Bold tracks and Bagpacks

 All right, all right — let’s reconcile this past weekend before it even ends, because it truly deserves a proper wrap-up. It was one of those weekends — unplanned, unexpectedly heartwarming, low-key chaotic... and weirdly fulfilling. Honestly, it felt like a hike, just without the actual trail. First, let me say this: I used to think people who didn’t spend their weekends hiking just… laid in bed. You know, doing a lot of nothing, or worse, doing everything indoors. Forgive me. I get it now. You’re out here moving mountains too — just not the rocky, muddy kind. I stand corrected. “Life’s most meaningful hikes might not even involve a mountain.” So, the weekend started on a high note. Saturday morning had me lacing up for the TESPOK Autism Marathon at Tatu City. If you’ve never run among strangers all united by a single, beautiful cause — I highly recommend it. It’s a vibe. There’s something so grounding about shared purpose. You don't need to know names to feel the unity. It re...

I am very absent right now. Like—mentally gone. No recollection of the past few minutes in my own mind. My current mantra is just: Calm down, the day will soon be over. The weekend is your gift to reset, refocus, and restart. But let’s not pretend—I am deep in limbo. The kind of mental limbo that makes you stare at the wall wondering if this is how yogurt feels before it expires. I suspect karma has launched a petty, personalized attack on me—and it's all because I failed spectacularly on my morning routine. I made a verbatim promise to the new gym instructor (yes, one of those ones who sees into your soul like a Catholic priest) that I’d show up for leg day. Morning came, and what did I do? Woke up an hour after my alarm… then stayed in bed for 40 more minutes, thinking about a whole lot of absolutely nothing . Just vibes and guilt. Now, I’m dragging my half-spirit through the rest of the day, relying on distractions to carry me. And for once, I am deeply grateful for a Frid...

The Call of the Wild It started with an itch—a restless yearning deep in my bones. I had not been exposed to the trails until 2019 when my friend invited us to test her new ride on Mt. Longonot, an experience that nearly took my toes. I was sure I was never going back to those damned trails. Fast forward, by the time I heard the call for the Mt. Kenya summit attempt, I had already summited more than 12 mountains and hills. Each time, I had sworn never to do it again—but always went back, especially to those that exerted the most pain in the core of my bones. In December 2024, the city, with its honking cars and overpriced coffee, had lost its charm. I needed a change, a thrill, a challenge that would remind me I was alive. And so, I found myself standing at the base of Mt. Kenya, the great giant that had whispered to my soul for years. Packing Regrets and Questionable Life Choices Packing for the trek was an adventure of its own. Did I need five pairs of socks? Probably. Would an ...