Last week over cocktails a few friends and I decided to go hike Mt. Whitney this weekend. While none of us had actually actively trained for a day hike of that magnitude, a friend had a few permits, and we figured, why not? We cleared our calendars, booked a hotel, and in my case, tried to remember where the hiking poles were stored.
Cue to last night. While packing up my gear I managed to walk, barefoot, smack into the weightlifting bench, smashing my previously broken pinky toe. It hurt. A lot. And then it turned a nifty shade of black and blue.
This isn’t the first time I’ve managed to injure this toe before a hiking trip, so I’m not sure if it’s karma or some deep seated issues I have with hiking in the Sierra. But Mt. Whitney was decidedly more of a commitment than the last time round, even if it was much more spontaneous.
Predictably, I’m not driving down to Lone Pine today. Instead I’m icing my foot and contemplating whether I can put on my bike shoes.