Ocean View

Gimli holds 5lb. weights in each hand when he hikes. On our Wednesday trek he complained they were too light and perhaps it was time for ten pounds. I'm cranky carrying a 20-ounce water bottle, so I said, "Sure. Why not? Then you won't feel so weak." An overcast afternoon, we started up a moderately steep fire trail. Soon Gimli veered off onto a path that quickly lost all interest in staying visible, vanishing into a rock pile that rose up several hundred feet and required hand-over-hand climbing.

'What's he doing with those stinking weights now?' I wondered, but didn't ask because Gimli might get distracted and drop one on my head.

As we reached the summit, Gimli stated he lately had more energy. For 18 years, he'd worked eight hours a day, five-days-a-week at a warehouse moving crated auto parts. Afterwards, he'd roam the hills with 5lb. weights in each hand. Thanks to his layoff, he now has only hills and weights. And running the level stretches of trail. (In deference to my tender knees, we didn't do that.)

Kiley and his 50-mile trail run came to mind. "Hey, Gimli, you ever think about doing a trail run?" I explained how they're held in difficult terrain along narrow trails such as he already favors. Then I mentioned Kiley's April event.

He thought for a bit, then: "Okay. Sure."

Gimli thought I meant he should run Kiley's 50-miler.

"Maybe ease into it with something shorter," I suggested. "And you won't have to carry five-pounders."

He smiled. "I could go faster."

"God knows how fast."

We stopped atop Mount Olympus. Sunlight pierced the cloud cover, seeming to ignite a portion of the distant Pacific. Moving slowly, a container ship plodded across the sea through the light back into gray. I see why Gimli likes it up here.

So I'm checking out a 9K trail run in Malibu. If my knees agree, I'll join Gimli on the course. Otherwise, I'll be support. I'm curious to see how he'll do in competition. I think Gimli will rock.
On the trail down, Gimli asked if I knew where he might buy a ten-pound weighted vest. Clearly he felt his torso could be working harder.

Race day - March 8.

Travels with Gimli

My friend Tony is built wide and low to the ground. He's similar to Gimli the Dwarf if Gimli were beardless, sported a a crew cut, and came from Oaxaco, Mexico. In any case, Tony was laid off from his warehouse job. I knew he regularly hiked Griffith Park. Since we're both actively unemployed, I suggested tagging along on his next scheduled hike. Tony was cool.

In my mind, I pictured wandering leisurely along fire roads, stopping to sip bottled water and admiring the view. Of course, in my mind, I'm regularly given fortune and praise for very little work. Nevertheless, Tony knows every deer path, water pipe, and run-off gully in America's largest urban park and he's not afraid to use them.

Last Tuesday, Tony walked quickly out of the parking lot, across a perfectly flat fire road, and up into the chaparral, moving like a big puma. I kept pace. We hiked upward on narrow, dirt paths, sprinkled with loose, slippery earth. All around were reminders of the 2007 fire that burned over 800 acres and threatened a Los Feliz neighborhood adjacent to the park.
A few blackened trees still stood among the fast-spreading greenery, split open and ready to topple at the slightest touch. Tony kept up a steady stream of conversation, even in parts of the trail where we were practically vertical. "Laid off gives me all this extra time. I'm getting more done around my apartment. I think I'll paint."
"Hey, that's good," I wheezed. By keeping responses short, I could sound in better shape than I was.

Tony blew past another fairly level fire road and continued on up. Biting on a stick to keep from panting too badly, I followed.

We passed an old water tank, gained elevation and peered down to a ridge on our right where black spots were gradually filling in green. Crows circled both sides of the ridge in fives and tens. Lots of loud crows. Maybe something large died, a human body - not an uncommon occurrence in Griffith Park.

A few more twists and turns and we were crossing a horse bridge. Hoof prints pock-marked the surrounding trails, signs that the horsey set liked riding the high country — almost as high as the Hollywood Sign, but not as high as a pop star.

Cresting another hill, Tony slowed. Suddenly, on a clear L.A. afternoon, we could see the Observatory, downtown Los Angeles, Century City, the Verdugo Hills, the ocean. Pretty cool. No wonder Tony likes it up here. Though off to the east, haze formed a Mordor-like smog wall. Still, I never got a decent view whenever family and friends were in town. Only haze and a few downtown skyscrapers poking up out of the gray.
(Photo courtesy of travelblog.viator.com/.../)

Our way back included trails both steep and slippery, where it didn't pay to look beyond your feet. I was winded and could feel hamstrings and glutes tell me tomorrow would be Sore Butt City. But a good hike overall and no knee pain. Tony appeared ready to hike the Rockies, but he had to go pick up his wife.

I may wait until I toughen up a bit before I tackle another Gimli hike.