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She’s wearing a pair of dark gray running leggings, a purple tank top, and a pair of black-and-purple sneakers. Her head is topped with a black ball cap, and her long hair is pulled through the loop, creating a ponytail that cascades down her back.
Damn, the woman even looks good in workout clothes.
I park beside her car and hop out.
Shrugging on my backpack, I grab the one I packed for her from the backseat and carry it over to her.
“Hi,” she says as she stands there, shaking her hands rapidly.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting my blood pumping,” she answers.
“Okay.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
I lift the army-green bag. “This is your backpack. It’s approximately fifteen pounds, and it has everything you’ll need today.”
“Fifteen pounds? What’s in it?” she asks.
“It has a sleeping bag, an inflatable sleeping pad, a fleece blanket, an inflatable pillow, a pop-up tent, a water bottle with built-in filtration, a hygiene kit with biodegradable toilet paper, a power bank, and a flashlight.”
“Jeez, is there anything in yours?”
I chuckle. “Yes, mine weighs twenty pounds. It has everything yours does, plus a hand-crank radio, a pump, hand tools, folding mini shovel, two pots, two bowls, utensils, tinder and matches to start a fire, a compact burner, energy bars, granola, a first aid kit, a coffeepot with collapsible cups, a fishing pole, and a canteen so we have water for the hike up.”
“Oh, wow, you’re like a walking hotel room. That’s good,” she says.
“I have trekking poles too. I’ll be right back.”
I jog over to the truck and grab the metal walking sticks from the back.
“I don’t need those. I’ve never used poles when I hiked before,” she insists.
“Yeah, well, this hike is a little grueling, and I bet you’ve never hiked with fifteen extra pounds on your back.”
She shakes her head.
“These poles are meant to be used in tandem to stabilize you. They help distribute the weight of the pack evenly across your body and reduce the impact on your knees, especially on declines. The spring is a shock absorber, and you’ll be able to move faster downhill, using them. I’ll be using a pair too.”
“All right then,” she says.
“Come here, and I’ll adjust them to your height.”
She walks to me slowly.
“Hold your arms out by your sides.”
She does as I said. “Like this?”
I reach over and take her by her elbows and guide her arms up to a ninety-degree angle from her body. Her breath hitches at my touch.
“There you go,” I whisper, standing an inch from her a few beats longer than necessary before bending to a knee and adjusting the height for her to comfortably walk with the poles.
“Try that.”
I stand, and she takes the poles for a walk about the lot.
