I’m an accomplished runner, and I’ve been wanting to try climbing at a facility near my apartment. I have no experience, but I’ve been watching videos online, and I think it’s something I would really like.

I’m used to running, which is a relatively private activity. Most of the time, nobody’s watching me. If they are, it’s because I’m in a race and performing at a fairly high level.

When I think about going to the gym, I get a pit in my stomach at the thought of people watching me be bad at climbing. I know everyone has to start somewhere, but I don’t want to slip and fall in front of other people. Or worse, I might get stuck, and be trapped up there while people watch me.

It seems like being athletic-looking makes it worse, because people will expect me to do well. How do I get over my embarrassment at trying something new?

For a while in college, I got into running. I was slow as heck, but I enjoyed it—which surprised me, since I’d always hated gym class. I headed out for an hour most mornings. For the first few weeks, I just walked, watching the sunrise through the trees. Then I tried jogging, starting with small goals: or two, then walkingĚýuntil I caught my breath. Eventually I was able to run the whole time, even on huge hills. I was in the best shape of my life.Ěý

One day, I went on a date with a guy who was, like, a real runner. He was a college athlete, and he played sports in high school before that. He was fast and wiry. He made running look easy in a way that it had never, ever been for me.

We hit it off—at least, until the topic of a local 5K race came up. I mentioned that I might enter. I felt proud, saying it casually like that. I could run now! I was the kind of person who might enter a race on a whim!

He said that more people should enter. “Honestly,” he said, “if anyone out there can’t run three miles in a row, that’s pretty pathetic. Right?”

I froze. “Right,” I said. “Totally.” I wanted to disappear.

I was proud of my running, but I didn’t look down on the non-runner I was before. She had other priorities. She’d been doing just fine.

Still, I took the guy’s words at face value. He thought anyone who couldn’t run three miles was pathetic. I hadn’t been able to run three miles until recently—and it took me a lot of effort to get there. Therefore, if this guy really knew me, he would think I was pathetic.

I avoided him after that, so he’d never learn the truth.

Embarrassment and self-consciousness often stem from the idea that other people will think the same bad things that we already think—o°ů fear—about ourselves. I was 20 years old, and though I worked hard to accept myself, I struggled with a fear that’s so common in young women: that there was something wrong or undesirable about my body, my shape, my looks. The idea that this guy saw something pathetic about my body—even if he didn’t realize it—cut deep.

But looking back, I think his statement may have been an attempt to cover up his own lack of confidence, too. Did he feel pressure to make running look easy? Was he afraid of losing fitness, and thus his identity as an athlete? Was he trying to impress me, or test me? Was there some part of him that hoped I would say I disagreed?

How Trying a New Sport Can Help You Gain Confidence

If you’re afraid that people may see you as a beginner, then your primary fear isn’t about other people. It’s about yourself. It’s about what being a beginner might mean about you. You’re not afraid that other people will be wrong about you. You’re afraid that they might see the truth.

I don’t say this to diminish your accomplishments in any way. I have no doubt about your athletic ability, your talent, and your hard work. I just wish that you could feel as certain about those things as I do.

Building confidence is an ongoing process; there’s no easy fix. But in this case, I think that climbing may help you in more ways than one. It might be fun, yes—and even more importantly, it could help you realize that being bad at something doesn’t make you worth less. Your athleticism doesn’t disappear just because you lose your grip on a handhold. And your identity as an athlete doesn’t dissolve if you try a new and challenging sport. It might even get stronger.

If you’re still nervous, try going to the gym a few times and just observing. It’s great that you’ve been watching climbing videos, but the people you see on social media probably have years of experience. At the gym, climbers will have different body types and skill levels. They’ll slip. They’ll laugh. They’ll pick wedgies. Being there in person will make climbers seem less like icons and more like people. And once you see them as people, it’ll be easier to picture yourself as one of them.

writes our Tough Love column. The top sports on her to-try list are long-distance paddling, kite skiing, and curling.

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Look, when most of us think of nature, we imagine hiking on a wooded trail rather than, say, eating grapes on the porch. It doesn’t matter that nature is everywhere, from the stars to our very bodies, if we can’t feel it. But connecting with nature, in the popular imagination, often means (relative) isolation: trekking through some gorgeous landscape where we have the small but interesting chance of being eaten by something with sharp teeth. A man summits a mountain. A woman backpacks alone. Somebody invents a whole new way to be first to the North Pole.

These are, of course, great adventures. But they’re also limited in their own ways. When we conflate nature with a certain kind of photogenic wilderness, we circumscribe the natural world—which is, after all, the whole damn universe—into something most people can rarely access. Which is all to say that if you happen to live in a city instead of, say, on a private island, nature is still yours—to connect with, to explore—and there are plenty of adventures to be had. They just might look a little different from what you’ve learned to expect.

Find “Your” Place

Annie Dillard wrote her Pulitzer-prize winning nature book —which, forgive me, —not in some vast wilderness but in the suburbs of Roanoke, Virginia, though you would never know it from the breadth of insight, science, and mind-blowing insect statistics that she included. Instead, she simply found a small natural place and returned to it again and again, watching how the environment changed over days and seasons, noticing everything she could. You can do the same—at the edge of a pond, a bench in the park where squirrels always hang out, or in the corner of a community garden. The point is to have a place you know well, so that you can observe its changes over time: plants blooming and dying, cocoons opening, first buds coming back in spring. Build a ritual of it; stop by once a week with coffee, and sit there (without your phone) until you’ve finished your cup.

Volunteer

Most cities in the U.S. have nature and environmental centers, like Houston’s or Philadelphia’s . These community spaces offer guided walks, kids’ and adult education,and other chances to get outdoors–and if you want to get more involved, they often rely on volunteers to maintain trails, restore habitat, or even care for rehabilitated wildlife. Your nearest nature center may also be able to keep you posted about communal work days, when people come together to plant trees, remove invasive plants, or clean up trash in parks and arboretums. (This is a great way for kids to practice taking care of their environment!)

If you don’t live near a nature center, you can still volunteer for citizen science efforts, which rely on people around the country to collect data on the plants and animals they encounter. Check out Cornell’s, which (for $18) will send you identification guides for common backyard birds; the sightings you report back are used to estimate population counts continent-wide. The Chicago Botanic Garden’s app relies on volunteers to identify plants and report observations about their life cycles in order to monitor the effects of climate change. And another option, the app, helps users identify the plants and animals they find, keep track of their sightings, and contribute the data to studies on biodiversity.

Go Big

We tend to relate to the parts of nature that feel closest to us—trees, mammals, and so on—but changing your sense of scale can open up a ton of options, especially if you like science. Read about the geology of your state, and you’ll notice how that boulder by the highway was left by glaciers tens of thousands of years ago. Get nerdy about the weather by downloading ($10), a meteorology app, and learn how to use it by watching storms, wind, and precipitation roll over your screen. (This is also a great party trick because you can predict, almost to the minute, when it’s going to start raining and where.) For a more tangible way to engage with the weather, bundle up and take a long, meandering walk on a December night, when the cold has driven everyone else indoors; some of my favorite city walks have been late at night on streets covered with fresh snow. And of course, cities that are big enough may have natural history museums, science exhibits, planetariums, aquariums—all ways to get grounded in the history and wonders of the place where you live.

Try New Ways to Move

Part of the fun of the outdoors is the chance to be active in interesting ways—through backpacking, canoeing, skiing, and so on. But you don’t need wilderness to find new ways to move. If you normally walk, take a bike ride. If you normally bike, try rollerblades, or go ice-skating in the heat of July. Go to an open night at a climbing gym, take a yoga class in the park, or look up hiking groups with carpool options if you don’t have a car. (A good way to find classes and meet-ups is by checking the bulletin board of your nearest outdoor store.) If something’s slightly outside your comfort zone, that’s a good sign; surprise yourself.

Build Skills (or Things) That Translate

You can’t go kayaking out your front door—but you might be able to take a kayak-rolling class in your city pool, which means that if you ever do head out on a river, you’ll be far more prepared. Can’t go camping until next summer? You can start walking long distances—and planning your day hikes—now. If you play guitar, learn some new songs for around the campfire. If you’re crafty, from a hiking skirt to an ultra-light backpack. Or for a little more guidance, buy a kit with everything you need to make a custom knife, ,,, or snowshoes. To be clear, this isn’t about spending all your time longing for some distant trip in the future; it’s about using a goal to add some structure and fun to the hobbies you already love. You might even pick up some new ones along the way.

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In my early twenties I was convinced that I’d never be lonely if I could make other people love the things I love, which is why I became a nature guide (and also a writer). Though I no longer believe this to be particularly true—I’ve moved on to other fallacies—I still consider it an incredible privilege when people trust me enough to lead them in something new outdoors. It’s also a role that comes with responsibility: how you introduce people to the outdoors plays a huge part in whether they feel comfortable, welcome, and like they belong. So let’s say your friend mentions that they’d like to try hiking—o°ů camping, or kayaking, or any number of outdoorsy things that can be daunting to newbies—and asks if you’ll bring them along. Hooray! How do you make sure the experience is positive? Here are some tips for helping friends or loved ones (of all ages) feel like this whole outdoors thing might be for them, too.

Over-Anticipate Physical Needs

Before you go, let your friend(s) know what to wear and why: “I’d bring long pants because of bugs, and we should wear hats and long-sleeve shirts.” If they don’t have the right equipment or clothing, lend them some or let them know where to get it. Pack extra sunscreen, water, food, and bug repellent, plus anything else they might forget. And if there’s a handy place to use the bathroom—o°ů you’re about to go somewhere without a bathroom—let them know ahead of time. A lot of people can be shy about stating their needs (especially bathroom-related needs), so they may be more comfortable speaking up or asking questions if you introduce the topic first.

Put Aside Your Own Expectations

Every trip should be tailored to the level of the person with the least experience (or the most limitations).ĚýThat means asking what they’re up for, checking in throughout the day, and being open to changing plans. If there’s a cool waterfall up the trail that you’ve been dying to see, but your friend is tired, it’s time to turn around. If you wanted to go swimming in a lake but they’re psyched about watching herons from the shore, pull out your binoculars and join them, at least for a while. Odds are that the day won’t be quite like you expected, but with the right attitude, that’s an upside all around. Your friend had a blast, and felt respected, and you got to experience a place or activity you love through fresh eyes.

Clear the Plan Ahead of Time

Of course, as much as you might want to be flexible, many outdoor trips require some level of commitment. If you go backpacking, for instance, and someone decides they hate it, they can’t just snap their fingers and be done. In these cases, the most important thing is to communicate ahead of time, explaining the whole situation, so that people can choose whether or not to participate. For instance: “Hey, if you come on this canoe trip, we’re going to be gone about six hours, and someone’s picking us up so we can’t really head back early. We’ll be in the sun the whole time, so we need to stay hydrated, and there won’t be bathrooms. Does that sound like something you want to do, or would you rather start with something shorter?” Someone could still get tired or nervous partway through—it happens to the best of us—but at least they’ll have made their own decision.

Give Them a Role

If someone’s a total newbie, then they’re already learning a ton just by being out there. But if your friend has some experience, or wants a bit more responsibility, you can give them a designated task that will be theirs throughout the trip. For instance, they might be in charge of navigating, cooking, or finding water. As they gain confidence and experience, they’ll be ready to take on more and more.

Distinguish Between Encouragement and Pressure

This one can seem tricky, because there are a lot of situations outdoors when people really appreciate encouragement—and there are also situations when it’s extremely annoying (or worse) to keep “encouraging” someone to do something they don’t want to do.

Unless you’re specifically averting an emergency, never put someone’s body in a situation they don’t want to be in. For instance, if you’re steering a boat, and they say “Don’t take us over there,” it’s super messed up to bring the boat (and their body) to the place they don’t want to go. If they’re riding your snowmobile, and ask you to please drive slowly, there is no world in which it’s funny to accelerate. If they’ve been standing at the edge of a cliff for an hour, trying to get up the nerve to jump into a river, do not give them a gentle push. Maybe you think that they’ll actually love the experience, and you’re trying to show them that. Maybe you think that you’re helping them. It doesn’t matter. Period. Don’t do it.

If you believe your friend will genuinely enjoy something they’re unsure about, just tell them. “I think if we take the boat over to those waves, you’ll have fun, and it’s very safe. You’re wearing a life jacket, and even if you fall out, the water is shallow enough to stand in. Do you want to give it a try?” Make the case, and provide the information. If they say no, respect their decision—cheerfully. They’re already pushing their comfort zone by coming out with you, and it’s vital to be a good steward of that trust.

If you’re ever in doubt about the line between encouragement and pressure, you can ask. “In all seriousness, do you want me to encourage you to [cliff jump/touch a bug/drive a dogsled]?” A nervous friend might really appreciate your cheerleading—as long as the choice is theirs.

Take Photos

It’s a not-so-secret among guides that they get better tips when they take lots of pictures for their guests. The reason is simple: everyone loves looking back on their adventure. But people can’t necessarily take great photos of themselves (or may feel awkward asking for them). Stay a few steps ahead by taking plenty of action shots, and stopping often at photo ops along the way.

End on a Good Note

Fatigue can have a steep drop-off, meaning that someone can be having a great time, and then they get tired quickly, and continuing to do the activity at that point begins to feel like a chore or worse. So try to end on a good note, and if people are having fun, resist the urge to extend the trip for longer. Remember that even if the excursion felt simple to you, it’s a big deal to them—so send over the photos you took, and celebrate their accomplishment. And let them know that if they want to go out again, you’re there.

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In my high school classroom in Norway, the country where I first spent serious time outdoors, I sat beneath a poster of Fjellvettreglene, the nine rules that serve as national guidelines for the backcountry. A decade and a half later, the only rule I remember offhand is the one I always broke. Number seven: don’t go alone. Even at the time it seemed absurd to me, akin to telling all adults to go to bed at 9 P.M. or to avoid alcohol completely. Outdoorspeople—responsible outdoorspeople—go alone all the time. Being alone in nature is uniquely peaceful; one might enjoy it, dare I say,Ěýeven more than being outdoors with your friends. If you like solitude at all, there are few things more pleasant than going at exactly your own pace, in whichever direction calls you—or waking at dawn, surrounded by shuffling, swaying living things, and being the only human among them.

Still, there’s a lingering idea that it’s reckless to go out in nature by yourself. I’ll tell you: it is not reckless, at least not necessarily. It’s ancient, and it feels ancient, which is a balm a lot of us could use right now. Of course, nature isn’t a competition or a badge of toughness: you are not a greater outdoorsperson if you venture alone, nor are you lesser if you stay with a group. But I was pleased to see that in 2016, Fjellvettreglene were revised, replacing “don’t go alone” with more general rules about pathfinding and seeking shelter. Even for beginners, heading out solo—within your skill level—might be the most rewarding outdoors thing you do.

Why Go Solo?

There are practical reasons to get outdoors alone: maybe you just moved somewhere new, or your friends aren’t into the stuff you want to try. But it’s also a great first choice, not justĚýa contingency plan. Nobody’s going to grok what you’re looking for in the outdoors, and the best way to find it, better than you. When you’re alone, you can set your own speed and goals. Or you can focus more on being than going, plant your butt on a rock, and watch shadows slide all afternoon. Odds are, you’ll notice far more than you would in a group.

What Activity Should I Start With?

There are always the basics: hiking and camping. But my go-to for solo time is even simpler. Locate some nature near where you live, bring a bag with supplies (water, snacks, a notebook, an extra sweater) and head there for an hour to just explore. Wander around, getting a feel for the place, the trees and flowers, the lay of the land. When you notice something interesting—an interpretive sign, a cool beetle, a grove where the light hits just so—check it out. If you have fun, and as you get more confident, you can stay for longer periods of time or venture deeper into the woods.

If you want to plan a bigger adventure, try this: close your eyes and imagine your dream outdoor experience. It doesn’t have to be realistic, and you don’t have to be capable of it. Pretend that you’re the most competent version of yourself, and time, money, and skills don’t matter. What would you want to do?

Maybe you thought of scuba diving, backpacking, sailing to Antarctica, or going on a silent meditation retreat. Whatever it is, break that activity into parts. If you thought of sailing to Antarctica, for instance, the parts might be boat travel, cold weather, and the feeling of exploration. Is there anything you can try that fits into one or more of those categories? You might like snowshoeing or taking a canoe trip. Or you could drive somewhere you’ve never been and challenge yourself to discover three new things by the end of the day.

What About Safety?

When we talk about safety outdoors, we’re usually referring to two things: the risks inherent to nature (snakes, sunburn, getting lost), which are aggravated by isolation, and the risk of encountering shitty humans who take advantage of that isolation. Both of these can be greater when you’re alone—although, ironically, they’re often at inverse levels. If you’re in the Alaskan wilderness, it’s very unlikely that people will mess with you, but it’s also unlikely they’ll find you if you break your leg. If you’re in an urban park, you probably won’t get (irretrievably) lost or face bears, but you’ll encounter more people along the way.

Which is to say: learn your environment and act accordingly. (If you’re new to nature, and don’t have access to a guide or experienced friend, you can learn by degrees: start with very short trips and work your way up gradually.) Unless you’d be comfortable sleeping outside in an emergency, stick to marked trails or paths you already know. Keep track of your energy level and water supply. Always tell someone where you’re going and when you’ll be back. Realistically, as you spend more time outdoors, you’ll have a sense of which precautions you can relax, but as a beginner it’s best to err toward caution.

Safety concerns aren’t just particular to your environment; they’re also particular to you. As a white cis woman, my concerns are different from those of my husband, a white trans man (I’d be hesitant to approach a group of drunk men around a campfire; he’d be concerned about receiving help at a medical facility he’s unfamiliar with). Race, class, gender, ability, sexuality, and the ways that we are perceived in public all shape people’s risks outdoors, and you might want to connect with others who have similar experiences. Groups like , , and offer resources, classes, and meetups—and even if you can’t meet in person, you can find community and support online.

Most importantly: if you’re out alone, and you get a weird feeling, leave. Trust your gut. You can always come back another day.

Go Solo Around Other People

Your solo adventure is not contingent on other people being gone; the whole point is that it’s not contingent on other people at all. You might find that you’re most comfortable hiking “alone” on a busy trail with passersby in constant sight. Or you might like relaxing by a creek and watching the water as families picnic nearby. Bonus: if you see people doing something that looks fun—fishing, slacklining, bird-watching—you can put it on your list to try in the future.

Set an Intention

This one’s optional, and introspective, but I’d encourage you to give it a go. Your intention could be practical—getting a good workout, developing a skill—o°ů it could be psychological. Is there a problem you’re working on? A perspective you’re trying to keep in mind? You might want to focus on how your body feels, rather than how it looks. You could practice noticing all the plants and creatures around you. (If you want to develop your curiosity outdoors, I’d highly recommend reading Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.) Maybe you need to get away from certain worries, the things that fill your mind in everyday life. When you find yourself dwelling on them, gently remind yourself to set them aside. You’re not going to fix everything while you’re sitting on a rock in the woods. In fact, you can’t. That’s part of the beauty.

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Welcome toĚýTough Love. We’re answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver isĚýBlair Braverman, dogsled racer and author ofĚý. Have a question of your own? Write to us atĚýtoughlove@outsideim.com.

I am the only daughter of an anxious mom, and my solo travel has always terrified her deeply. After several years of dealing with her heightened anxiety, she’s now pretty used to my extensive road trips. But I want to start adventuring more in nature. I’m excited to take my first solo backpacking trip, for example—and I feel like telling her about my plans will put us back at square one. I know I’m not responsible for her anxieties, but I feel like I have to process them for myself, too: after so many years living a life shaped by a household culture of unmitigated fear—especially the fear that the worst fate possible will come for me as soon as I dare to experience any freedom that my mother has deprived herself of—I want to teach myself to be guided by common sense, rather than superstition. How can I teach myself to be brave, and stop dwelling on guilt and anxiety?

It sounds like you’ve come to a tremendous amount of clarity and hard-earned wisdom—both about your mother and yourself. And as a person who’s often struggled with fear, I’ll admit that I relate to both of you. Nature is dangerous in certain ways, just like every part of life can be (see: driving, falling in love), so there’s no way to simultaneously go out in wilderness and avoid risk completely. The trick will be to find the balance between risk and freedom that best serves you, the place where you feel both challenged and secure, and I’m confident that with time you can.

Fear is a form of evaluation. You gauge a situation, it pings as a risk, and that response—a faster heartbeat, a rush of adrenaline—tells you to respond accordingly. To your mother, it seems, it’s also a way to protect you: by anticipating the worst possible scenarios, she may be able to avert them. But ultimately, safety is less about feelings than practices, and it’s entirely possible to stay relatively safe without the suffering that anxiety represents. (Of course, just because it’s theoretically possible doesn’t mean that it’s possible for every person, depending on brain chemistry, and other factors) and a therapist may be able to help your mom, and you, to get there. But I’m guessing from your letter that you’re well-versed in at least some of the language a therapist might apply from your situation, and are probably aware of that option if you haven’t taken advantage of it already.)

As you venture further outdoors, a key step in unlearning your mother’s fear will be recognizing that just because something’s a risk doesn’t mean you have to be afraid of it; it just means you have to account for it. For instance, salmonella is dangerous, but that doesn’t mean we have to be terrified each time we cook chicken; we just have to wash our hands. Rattlesnakes are dangerous, but most people in rattlesnake country don’t live their days in fear. They should, however, know not to stick their hands under random rocks. In fact, you probably encounter equal or greater risks in your everyday life than most people do in the backcountry. It’s just that your actions around those risks have become habits, rather than decisions. If you work on learning and building those habits around the outdoors, eventually solo backpacking can feel as comfortable as crossing the street.

I think two things can help you get there. One: don’t tell your mother. If you decide to go on a weeks-long backpacking trip, and will be away from phone reception, then certainly she might have to know; but in general, abstracting your activities (“I’ve been enjoying nature lately” rather than “I’m climbing a mountain tomorrow”) is a courtesy, not a betrayal. It’s not deception to refrain from triggering someone else’s anxiety. Your greatest duty to your mother, as it were, is to take care of yourself—and it sounds like you’re already doing a wonderful job.

Two: find good teachers. When you enter a situation with unfamiliar dangers, it can be very hard to gauge whether you’re taking proper precautions. But someone who knows nature, or who excels at the kind of activities you’re interested in, will be able to teach you things very quickly that might take a lot of time to figure out yourself. Your teachers could be hired guides or naturalists, experienced friends, or even authors (for backpacking, I love the slightly-dated-but-still-excellent Ěýby Colin Fletcher)—but the point is that, when you’re a beginner, you don’t need to evaluate danger so much as you need to trust and adhere to the practices of knowledgeable people who have already evaluated it for you. Safety practices in the outdoors are generally well-established, and your teachers will be more than happy to share them with you.

I suspect that once you get out there, you’ll find yourself learning and gaining comfort far more quickly than you might imagine. Every lesson, every adventure, is a stepping stone between living with your mother’s way of seeing the world and discovering your own.

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It was late 2013. Explorers Ben Saunders and Tarka L’Herpiniere were on the return segment of their pioneering round-trip journey, on foot, from Ross Island to the South Pole, when desperation set in. Amid a ferocious blizzard, with temperatures dipping to minus 50 degrees Fahrenheit, their energy was flagging, and they didn’t have enough food to ride out the storm. Saunders made a fateful command decision—he called for a resupply. This would forever add a footnote to the expedition (it was now “supported”), but it probably saved their lives.

Saunders was no polar novice, but in setting out to achieve what had never been accomplished, he was in virgin territory. Which raises the point that sometimes even pros are basically beginners. Had the team erred in not bringing enough food? Perhaps. But what was the appropriate amount for a journey no one had ever made before? The very idea of adventure means stepping beyond one’s known world.

We’ve all heard the old saw that we learn from our mistakes. But as the American philosopher , mistakes aren’t just a chance for growth, they are “the only opportunity for learning something truly new.” Evolution proceeds by trial and error, he acknowledges, but without beginners making errors, “the trials wouldn’t accomplish anything.” The technology and the gear we rely on in the outdoors—stuff like Gore-Tex and mountain bikes—doesn’t emerge into the marketplace fully formed, but as a result of tinkering and even by accident. Neither do people emerge fully formed as mountaineers, surfers, or cyclists. Hidden behind that now confident facade is an entire history of crashes, slips, and frustrating plateaus, along with the ghost of an anxious newbie.

I offer these thoughts as a psychic balm to anyone starting out on a new pursuit. The hurdles are real. Even the myriad decision trees involved in gearing up (as hinted at in these pages) can be daunting for a beginner. As a longtime road cyclist, I recently, at age 52, bought my first mountain bike, and was swamped by the variety and almost ideological nature of the choices involved (27.5er versus 29er, hardtail versus full suspension, carbon versus aluminum). There was alien-to-me tech (wait, how much air do I put in the shock?) and a new wardrobe to acquire. But if I had solely focused on avoiding a wrong move, I would never have gotten started.

Then there’s the act of performing whatever your new activity entails, generally in public. When I switched to clipless pedals more than a decade ago, I woke up at dawn to practice getting in and out of them without being seen. Yet it wasn’t long before I went through what is a veritable rite of passage in cycling: failing to unclip at a stop sign and taking an earthward plummet, feet helplessly bound. With an audience.

There’s something weirdly life-affirming about getting through these moments of struggle. You’re making the same mistakes countless others have made, but they’re your mistakes. They’re not just little pitons of progress you’ve left nailed into the slopes of the learning curve, but inflection points that all together comprise some of the most salient moments you will ever experience. (And oh, the nostalgic glow you’ll feel when you see someone else make them down the road.)

When I ran a marathon for the first (and only) time a few years ago, I blew up around mile 18, then seesawed my way to the finish. In retrospect, this was not mysterious: I’d eschewed the recommended 20-mile training run. But in a sense, it was all for the good. I wanted the experience to be singular, not a robotic rehash of a sequence of workouts. I wanted to go where I hadn’t gone before. The painter Wayne Thiebaud describes the feeling of desiring to be a beginner, a sentiment you often hear among artists. “Sometimes that’s the whole joy,” he says. “If you could just do it, there’d be no point.”

That’s the spirit I urge you to embrace as you flip through these pages and explore the full scope of what’s possible in pursuit of an adventurous outdoor life. Don’t overthink it; plunge in and get out there. The neuroscientist Stanislas Dehaene explains that when you scan the brain of someone trying something new—like reading—all sorts of regions appear activated. As the person improves, brain activity quiets. We go on autopilot, which makes life easier. Later on, he notes, you can trigger that initial response only by making the activity harder. Which should remind us: To the beginner, everything is hard. But the brain is on fire. Enjoy that sensation while you can, because it’s difficult to recapture.

In the meantime, you’ll fall, get lost, violate someone’s sense of acceptable dress, but you’ll be doing it on your own terms, and you’ll be a bigger, bolder person—mistakes and all—than you were the day before.

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Lightweight, affordable, and compact, resistance bands make it easy for almost anyone to get a full-body workout at home. That’s why they’re a staple for Seth Keena-Levin, an alpinist and coach with the training platform . You can work in any plane of motion and make precise tension adjustments, so they’re great for mimicking the demands of outdoor activities. To boost performance and prevent injury, Keena-Levin suggests running through this beginner-friendly workout two or three times a week. Cycle through the entire sequence three to five times, with a one- to two-minute rest between each circuit. You will need a mini band (small, with a flat profile) and a heavy-duty band (longer and thicker).

Lateral Leg Extension

Why: Works the glutes, which promotes knee stability and prevents common overuse injuries.

How: Loop a mini band around your legs just below the knees. Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, with light tension on the band. Kick one leg back diagonally as high as you can in a slow and controlled motion, keeping your knee extended and your ankle and toes flexed. To add intensity, move the band to your ankles. Perform 10 to 15 reps with each leg.

Alternating Y’s

Why: Develops scapular (shoulder bone) stability, which helps prevent shoulder and elbow injuries.

How: With your feet shoulder width apart, gently engage your glutes and core, and pull your shoulders back and down. Grasp one end of a heavy-duty band in your right hand and bend at the elbow to bring it to your right hip. Hold the other end in your left hand and raise your arm up and out to the side, until your biceps is by your ear. Complete 10 to 15 reps, then repeat with the right arm.

Door Openers

Why: Develops grip strength and wrist and shoulder stability.

How: With your arms by your sides and your elbows at 90 degrees, hold one end of a mini or heavy-duty band in each hand, palms down. With light tension in the band, turn your palms up, then down. After 8 to 12 reps, flip your grip and perform the same motion in the opposite direction. This will work your muscles both eccentrically and concentrically.

Forward Lunge with Knee Drive

Why: Targets your posterior chain and hip flexors, and mimics sustained uphill movement.

How: Secure a heavy-duty band to the leg of a couch and loop it around your hips. Maintain a forward lean through your upper body and step your right leg forward into a lunge, knee bent 90 degrees. While straightening your right leg to a standing position, kick your left knee up toward your chest. Step your left leg back to return to a lunge before returning to the starting stance. Do 15 to 20 reps per leg.

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Welcome toĚýTough Love. We’re answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver isĚýBlair Braverman, dogsled racer and author ofĚý. Have a question of your own? Write to us atĚýtoughlove@outsideim.com.

I have done some car camping and beginner’s backpacking in my life, and I want to deepen my relationship with the outdoors. How can I take things to the next level? I would love to do a solo excursion of some kind for a week or a long weekend, but with so many choices it’s hard to know where to begin. I want to challenge myself, but not bite off way more than I can chew and end up feeling defeated. Maybe more than anything I want recommendations for how to experience nature that will remind me why I am putting time and effort into getting to know it better.

You know how people talk about wishing they could forget their favorite book so they could experience reading it for the first time again? That’s how I feel about what you’re doing. You’re not just setting off on a great journey, but you get to do it for the first time, and I’m so excited for you. That’s not to say that every step of the way is easy; there are always gonna be mosquitoes. But you have the opportunity to open your world in a way that’s fun and challenging, and that will bring you closer to something that is, for many of us, incredibly meaningful.

If you’re not already, dig into media about the natural world, in whatever format you like best, whether that means watching documentaries, reading books about animals or botany or expeditions, or following foraging accounts on TikTok. Use the content for inspiration; notice what intrigues you, and what you’d like to try yourself. You could be drawn to nature from a scientific angle, a spiritual one, as a means to adventure, or some combination of the above. You might like its simpler, more introspective rewards: figuring out where and how you feel your best, and who you become when you have the space to just be.

For your first activity, I’d recommend spending a single night alone outdoors. Sleeping alone outside is a true basic: once you’re comfortable with it, you’ll have a ton of options. But it’s also an adventure in its own right: a chance to step outside your comfort zone, and in the act of finding—o°ů seeking—footing, better realize the bounds of your own possibilities. After all, nature isn’t a safe place or a dangerous place; it’s an indifferent place, which can feel scary when you’re not used to it, but that’s also what makes it such a comfort. A night feels long while it’s happening, but it’s over quickly. You can build a lot of confidence in a relatively short period of time.

This doesn’t need to be a backpacking trip—heck, you can sleep in a backyard if you have access to one. But theĚýkey, I think, is going somewhere surrounded by nature where you can’t see people and you know you won’t be interrupted. Hang a tarp (or pitch a tent), roll out a sleeping bag, and turn off your phone.

Your first night alone probably won’t be restful; you might wake up sporadically, or you might not sleep at all. Bring a light and a book, or just embrace the moment—listening to bugs and critters, watching the moon and stars move across the sky. You’ll find that dawn starts long before sunrise, as the edges of the sky turn from black to ultramarine; you’ll hear the rising songs of birds. If you’re inclined to journal, this is a great time for that, but you can also see what happens if you leave your mind undistracted for a while. Where do your thoughts go? You’re giving yourself space, mentally but also physically, and space is one of the best gifts that nature can offer us. It takes us out of ourselves, just for a bit, and returns us with—hopefully—a tad more perspective and peace.

If you hate the experience, it doesn’t mean you’re not outdoorsy; it means you’ve learned more about the kind of outdoorsiness that works for you. Maybe you’ll love day trips, but value a good mattress at night. Maybe you get too deep in your head when you’re alone, and would rather have a companion. Or maybe you love the solitude. Maybe you’ll think, this is great, but it’d be fun next time to wake up somewhere new: to watch the sunrise over a mountain, or listen to waves while you sleep. The point is, everything that happens is good, because everything that happens is information that will help you know yourself and your preferences better. And knowing yourself—what you need, what challenges you, and what you’re really looking for—is the foundation for every great adventure.

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Americans love to validate hobbies by professionalizing them, which is why the quintessential image of a hiker is someone decked out in head-to-toe gear, silhouetted atop a mountain, or an Instagrammer sharing photos of, like, a latte in front of a waterfall. I’m sure lattes in the wilderness are delicious, and I would very much enjoy drinking one myself. But given the natural tendency of the Internet to create ever-escalating aspirational Content, it’s easy to forget that hiking—walking in nature—is one of the most accessible, cheap, and beginner-friendly ways to have fun outside. A day hike is simply a ; it could be a 20-minute stroll after work, a grueling dawn-to-dusk affair, or . And if you’ve never considered yourself outdoorsy, but are curious about getting your feet wet, there are few better ways to start exploring.

Find a Trail

Odds are, you have multiple trail options in your area—we’ll get to that in a moment. But if you haven’t hiked much before, you might not have a great sense of what you’re looking for in a trail. So before you start searching, think about (or jot down) the overall feeling you’re hoping to get from the day. Would you prefer a gentle walk or a tough workout? Are you someone who prefers having a destination or goal—like a waterfall or a great viewpoint—o°ů are you more about enjoying the process? Do you want to bring friends? A dog? If there’s something about hiking that makes you nervous, you can jot that down, too.

Now you’re ready to find some options for local trails. You can google “hiking trail [your city],” or use a trail directory likeĚý,Ěý, orĚý. Though they’re not as plentiful, you can also search for and/or , which offer informational signs in braille and physical guides, like rope handholds, to help visually-impaired hikers navigate.

Choose a trail distance that you know is within your athletic comfort zone, and keep in mind that walking on uneven surfaces is more tiring than walking on roads or a treadmill. When in doubt, pick a shorter, easier trail—o°ů plan to hike partway, then turn back. You don’t need to challenge yourself in multiple ways at once, and your first few hikes are not the time to test how far you can walk in a day. You can always try longer or steeper trails if you feel like it later.

Prepare Ahead of Time

Day hikes can be fairly spontaneous—there’s not a ton to do ahead of time. But it’s always wise to check the weather and plan accordingly. If your trail of choice has a written description (or map), print it out or screenshot it on your phone; you might not have service while you’re out there. And always let someone know where you’re going and when you expect to be back.

What to Wear

It’s time to hike! Awesome! Put on some sunscreen, and wear clothes that you feel good moving in. Your clothes don’t need to be fancy, just comfortable—for these purposes, an old T-shirt is just as good as some ultralight quick-dry top. Expect to warm up once you start moving, and plan to de-layer accordingly; it’s better to wear a hoodie over a tank top than a single long-sleeve shirt. Similarly, it may get colder or windier while you’re out there—especially if you’re hiking uphill—so tie an extra layer around your waist if you start in a t-shirt.

Hiking boots are great if you want extra ankle support, or if you know you’ll be traversing loose, crumbly ground, but for the majority of trails, sneakers—o°ů even good, supportive sandals with adjustable straps—will work just fine.

What to Bring

There’s a big difference between gear you can bring, if you enjoy geeking out over gear, and gear you should bring for safety—and the truth is that for a shorter hike, the kind that can be completed in an hour or two, you don’t need much. But no matter the distance, you’ll definitely want a water bottle. A good rule of thumb is to carry a half-liter of water, or just over two cups, per hour of hiking, and more if it’s hot out or you’re working hard. Plus a snack, or a few snacks. (Bonus points for a special treat that you plan to eat at the turnaround spot.)

Once you’ve drunk half your water, it’s time to turn around—even if you’re thisclose to your destination. It’s always better to end a hike wanting more than to push yourself too far.

Hiking Etiquette

Hiking etiquette, as it were, mostly comes down to leaving nature as you found it and not being a jerk. If you have a dog, carry out their poop and keep them leashed around other people, even if leashes aren’t required on your trail. Don’t play music without headphones; don’t leave trash; and appreciate flowers by taking pictures rather than picking them. Staying on-trail, rather than wandering off or taking shortcuts, will help protect your surroundings so that everyone can enjoy them.

What About Bugs and Ticks?

Ticks mostly live in vegetation, so if you’re sticking to dirt trails and not wandering off in the grass or pushing through bushes, you’re less likely to be exposed. But if you tuck your pants into your socks, and your shirt into your pants, it’s much harder for ticks to reach your skin. You can also wash/dry your clothes on high heat after a hike to kill any stowaways—and a spray with DEET in it will help repel ticks and mosquitoes alike.

What About Wild Animals?

If you’re lucky enough to see a wild animal, keep your distance, back away slowly, and keep in mind that they’re trying to avoid you, too. If you’re hiking with someone else, talking or making noise, animals will probably scatter long before you reach them.

What About Safety from Other People?

Being in the woods is uniquely vulnerable, especially if you’re not a man. I know a lot of women in particular who have found great power in hiking alone—but that’s not necessarily something to try on your first few hikes, before you’re totally confident and comfortable. Remember: you don’t need to challenge yourself in multiple ways at once. If you’re concerned about other people, bring a friend, borrow a big dog, and/or stick to trails close to town so you’ll have phone reception.

Will Other Hikers Judge Me?

It’s possible that they might. But if they do, they’re the ones who suck. After all, part of the reason nature is so great is because it allows us to step away from human judgments and just be ourselves. If someone shames you for your athletic ability, what you’re wearing, etc., you can pull an UNO reverse and rest in the petty but totally accurate knowledge that by being judgy, they’re missing the point, and therefore you’re doing nature better than they are.

Find the Fun

Naturally, this is the cheesiest instruction. But it’s true! You’re doing this for you—not for anyone, real or imaginary, who might be watching. Hike at a speed that feels good. If you’re tired, slow down, or sit and take a break. (There is no such thing as hiking too slowly. It’s literally impossible.)

There are a million ways to make hiking yours. Bring a sketchbook and draw pictures along the way, or photograph interesting plants. Check your local bookstore or outdoors store for regional nature guides, and make a game out of identifying a few flowers, trees, or birds each time you go out. You can push yourself to go longer distances, or you can make the same trip each time. There’s no hierarchy of hiking, no treks that are more or less legitimate. Are you outside, exploring and enjoying yourself? It’s official, my friend: You’re a hiker.

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