I’ve never wanted to climb a real mountain

I’ve been on mountains. Usually, I get to the top by driving, cog train (pikes Peak), and chair lift.

But I’ve never climbed a mountain. Hiked up some big hills? Sure. Mountains? No.

I am impressed with those who do, however, I have no interest in doing so myself.

Why do people climb mountains? I’m sure there are lots of reasons that I could find out if I wanted to. But I don’t.

The bit I struggle with is the deaths. A few people die climbing mountains each year. I’m sure the thrill of the risk is part of the draw for some. The idea of accomplishing something major is a draw for others.

I’m pretty boring along those lines. Doing something that brings me closer to death has never been a draw. And as for accomplishing something major, I stuck the less-dangerous tasks of raising cool kids and working at a job that keeps hundreds employed.

Now that I’m retired–and had a heart attack–I am even less risk-adverse. So its time to get back to my own mountain: finishing the development edits on my first novel.