Forget roses. I don’t need chocolate. And the last thing I want to do for Valentine’s Day is go out to an overpriced prix fixe dinner. What I want for Valentine’s Day, and what I think is the most valuable gift from one partner to another, is to spend quality time together in the great outdoors. Time outside together is my love language.

　　My husband, Mark, and I have been married for 21 years. We started dating when he worked at Rock Ice Magazine and I worked at Trail Runner Magazine. (It’s a very Boulder, Colorado love story.) We spent those early days trail running and climbing together. One of our first dates was a three-pitch climb on a very exposed face on Independence Pass—in the rain. He had overestimated both my climbing ability and my comfort level with exposure. I cried. He calmed me. He’d been a climbing guide and knew how to talk me off a ledge, literally and figuratively.

　　While we were dating, I occasionally dragged him into adventure races when my team and I needed another teammate. We still joke about the 24-hour race in California where his knee was bothering him about 22 hours in and we were reduced to a walk. I said something caring and comforting like, “Your knee is already hurt. We might as well run.” We did. He recovered.

　　We’ve since had two kids, and juggled jobs, finances, friends, and household chores. We often tag-team who goes to our sons’ soccer games on weekends while the other does their outdoor sport with friends, alone, or with the dog. Our relationship tends to collect dust, as does a lot of the outdoor gear that we’ve amassed over the years.

　　We’ve all heard about the numerous studies that prove spending time in nature reduces stress, improves mental health, and can even ward off heart disease. And there’s a good reason why more therapists are adopting movement therapy, either working with clients through dance or, especially here in Boulder, going for hikes. The mind-body connection can’t be ignored, and there is something to be said for opening up to someone and connecting while you’re not face to face—consider why running partners become so close; why kids often share more openly with their parents while in the car; and why two stubborn people who have been married 21 years actually talk more when outside doing an activity together.

　　A few recent studies have taken a look at how spending time in nature improves social connection. But I don’t need a study to tell me that spending quality time outdoors together is good for my relationship with my husband. (That said, if I need to use science as an argument to get him out the door with me, so be it.)

　　One of my favorite ways to celebrate any event in the 23 years we’ve been together is to spend time on the trail. Right around our fifteenth anniversary, I was invited to a “couple’s-oriented” travel-writers’ trip on the island of Kauai. (The perks of the job are sometimes very good.) My husband and I  were treated to fancy dinners and stayed in nice places. But we connected the most—and I knew this would happen—when just the two of us hiked the Kalalau Trail on the Na Pali Coast. It didn’t hurt that the views were spectacular and swimming underneath a waterfall was otherworldly. But it was the walking and talking I liked the most—something we can attain anywhere, anytime if we just make the effort.

　　So, instead of spending money on clichéd Valentine’s gifts like flowers, chocolate, or jewelry—or even buying each other adventure-enabling gear that we’d likely use separately—all I want to do is dust off the gear we already have and head outside, together. It’s the time, and the space, that is most valuable.

　　We may go on a hike with the dog. We may get creative, put on headlamps, and go for a night hike. Or we may grab our skinny skis and the dog and glide through a snow-covered open space to a lake. That may sound romantic, but it’s more than romance I’m after. It’s the connection. And connection is everything.