Hiking Without a Safety Net

Salt-Hag-Pepper

The Early Days: How It All Started

Back in the day, I used to hike a lot with my sons, Salt 'n Pepper, which is actually how my journey started.

Now, because no one (especially me) was entirely sure of my athletic capabilities, every time the trail required a hop, skip, or jump, one of them would automatically reach out a hand.

Not because I asked. Oh no. Because they assumed I couldn’t handle whatever “treacherous” obstacle lay ahead: a rock, a puddle, or a slightly uneven patch of sand.

And like a pampered toddler with an overprotective parent, I always took the hand.

“Awww, How Sweet!” (Yes… About That)

But, before you cue the violins and declare what wonderful, loving sons I raised, honestly, this was less motherly devotion and more strategic survival.

No one wants “tragically orphaned by an overconfident jump” in their family archives.

So yes, it was love… but also self-preservation disguised as chivalry.

The Great Independence Crisis

Eventually, the day came when I had to hike without them.

Terrifying.

Who would stop me from tumbling into a crevice the depth of a salad bowl?

Who would offer a steady hand while I heroically crossed a puddle?

I honestly wasn’t sure I could survive without my human training wheels.

Fast Forward

So recently, I went on a hike with Pepper. We hadn’t hiked a tough one together in a while, and every few minutes he’d ask, “Are you okay, Mom?” or extend his hand to help.

I refused. Okay, violently refused. (Picture me swatting away his hand like a feral cat who’s "got this.")

And somewhere between my hissing and his hovering, I realized something:

My sons had turned into my protectors - which is equal parts adorable and horrifying.

Because while they were busy catching me, I somehow forgot how to not need catching.

These days, though, I’ve learned a few things.

How to balance before I leap.

How to check which foot goes where before I climb, because apparently “winging it” stops being a legitimate hiking strategy at my age.

And how to handle sketchy descents with loose gravel and misplaced confidence.

Falling, Failing, and Finally Figuring It Out

And while in almost every one of my early hikes I fell at least once, I hardly fall now.

Apparently, fear of public embarrassment is an even better motivator than love or gravity.

Well either that, or when there’s no one left to catch you, you finally figure out how to stay on your feet.

Which, annoyingly, is also the secret to life.