Crock’s Thoughts

Now, before the mountain people warm up their trail mix sling shots and start chanting, “But the air is so crisp!” I’ve got nothing against beautiful mountains. Truly! They’re majestic, they’re inspiring, they’re the background of every motivational poster ever created. But for me? It’s a beach, all beach!

First, let’s talk about mountains… They’re gorgeous, sure, but if I’m hiking uphill, that means I voluntarily chose suffering. The temperature always feels 14 degrees cooler than advertised, which means one minute you’re fine and the next you’re dressed like you’re climbing Everest. Bears live up there—real bears—with teeth, muscles, and attitude. Plus, someone always insists that “fresh air and exercise” are perks, as if sweating while fighting gravity is my idea of a good time. Also, mountains don’t serve Mai Tais… just saying. 🤷 The closest thing you’ll get is melted snow in a bottle that tastes like pine needles. Yeah, I don’t think so.

Meanwhile, the beach is pure paradise. It’s the land of sun, sand, and questionable tan lines where no one judges you for wearing flip-flops with zero arch support or eating nachos at 0900. Taking a nap in public is practically a sport, and anything with rum in it counts as hydration. The beach motto might as well be, “Do less, smile more, and pass the sunscreen.” And believe me, I need sunscreen. I mean, my skin tone ranges from printer paper to emergency lobster in under 30 minutes. However, give me a week or two… and I’ll be toasty brown.

Plus, half the joy of the beach is channeling that full Jimmy Buffett vibe. I want to be wandering around like a confused tourist muttering, “Where’s my lost shaker of salt?” I want a cold drink, a warm breeze, and the delusional confidence that I could quit my job and open a beach-bar taco stand called “Tide & Tequila.” Try pulling off that kind of carefree dream on a mountain. “Welcome to my high-altitude chili hut” just doesn’t have the same charm. I mean, just saying… 🤷😂

The beach also brings elite beautiful views. There’s nothing like watching a sea plane glide across the water while you hold a beer and pretend you know something about making a better landing. Then there are bikinis… ooh… the bikinis… 😍 Don’t get me wrong, there are beautiful women in the mountains, too. But the closest thing to a bikini in the mountains is typically buried under long johns and parkas.

And sandy feet? Sure, they get in your shoes, your car, and your sheets, but that’s not a nuisance, it’s a badge of honor. Meanwhile, mountain life gives you hiking boots heavier than your soggy wet sweater; socks that smell like a rotten bag of beans; and squirrels silently judging your snack choices.

At the beach, the soundtrack is waves, gulls, laughter, and margarita blenders. The dress code is whatever doesn’t chafe. Every hour has the potential to be happy hour. And best of all, nobody asks you to “summit” anything. If I’m going to sweat, I’d rather do it while sitting in a chair staring at the ocean, and a few bikinis. Not clinging to a rock like I’m auditioning for a survival documentary.

So yes, mountains are beautiful, noble, and majestic, but they demand cardio. The beach offers sunshine, sea planes, bikinis, snacks, naps, and salty bliss. The winner? Beach! Because sandals beat hiking boot blisters; rum beats melted snow; and somewhere out there… my lost shaker of salt is calling. 😎