I never thought that at 8 a.m. on a Saturday, I’d be butt-scooting down a rock while avoiding crushing bugs with my hands.

When I received a text from my aunt and uncle Friday night asking if I wanted to join them on a hike as they prep for their trip to Italy, where they will hike the Dolomites, I thought, easy-peasy.

I’m an avid walker, and the trail was only 4.3 miles, which I could do in my sleep. 

I was dead wrong. 

My dog Percy and I pulled up to the parking lot at 7:10 a.m. ready to take on the day.  

This hike is where I learned my standard poodle was actually a mountain goat disguised as a dog.

My aunt and uncle arrived with backpacks, my uncle practicing with soup cans to add a little weight to his, and we crossed over the Fellsway ready to rock and roll (no pun intended).

Five minutes in, we went the wrong way, despite having a GPS, and had to turn around.

We were taking the “moderate path.” 

Moderate for people who hike. Not people who stroll through Breakheart, stopping often to look at the trees or a bird. 

I think the only one who didn’t fall during this hike was my uncle. (I’m not counting my Percy. Four legs is a significant advantage).

Folks, I can walk 3 miles in under an hour. Nothing incredible. Nothing impressive. But I think that’s a pretty respectable walking pace.

It took four hours. 

Rock after rock after rock.

We climbed through awkward trails, stubbing our toes on rocks, grabbing onto trees for support, and getting dirt caked under our nails.

Every time we reached what looked like the highest point, I would think “Finally.” 

And each time there was a new highest point.

I’d really like to highlight Percy’s performance during this hike, because, frankly, he put the rest of us to shame. He’s never done anything like this before, but he seemed to analyze every single step before making his move, carefully finding the perfect paw-hold before climbing to the next rock.

At one point I watched him pull himself onto a rock with just his front legs before scrambling over the top like he’d been hiking his whole life. 

Meanwhile, I was drenched in sweat and getting another bug in my eye.

So, to everyone who thinks standard poodles are just fluffy dogs that sit around looking pretty, I’d like to formally introduce you to Percy. 

He’s a beast.

Now, I know I’ve spent most of this time complaining. Sorry, Uncle Eugene. (He reads most of my stories.)

But there were plenty of positives too.

The views were beautiful. The air actually smelled clean.

And I learned that despite a few moments wishing I was in my car driving home, I can do things I didn’t think I was capable of. 

Every time we reached the top of another overlook, the disappointment of seeing another climb ahead disappeared for just a second as the sun peeked over the trees. Peace.

These moments of peace came in flashes. They came when two blue jays chased each other through the trees in front of us. When a chipmunk stuck its head out of a dead log and scampered to the next one. When, while we were sweat-drenched and sticky, a breeze whistled past, bringing a brief reprieve. 

Nature really proved to be worth the hassle. Something I wish more people agreed with. 

By the time we reached Shiner Pond, the morning light was filtering through the leaves, reflecting off the water, and making it look like the perfect end to a not-so-perfect adventure.

My phone almost died, we took a few wrong turns, and my shoulders still hurt a little bit. 

And I’d do it again.