Moving to a new city is weird. You spend the first two weeks living out of cardboard boxes, eating takeout on the floor because you haven't bought a table yet. I moved here for the job, but mostly for the mountains visible from my office window. The problem? I had nobody to climb them with.
Im not great at going to bars alone. I tried it once last Tuesday. I sat there with a lukewarm beer, watching a group of friends laugh at a joke I didn't hear, and realized I felt more isolated there than I did in my empty apartment. I missed the rhythm of the trail. The sound of gravel crunching under boots. The quiet understanding you share with someone when the incline gets steep and you both just focus on breathing.
My weekends started looking pretty bleak. Just me, Netflix, and a growing pile of hiking gear gathering dust in the corner. I wanted to meet locals, but specifically the kind of locals who wake up at 5 AM on a Saturday to catch a sunrise, not the ones stumbling home at that hour.
I decided to stop waiting for a random encounter at the grocery store. I hopped online. I wasn't looking for anything flashy, just a genuine connection with someone who understood that "outdoorsy" isn't just a fashion statement. Thats when I stumbled onto loveforheart.com. It felt differentslower, maybe. Less about swiping through faces at light speed and more about reading what people actually had to say.
Thats where I saw Mayas profile. No filters, no group shots where you have to guess who she is. Just a photo of her looking exhausted but happy at a summit Id been dying to visit, holding a beat-up trekking pole. Her bio didn't mention wine or tacos; it talked about the specific type of wool socks she prefers for winter hikes. I messaged her immediately.
Our first meet-up wasn't a candlelit dinner. It was a trailhead parking lot at dawn. I was nervous. I almost drove past the entrance because I was worrying about whether my backpack looked too old. When I parked, I realized Id forgotten my extra water bottle. Classic me.
Maya was already there, double-checking her laces. We didn't hug; we just nodded and started walking. The first mile was awkward. I tried to make a joke about the humidity, and it fell flat. But as the trail got steeper, the awkwardness evaporated. You can't pretend to be cool when you're sweating and gasping for air.
We found a flow. We didn't need to fill the silence with chatter. We just walked. At the top, we sat on a jagged rock, eating squashed sandwiches. She pointed out a ridge in the distance she wanted to tackle next month. I looked at hermessy hair, dirt on her shin, completely at easeand felt a deep sense of relief. It wasn't about fireworks. It was just easy.
Driving home, my legs ached in that good, familiar way. Im not sure where this is going, and thats fine. Im just glad I finally have a reason to wake up early on Saturdays again.
