After a couple of weeks of fruitlessly trying to get my fatass up a 17% grade for about 2/3 of a mile, I finally did it. Sure my shirt was soaked in sweat, sweat dripping on my glasses, my lungs and legs aching. But I stood at the top and took a moment to bask in the achievement.
Byproduct of my accomplishment: you won’t hear from me about 17% again.
Now in a perfect world I could have connected a trail that would have taken me to the FAA radar towers at the top of the hill. But since Rolling Hills Estates cuts in on the trail and it being a gated city, it was a no go. Fucking cunts. (Although if I was feeling less pussy-ish I could have just trudged on. But I didn’t have a good feeling about doing that. So meh.)
Unlike Monday when many a shirtless sweaty guys were jogging along the Ocean Trails as I traipsed along, there was only one ornery old dude walking down the trail. I smiled, made eye contact and said hello as I usually do. He just walked past. I hope he has a heart attack.