Mountain Rants and Ayn Rand in her Underpants

Next week, I will travel to New Mexico to see the folks and, presumably, to climb to the top of Wheeler Peak one more time. This will be a challenge.

Current state: daunted.

Can the old man still do it?

I am always wary about wild animals when I hike those mountain trails. There are mountain lions and bears to consider. And I am (despite what some disparaging people might joke about - God love 'em) no Timothy Treadwell. I would never give a bear a nickname unless it was Mr. Big Scary Mother, and then I would run away screaming.

I am, however, foolishly intrepid about my hikes and I usually like to go it alone. I wonder if pepper spray would discourage a mountain lion?

Even worse: mountains attract hermits. Some of these are shy folks who just want to be left alone. (They'll get no trouble from yours truly.) Others, however, are convicts, and some are just scary people with no wholesome reason for being there. Several times, I've spotted ragged figures on the woody mountainside above the path, spying from the shadows. I think someone invented the term "the creeps" for what encounters like this inspire. Furthermore, the phrase "get the hell out of Dodge" applies unequivocally to this and any similar situation.

Meanwhile, I have been hiking and running in prepartion for the quest.

I have decided not to let the aches in my right leg stop me from doing all the physical activities I love. It seems the more I exercise, the less that stalwart old limb pains me.

One must run through the agony to get to the bliss.

Last night, for instance, I ran five miles. It was easy for me. I could have gone ten or fifteen, but I didn't want to risk damaging my leg. I am willing to wait until it is more conditioned before I subject the creaky appendage to a marathon.

At about 2.5 miles, I tripped over a tree root and plummeted, headlong, into the ground. I was scuffed up and covered in dirt. Blood trickled down my cheek from a scratch next to my ear, but I hopped right up and started running again, and never stopped.

This is me tooting my own horn. Ayn Rand says it's healthy to do that (even though it's very annoying). I still find myself caught somewhere in between her "virtues of selfishness" and the selfless virtues of altruism.

I have (though not for the first time) come to the conviction that I no longer give a good goddamn what anybody thinks about me. Hate me; laugh at me; tell crazy, apocryphal stories about me (if it serves your purpose); ignore me; forget me; slander me; characterize me any way you want. I don't need ya.

This is the attitude I must take if I am to survive. If I fail to achieve this condition, my future endeavors could all go very badly; every bit as badly as those in the past. If I succeed --- quite frankly, I don't what'll happen if I succeed.