\o7I'M TOO FAT TO BE HIKING \f7 or camping.
I know this because -- aside from occasional rude comments yelled from a pickup truck window -- whenever I walk into an REI or other outdoors store, the only thing that will fit me in the women's department will be size 9 hiking boots.
When I hike into the mountains, the desert or the meandering paths of California's foothills, I can almost guarantee I will be the biggest person out there. I will trudge along the dusty trail in my $12.99 men's hiking shorts, $9.99 men's T-shirt and $185 women's hiking boots and watch the parade of hikers walk past me.
Most are slender, even wiry, and some will look askance at me, my chunky naked legs, and I may even get the surprised once-over. I sometimes take comfort in seeing backpackers with streamlined, muscular calves and pack straps clearly delineating their soft, round bellies.
You've probably seen me before. Maybe you're just like me: self-conscious, uncertain as you watch everyone stream past you on the trail. Maybe you're not overweight; maybe you feel you're too thin, too tall, too old, too weak.
But the same question burns in your mind: Can I do this?
And with every step you don't know if you will or what lies ahead. And the doubts persist. Did I work out enough? Will my old injury flare up? Will I get sick again? Will I be the last one?
I recently hiked out to a remote area of the Mojave Desert near Needles, Calif., and saw a woman who was about my size standing by the trail head. I was following a group of five going up to a cave with ancient pictographs, and I had a moment's hesitation about climbing the 1,000 feet to see it. Was it worth it?
"You heading up?" I asked the woman.
"Oh, no," she said. "I'm out of shape. But you should go."
I thought about staying with her and just letting everyone else tell me about it later, but some bothersome voice in my head kept telling me to get up there. Why else drive 2 1/2 hours on a seasonal road? Why be lazy now?
As I hiked up, I tried hard to forget about the afternoon sun beating down on me, the sweat plastering my hair to my forehead, the peach-colored rocks skinning my arms and legs as the trail grew more vertical and I climbed up into an outcropping.
I started getting winded at the first bend in the trail and began to feel defeated. I should have worked out more. I should have lost that 15 pounds. I should have brought more water.
