Grind on Black Diamond

Black Diamond doesn't whisper warnings-it screams them. Your first step past the trailhead and you're already regretting the granola bar you thought counted as breakfast. 100 switchbacks later, and your calves file for divorce from gravity, and that's just mile two.

Midway, clouds swallow the sky and suddenly you're hiking through soup-you can't tell if it's sweat or rain stinging your eyes. Add in the altitude trying to fist bump your brain, and every rock you step on feels rigged with a grudge. But that's the point: no shortcuts, no mercy, just you versus a mountain with attitude.

The finish line hits like a cold beer after church. The sunset paints the peaks gold, your legs wobble like jelly, but damn if that view didn't earn the ache. Black Diamond isn't for quitters; it's for people who collect scars as souveneirs. Go alone or drag your friends with, they'll thank you after bitching at you the whole way.