Hiking the Blue Hills

Yesterday, we tackled the Skyline Trail in the Blue Hills Reservation, south of Boston. It's a nine-mile hike, with lots of rocky hills. LOTS. We're not talking gentle slopes of land here. We're talking this:

Source: Fastest Known Time

The 635-foot Great Blue Hill was the worst. It was awful. It just never ended. It was made even more terrible by the fact that we had thought the hill before it, at 510 feet, was the worst one. Nope. My quads were going, "What? No." My hamstrings were holding union meetings to coordinate a strike. Meanwhile, the bottoms of my feet felt like they were being continuously pummeled by bodybuilder groundhogs.

Fortunately, by that time we had just come from the reservation headquarters, so we'd had bathroom breaks and refilled water bottles. I had a 0.5 L collapsible water bottle, and let me tell ya, I wish I had a CamelBak. Y'know, the little backpacks that secretly hold a bajillion gallons of water and you just turn your head to grab the over-the-shoulder straw and suck in that sweet, sweet H2O.

What I'm trying to say is, the hike was awesome. I wuv hiking. Here's the one photo I took:



It took us over five hours to complete the hike. We saw deer about three-quarters of the way in. They were pretty! We trekked down to the Ski Area parking lot after we reached the Observation Tower (we followed the round red trail markings instead of the blue lines). Of course, there were no hugs as our group separated, because gross.

I had no ride (Fiancé was busy running a board game at the time), and got dropped off at the T. After those punishing hills, taking the stairs two at a time out of the station was a breeze. Then I plopped into the hot tub. The man came home and baked a stuffed chicken breast and we ate it and watched the tail end of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark and swooned at young Harrison Ford together.

PERFECT SUNDAY, YOU GUYS.