Hiking outside of Quito

A few days ago I hiked up a mountain outside of Quito. I made it to about 4300 meters. I now have six-pack lungs.

I don't hike much. I once climbed an active volcano in boat shoes. I followed everyone's behind for five hours.

Like most professional climbers, I scaled the first part of the Ecuadorian mountain in a taxi and a tram before setting out on foot. I caught a draft behind a six-legged family. The boy was about two. The pace was surprisingly steady. The family stopped after some time. I continued on towards the summit. Eventually, I stopped and waited for my breath to catch up to me. I looked back that I hadn't gotten much separation from the family. I could still see the brand name of the crackers that they were eating.

I sat down. Two men walked up to me and asked if I was ok. One held out a bag of coca candy. I reached in and grabbed one piece of candy. The man said that I should take two.

I didn't make it to the top of the mountain. If I would have gotten there, then I would have codified all my anxieties and created a religion for the untethered. I'm ok with not making it to the top, because the child didn't get there either. The family headed down the mountain after eating the crackers. Vincerò!