Commitment: The Dark & Damp Journey to Yet Another Hike

The Drama Begins Before Dawn

So there I was — driving to yet another hike, on yet another dark o’clock morning, with yet another drizzle threatening to ruin my life (I mean my hike).

Questioning My Sanity

Somewhere between brushing my teeth and pouring coffee, I start diagnosing myself.

I’m basically conducting a full psychological evaluation in the bathroom mirror while lacing up my boots.

“Tell me about your childhood,” I whisper to my reflection, tightening the straps on my backpack.

Why do you do this?

Who hurt you?

Finding My (Questionable) Normal

There’s something about those early hours - the darkness, the drizzle, the half-cold coffee - that convinces me I’m not okay.

Why though? I’m literally driving toward the thing I love most while convincing myself I’m emotionally unstable for doing it.

Make that make sense.

But then, five minutes into the drive, I see them: walkers, cyclists, joggers - all out there in the same dreary weather, same unholy hour. A whole parade of damp optimism.

And that’s when it hits me. I’m not crazy. I’m not broken.

I’m passionate.

I’m committed.

I’m the kind of person who wakes up before sunrise and chases fog instead of sleep.

It slightly kills my validation a little though. I thought I was special for enduring the "suffering."

Turns out, there’s a whole club of us out there.

Why We Keep Doing It Anyway

There’s a weird kind of solidarity in all this shared insanity. We’re all chasing something - a view, a feeling, a step count, or in most cases, all three.

The cyclists nod like philosophers, the joggers look smugly alive, and I’m in my car rehearsing how “refreshing” this will all be once my socks are soaked through.

Somehow, that collective madness makes it okay.

If this many people are doing it, it must be normal - or at least, normal-adjacent.

The Realization (Until Next Time)

By the time I reach the trail, I’ve stopped psychoanalyzing myself. The drizzle becomes “atmospheric.” The early hour becomes “peaceful.” The discomfort becomes “character-building.”

I’ll hike, I’ll breathe, and I’ll forget all of this again — until the next dark, damp morning when I’ll once more question my sanity… all the way to the next revelation.