Harken Upon the Hill

Sunday, my girlfriend and I took the long, serpentine road to the Blue Ridge Mountains. We parked by the visitor’s center, away from the dozens of families, college students, and avid dog-walkers crowding Sharp Top to hike Harkening Hill.

Sharp Top and Flat Top are the two peaks everyone knows — the picturesque peaks turned deep blue by the sunset; the mountains that postcard-makers love.

As I mentioned earlier, I got my new rucksack in the mail that I’ll use for the Goruck Challenge in September. It’s a badass military pack with almost too many pockets or places to attach carabineers.

For our hike, I loaded it with a 25-pound weight plate, a 100-ounce hydration bladder, knife, mole skin and protein bars.

Feeling a bit like Atlas, I made my way up the to the 3,300-foot peak.

Damp foliage and fallen branches sprawled across much of the trail. Spider webs spanned from tree to tree.

After about 45 minutes, we reached the summit.   

We rested atop the massive stones for water, protein bars, and photos. 

I also needed to take my rucksack off. The plate seemed to grow heavier with each step.

Ancient, undisturbed puddles lay in the tiny craters of the boulders.  In them, insects had found a place to lay their eggs.

With photos taken, and annoyed enough by bugs, we made our way back down.

We took a different trail back, just as unruffled as the first.

                Through two meadows with waist-high grass, we neared the Blue Ridge Parkway roaring with motorcycles.

                A bubbling creek ran alongside us as we finally reached the visitor’s center.  In total, we hiked about 3.5 miles.

                After that hike, I hold taking off a rucksack up with some of the greatest, simple pleasures: cold water after a run, resting in a hammock at the beginning of autumn, etc.

                I should also mention that I finally broke in my military boots. After watching videos of Goruck-go'ers tramping through rivers and briny oceans, I decided on a pair of sturdy, vented military boots.  

              Before Sunday, I'd only worn the boots to work or about town. The leather stiff, each step sounded like the last quack of a dying duck.

              I'm pleased to say duck season is over. 

Workout: pushups and beer curls

When I arrived at work at 7 a.m. Thursday, rain drizzled all across Lynchburg. By the time I left at 4 p.m., that drizzle had turned to heavy, gray, unrelenting sheets of rain and it showed in the number of people at the gym. 

Inside the tiny building which always smells of sawdust, there were five of us.  The trim, stubbly man in his thirties who bikes for hours while scouring through multiple newspapers was there.  The two bros, one bald the other resembling Johnny Knoxville, were there. The goateed, Goldberg-lookalike who always leaves with his grey t-shirt drenched in sweat was there.

And me.

Of course, the aforementioned four are always there, everyday, without fail. 

As they hit the weights, I dropped to punch out 170 pushups.  Goruck is military training in essence, so I’ve incorporated more military basics in my workout: pushups, sit-ups, and pull-ups.

After about an hour and a half, the others had retreated home for the evening and left me the gym. 

In the end, I totaled 170 pushups, 170 sit-ups and 60 lat pull-downs (watered down pull-ups).

If this sounds impressive, believe me, it’s not.

Some of the badasses who show up for Special Forces training, Ranger School, etc. can punch out about 100 pushups in just two minutes.

Muscles aching, I returned home to shower, then hit Rivermont Pizza for drinks and pizza, celebrating the birthday of my girlfriend’s roommate. 

Rivermont Pizza is a dark, side-street bar paneled in wood and stone.  To my knowledge, it boasts the only wood-burning in pizza oven in Lynchburg. Its taps also feature more than just Pabst Blue Ribbon and Miller Light.

I won’t pretend there are any nutritional benefits to beer. It’s empty, gut-building, delicious calories.

But amid my strict schedule of Greek yogurt, blueberries, chicken, etc, it’s a much welcomed break from the norm.

Like everyone, I need to kick off my boots and relax once in a while.

In a completely unrelated note, my rucksack arrived in the mail yesterday. 

This is the ruck I’ll use to carry six bricks, three liters of water, extra socks and any other necessities for Goruck.

It’s also the most deceptively spacious backpack I’ve ever seen. I see why the Army loves these. You can pack up your life and head down the road with this.

Maybe I’ll break it in with a hike through the mountains this weekend.

Beginning

Rain pours outside Greely’s salon, and with a flash of lightening, Clint Eastwood’s haggard face is illuminated to the men he is about to gun down.  For a few seconds, the only audible sound is raindrops, but Eastwood’s presence is booming, as it is throughout one of the greatest films of all time, Unforgiven.

I have always admired these men—the bad asses—largely due to my father.

After 21 years in the U.S. Army, he has collected a glass case full of medals and military decorations. Above all, he holds the Ranger tab—a symbol marking the most badass of badasses.

Just to give you an idea, of the soldiers who arrive for Ranger school in Fort Benning, Georgia, only 10 percent pass.

Needless to say, I fall a bit short in comparison.

As a child, I almost always placed at the bottom of the list for the gym class fitness test. I watched classmates scuttle by, as I huffed and puffed behind the pack.  In my mind, becoming president was as likely as me doing a pull-up.

I played sports as a kid and in high school, but never took fitness too seriously.

Or at least, until my junior year of college.

Upon arriving at William & Mary’s campus as a freshman, I grabbed a cold beer and, for about two years, one never left my hand.  I prided myself in downing liters upon liters of beer with the top bros, but my hobby was starting to show. 

I took a trip to Mexico where I spent days roasting on a beach.  At the time, I weighed about 220 pounds without an ounce of muscle. 

Looking at photos from that trip was my shock, my catalyst, and daily reminder to haul ass to the gym.

                To put it mildly, I resembled one of those purple monsters from the McDonald’s commercials (minions to the Hamburgler, I assume).

                With a jug of whey protein in one hand, and a dumbbell in the other, I’ve spent the past three years moving further and further away from that beer-swollen beach bum.

                Of course, I’m no where near Arnold status, but I’m overall pretty happy.

                Passersby have mistaken me for a soldier, or even an NBA basketball player. One highly intoxicated middle-aged vacationer even bowed to me and called me Apollo (in her defense, it was in Greece, and she probably passed out five minutes later).

 

She may have also been confused, as this is how I usually dress.

                                          

                Muscles aside, I still would not count myself among the badasses.   

                In the aftermath of the Boston bombings, media outlets praised the first responders—those who flung themselves into black clouds of ash to help others. 

                And why not?

                Our natural instinct is to run away from away from an explosion, not toward it.  It seems much easier to shy away from a challenge than face it, or walk around the base of a mountain rather than climb it.

                So, on September 7, the day before my 24^th birthday, I will throw myself on the fire, trudge up the peak, and reach for that whiskey-ridden grail of badassdom. 

                I will take part in a Goruck Challenge—a 15 to 20 mile, 8 to 10 hour, taste of Special Forces training.

                Goruck is a company that peddles military grade rucksacks and gear to those with an eye for gear that endures. The challenge began as a testament that the gear could truly survive anything.

                But, whispers of receiving an ass kicking from former Special Forces operatives reached the ears of weekend warriors and the challenge took off.  

                Over the next few months, I’ll use this blog to track my exercise and activities as I work to strengthen body, but especially, mind.

                I do not expect to be welcomed by Army Rangers, constantly greeted by flashes of lightning, nor feared by the villains of Gotham. 

                Truthfully, I expect few, if any, will care when I’ve completed the Goruck Challenge. 

                But, I guess that’s part of being a badass.  At the end of the day, the only person you have to prove anything to is yourself.