Page 5 of Stalkers Anonymous

The trailhead is clearly marked, a wooden sign showing various routes and their difficulty levels. I pause to take a photo and send it to my work wife and best friend, Rachel.

Hailey: Exactly where I’ll be when you inevitably check my location and want to know why I’m in the middle of nowhere.

Her response comes quickly.

Rachel: Good to know. Have fun, don’t get lost. You might enjoy hiking, but I for one do not, and I’d rather not have to search the woods for you.

A second text comes a moment later.

Rachel: But I’d do it if I had to. Only for you.

I smile and tuck my phone away, ready to begin the steady ascent. My body settles into a comfortable pace almost immediately. The trailhead is wide and well maintained, winding through ponderosa pines and across occasional rocky outcroppings. Sunlight filters through the trees, dappling the path with shifting patterns of light and shadow.

The first mile passes quickly as I find my groove. I exchange brief nods or hellos with a few couples and small groups along the way—the unwritten etiquette of the trail.

“Morning.”

“Beautiful day.”

“Watch out for the rattlesnake around the next bend.”

The usual.

As the trail climbs higher, the terrain becomes more challenging—narrower paths, steeper inclines, larger rocks to navigate. My breathing deepens, and I welcome the burn in my calves as a light sheen of sweat forms on my skin despite the cool air.

This is exactly what I needed: physical exertion to calm the revolving door of my spinning thoughts.

In the ER, I’m always multitasking—tracking vital signs, anticipating complications, remembering details from five or more patient charts simultaneously. Out here, I can narrow my focus to just this step, this breath, this moment. It’s a different kind of alertness, more primal. Earthy. It’s somehow more…complete.

About two miles in, the trail opens to a clearing with a stunning view of the reservoir below, its surface glittering in the sunlight. I pause to take it in, sipping water and rolling my shoulders to release the tension I’ve been carrying all week. From this vantage point, the city looks so much grander.

“On your left,” a male voice calls, and I step aside as two mountain bikers navigate the narrow section of trail, nodding their thanks as they pass. Their presence is a reminder that while I might feel alone in my little bubble of peace, this is a shared space, populated with others seeking their own escape from reality.

I march onward, the trail growing more technical as it approaches Horsetooth Rock itself—a distinctive formation visible for miles around that resembles, with a lot of imagination and maybe a hallucinogen or two, a horse tooth. The path now requires my full attention, with loose stones and exposed roots creating countless tripping hazards. I make my way slowly but surely, finding secure footing with each step.

As the trail curves around a bend, I hear voices carrying clearly on the breeze—not the polite trail murmurs of fellow hikers. These voices are loud. Aggressively loud.

“Babe, hold the phone higher. Higher.”

“The wind’s wrecking my hair, can we just—”

“One more, one more. This angle is everything.”

I tilt my head up and almost trip on my own boot.

Three figures are perched on top of Horsetooth Rock. Not climbing it. Not roped to anything. Just casually standing on the very top of a fucking mountain in outfits more appropriate for a mimosa brunch. There’s a woman in a flowy white dress that’s flapping around her like a sail in a hurricane, a guy in skinny jeans and a leather jacket, and a third one in—I shit you not—a pair of brand-new white sneakers.

White. Sneakers. On a fucking mountain.

Leather Jacket Guy is striking some kind of pose near the edge, one foot dangerously close to open air. White Dress Chick is filming with her phone held out in front of her like an offering to the algorithm gods. The third one is shouting overly enthusiastic directions.

“Lean back more! More! That’s the shot, that’s the shot!”

I stop mid-trail, and I’m not the only one. A couple ahead of me has paused, too, the woman whispering something to her partner with the universal expression of “Are we about to watch this happen?”

“You’re a vibe right now, Jason!” White Dress Chick shrieks. “Yes! Yes! Hold it!”

Jason leans back more.