What I’ve Learned Halfway Through the 52 Hike Challenge

Two weeks ago my boyfriend and I went on a walk on McMillan Mesa which overlooks much of Flagstaff and the surrounding area. A huge cloud loomed to the southeast. As the sun set and painted the sky with color, we realized that the cloud was in fact a wall of smoke. Small plumes were rising from an area that didn’t look all that far away. The contrast between beauty and destruction was striking. 

A few days later, we heard word that the entire Coconino National Forest would be closing indefinitely until sufficient rainfall had occurred to reduce wildfire risk. The fire we had seen was the Rafael Fire, only 13 miles away from Flagstaff and at that point zero percent contained. 

NEW YEARS RESOLUTION

Exactly half a year ago, I challenged myself to hike at least once every week of 2021. I was in the midst of a fun blend of pandemic fatigue, seasonal depression and plain-old depression. I knew that every time I got outside-either on a short walk or a long hike—I felt significantly better than before. Even though I knew this about myself, I wasn’t hiking as much as I wanted to. Some of this could have been attributed to the winter weather, and some was the trickiness of depression to spiral you ever-further into its sinkhole. 

As I was contemplating the new year, a year that everyone was desperately hoping would be better than the last, I decided to push myself to hike at least once a week. I was not alone in choosing this. The hashtag #52hikechallenge has almost 500K posts on Instagram. Recently I discovered there is an actual website for the 52 Hike Challenge where you can pay to sign up in return for a journal, some patches, and a finisher medal—if you’re into that.

Beyond the branding opportunities, it is simply making the choice to hike once every week of the year. So far, I’ve been successful at making sure I get out on some form of a hike at least once a week. There were a few weeks in the winter where I may have stretched my definition of hike to a very long walk on the trails near my house, but I think it still counts. 

CLOSURES

Now that the National Forest surrounding my mountain town is closed, I’m coming up against some roadblocks to my hiking challenge. The vast majority of trails near me, the ones that I would frequent every single week, are no longer open to the public. All but one of the state's national forests are closed—and for good reason. I don’t want to diminish the importance of these closures to the safety of the public and of our public land—I’m glad our government officials have prioritized this. But now I’m left wondering how lenient my definition of a weekly hike can be in the wake of these restrictions. Does a walk around the neighborhood count? Is there a mileage minimum? Isn’t the most important thing that I get outside to breathe fresh air and move my body?

Yesterday, we got a nice long rainstorm following a week of overcast skies and the occasional sprinkle. Each storm brings the hope that the drought will be lessened, but also the fear of lightning that brought most of the wildfires into being. 

This week, I counted being a spectator at a professional disc golf event as my weekly hike. I was outside and walking for most of the weekend, so I’m trying to not make myself feel too bad about not getting a “real hike” in. As for what I’ll count as a hike the remainder of the closures (which could extend all summer long), I’m not sure. Discipline can help in a challenge like this, but when forces outside of my control are preventing the follow-through, all I can do is my best. 

After all, I’m not doing this for anyone else, I’m doing it for me.