I was going. I said, "He kind of looks like a big Beagle?" They had. "Yeah, he was walking with two older ladies. They went that way." I started sprinting. I'm pretty sure I have never run that fast in my life. Every five strides, I screamed "MILO!" and clapped as I ran. I was just hoping he would round the corner any minute and we would have that tearful reunion that is in every dog movie. He didn't come. I kept sprinting up hill, bouncing on the balls of my feet over steep, rocky hills. I found a second set of people. They said they had seen him just pass over the bridge. "The bridge? Where's that?!?" They pointed and I sprinted away again. I crossed a rickety, old bridge that I was sure Milo had slipped and fallen on, but I passed just in case. Then, came the terror again. I came to another fork in the road. I yelled his name and clapped crazily. I shouted and prayed.

Finally, I knew I had to make a decision. I had to go down a path. I just chose the one to the right and started sprinting uphill again, still screaming Milo's name. Then, about 500 meters from where I was running, down comes a smiling ear-to-ear Milo. Darting straight for me. As if nothing had happened. I nearly cried. I mean, the whole time I knew he was micro-chipped. I knew that he was wearing a collar that had my cell phone number on it. I knew that he would probably, someday, be found and brought back to me. But, I didn't want that day to come. I had to find him and I had. I hobbled back down the hill with Milo by my side. Shouting into the hills, "I found him." I first saw Drew who ran up to me to make sure I was OK. Then came Paris and David. David looked as if someone had shot him and then told him he was wearing a bullet-proof vest. He was relieved, as was I.

I found out later that David had run downhill and asked if anyone had seen Milo and they said no. He knew our crazy dog must have run only one other way. I was just lucky to have encountered people first. That whole ordeal only took about 15 minutes max. But, it was horrible. And even though Milo would have been fine off leash for the rest of the hike, I was too paranoid. So, he stayed tethered to his quivering, recovering parents. The irony of it all was I should have just stayed on the top of the hill. We had to finish our hike up that way anyway, so I was lucky enough to get to hike it twice. This time, with much less adrenaline rushing through my body. (By the by, sprinting at over 10,000 feet = hard).

We finally found the top of the hike. It was worth all of the drama and drive and hiking to get there. I think that's probably the most gratifying thing of hiking. After you get to the top, you look down to where you started and feel accomplished. We took lots of photos as Drew pointed out old mining houses that were still perched in the hillside. Drew is practically a mountain goat, so he had taken this hike before. He and Paris made great guides.

So we went back downhill a ways to a nearby lake. We sat down on a log and admired the beauty of the state we live in. It was so peaceful and calming. We munched on our fruit snacks and wimpy burgers (as my mom would call them - two Nilla wafers with peanut butter in the middle. Named after Mr. Wimpy who would gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.) for lunch. So, besides our dog trying to escape with another family, besides realizing that we are grossly out-of-shape and besides being so tired after we got home from the hike that we nearly napped for 3 hours... I would call it a success. And definitely something I would love to do again sometime.