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Like, literally, I’m phobic about it. If it weren’t for Ken, LL Bean catalogs, USAA advertisements, and the local Penny Saver would pile up in my box, making it hard for the mail carrier to shove more junk in.

As a child, I’d run to the mailbox, eager to c…

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We’d finished eating the pizza Ken had picked up at our favorite tavern and were playing cards when it happened. The puppy stuck his nose into Brenda’s purse, bit a twenty-dollar bill, and ran out the dog door into the backyard.

Ah, yes, the perfect way to make a good impression.

Thankfully, we retrieved the cash, and Brenda handled the incident with good humor, quickly cementing my affection for her.

Ken and I moved not long after that fun evening and have since seen little of his family, but this week we attended a reunion in Estes Park, Colorado. Although Ken and I have been married for four years, and a couple for more than twice that, I’m still the new kid on the block, worried about the impression I make on his family.

Not only am I eighteen years younger than Ken, but we’re both in our third marriages. None of his siblings (one brother and four sisters) have divorced, and all have been married for 30-plus years. I fear being like Cousin Oliver on The Brady Bunch, who joins the show in the final season and doesn’t quite fit in.

But his family is kind and welcoming. We exchange hugs. I feel especially comfortable with Brenda and Cliff, and I am happy when they join Ken and me for a hike in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Together, we trek the 4.9-mile Beaver Mountain Loop Trail. The men lead the way. They laugh and talk about fishing, politics, and the pros and cons of electric vehicles as we admire the distant mountains and watch for elk.

Brenda tells me about her children and grandchildren. She’s a chatterer, like Ken, which I appreciate because I’m often quiet and struggle to put my thoughts into words. When she falls silent, I try to encourage her with questions. I’m especially interested in learning about Ken’s parents, who passed away before I had the chance to meet them.

She shares a story about their father.

“I was on the basketball team in high school. He came to every game. Then, one game, this girl leaned on my back the whole time. Wouldn’t get off. The referee didn’t do anything. Finally, I pushed her to the ground.”

She then describes how she was benched. Their father screamed and yelled at the ref until he was kicked out.

“We told him it was best not to watch me play anymore,” she laughs.

“Which of you is most like your mother?” I ask, curious about the matriarch.

“I’m not sure. My mother was sweet, but strong.”

She goes on to describe how their mother not only raised her own six children but also took in her niece, a girl the same age as Brenda, while Ken’s uncle was going through a difficult time.

“They were such good parents,” she says. “Growing up, we were like The Brady Bunch, besides the whole blended family thing.”

Their parents married young and remained together until their father’s death.

She also describes how their father could be grumpy as he aged and the challenges of caring for their mother when she became ill.

We walk on and reach an area of downed, scarred trees. The remnants of a wildfire. Cliff stops, then walks back to us and offers Brenda a snack.

“What happened to my bromance?” Ken calls. Soon, Cliff catches back up to him.

After nearly three hours of walking past green juniper, sagebrush, and pine trees, we reach a breathtaking view of mountain peaks and conifers.

The way forward is steep. Ken and I had promised the whole hike would take only three hours, but we haven’t reached the turnaround point on the loop yet. We’d parked far from the trailhead, adding miles to our journey. We all wish we had brought more water, and we decide to turn around.

When we finally spot our rental car parked on the side of the road in the distance, we realize we can shorten our trek by cutting across a field of shrub grass. We hesitate. It’s a no-no to go off-trail, but Ken starts across, and we follow.

I trip over bitterbrush. Cliff takes Brenda’s hand as the hillside steepens, yet we reach our destination quickly.

Later, Ken explains to me his decision to cut the trail: “I was worried about Brenda. We’d gone so far, and she doesn’t complain.”

I kiss him for his sweetness.

That night, we play rummy with his oldest sister and her husband. I’ve never played before, but I win. His family hoots and hollers.

“You go, girl,” Brenda says, and smiles.

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It was the first night of Jane Pratt’s Pitch and Publish 4-week online seminar. Yes, THAT Jane Pratt - the editor of Sassy, Jane, xoJane, and currently Another Jane Pratt Thing (AJPT).

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“Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me. I’m going to go eat worms.”

I felt like stomping my feet and singing it on Tuesday night.

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I spotted it as Ken and I sat on our back deck, watching the sun begin to lower in the sky as we neared dinnertime.

“What is that?” I asked.

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Resistible, I thought. I’ll just learn about the adoption process, I told myself.

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I try to show up for others. I’ve acted as a beta reader for folks I barely know. I helped a friend create a Substack site based on what I’ve learned. I donate time and money to local wildlife and conservation-related activities. I take Pilates every Friday, whether or not I’m in the mood, because I want to support the instructor. But the truth is, most of the time, I don’t make a very good friend.

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Ken, my husband, had farted. It wasn’t a silent-but-deadly toot; no, it was loud and proud, and we were standing among a quiet group of fellow nature lovers in the woods who were speaking in hushed tones.

“Everyone heard,” I hissed.

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A few years ago, I gave up a successful career in the pharmaceutical industry due to burnout. I put in way too much time during the COVID-19 pandemic. I worked for Moderna, which developed the first vaccine, and spent endless hours at a desk, ensuring information was transferred to overstrained drug regulators.

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I finally mustered the courage to step on the bathroom scale and saw 144 displayed on the small electronic screen. Until this point, throughout my adult life, my weight had ranged between 118 and 126 pounds. At 5’4” and in my late forties, 144 is still considered a healthy weight, but it felt like a very big deal.

Worse, it wasn’t just my weight. At night, in bed, my lower back started to hurt. The ache would wake me at 2:00 a.m., then again at 3:00, 3:30, and 4:00. Trying to stretch out the discomfort, I’d roll onto my side and pull one leg toward my chest, leaving the other straight. When that didn’t work, I’d flip onto my back in corpse pose, then shift to the other side and try the fetal position. No matter how I arranged my torso and limbs, the discomfort persisted.

During the day, when my husband Ken and I went for our regular 3-mile walk, my back would twinge as soon as we hit the hillside half a mile from the house. By the time we returned, my back felt frozen stiff. I had to lower myself onto the living room floor and stretch slowly before I could even reach my sneakers.

Ken had suggested hiking poles before. In the fall of 2019, while planning our first ascent of Scotchman’s Peak—an eight-mile hike in Northern Idaho near the Montana border—he recommended them.

“No thanks,” I said, preferring to keep my hands free in case I slipped on the rocky talus fields. Besides, let’s face it, occasionally a young hottie will walk down a hill with a long wooden stick in hand that they found along the trail, or a lacquered staff purchased at a gift store inside a national park, but metal trekking poles are most commonly seen among more mature hikers. I didn’t want to consider myself a member of that lot yet.

By 2025, I had no choice if I wanted to keep hiking the trails I love. The strain on my back had become too much. Ken bought me a pair of Kelly-green hiking poles for Christmas. One sleepless night, as the familiar dull pain woke me, I realized the poles weren’t going to solve everything. I decided I should lose some weight, too. I went online and purchased monthly GLP-1 injections.

The next morning, I logged in and canceled the order. I’m terrified of needles, and it just seemed like a bad idea. My weight wasn’t terrible. Instead, I started Pilates three times a week. The stretches helped. Then I added running and weight training. I became more disciplined with movement than I had been in years and even got certified to teach group fitness classes.

I’m now down to 130 pounds. I feel strong. I can see my abs again, and my back no longer aches at night. But when I hike, I still use the poles. Studies show that trekking poles transform a hike into a full-body workout, engaging the arms and core while increasing calorie burn without raising perceived exertion (Saunders et al., 2008).

Knowing the benefits didn’t stop me from turning to Ken this morning as I reached for my poles and asking, “Do my hiking sticks make me look old?”

He rolled his eyes, smiled, and tapped me on the tush with one of his own poles. “You look beautiful.”

I grinned as we walked out of the driveway, accompanied by the rhythmic click-clack of our rubber tips digging into the dirt.

What I’ve learned:

• Trekking poles really do reduce back strain and make longer hikes more enjoyable.

• Strength training and consistent movement in your 40s and 50s can be transformative.

• Looking “old” is far better than not getting out on the trails at all.

Have you ever resisted a piece of hiking gear or a healthy habit, only to discover it made all the difference? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

Saunders MJ, Hipp GR, Wenos DL, Deaton ML. Trekking poles increase physiological responses to hiking without increased perceived exertion. J Strength Cond Res. 2008 Sep;22(5):1468-74. doi: 10.1519/JSC.0b013e31817bd4e8. PMID: 18714242.

It’s the unfiltered journal of a woman stepping into her best decade—one foot in the wilderness, the other firmly planted in everyday life.

What you’ll find here:

• Deeper stories from the trail and from home (the behind-the-scenes stories, the messy real-life moments, the unexpected lessons, the quiet victories, the fears I face at 50, and the joys I discover along the way).

• “Off the Trail” Chats—Threads about life, nature, aging, and why we stay “on the trail.” Paid subscribers can also initiate new Chat Threads.

• Bonus Trail Stories: Read about hikes around Yellowstone in June and in Colorado in September.

This section is designed to make paid subscribers feel like true co-adventurers rather than just readers. It’s intimate, interactive, and supportive—a community of people cheering each other on as we all move through this season of life.

If the main feed is the view from the mountaintop, Off the Trail is the campfire conversation afterward—honest, warm, and full of real connection.

Remember, this is a year-long journey. After the 50 hikes, we’ll transition to a lighter, free-focused publication (or new chapter) with options for continued support.

Welcome to the inner circle. I’m so glad you’re here.