Lifelong Dream

In previous years, I’ve hiked short segments beginning in Yosemite Valley, climbed four mountain passes, thereby concluding the first 80 miles—easy enough. To not even attempt what seems like a crazy lady’s brush with early onset dementia was not an option.

What is it that inspires us to seek out what seem like unobtainable goals? With Medicare no longer a lifetime away, a voice within me screams, “It’s now or never.” Because my husband wants to share in the bragging rights, he accompanies me but I knew this was “my baby.”

After several months of persistent planning, my supposed nerves of steel wither away. Am I prepared? With only a two week window available, 10-mile days were a necessity,traversing up and down granite slab staircases (some with three foot increments), and I’m already experiencing the aches and pains of maturity. But at the same time, I cannot let go of the dream, my dream. I realize an element of danger exists but for me, that’s part of the attraction.

We set off on a gutsy adventure enjoying phenomenal scenery along the way. With 40 miles behind me, my apprehension rises to the surface.

“What if I sprain my ankle? What if I succumb to altitude sickness?What if I’m physically unprepared? What if? What if?”

Life is risk. Each day, I walk out the front door of my home, no assurance guarantees that I’ll be walking back in again. Blame it on the altitude, my fatigued body longing for the comfort of a high-end recliner or my own lack of self-confidence but sharing my fears with my husband (he, too, had doubts) allowed us to push onward with newfound optimism.

The miles are exhausting and my body protests, threatening an all out boycott. On an exceptionally long 10-plus mile day with an elevation gain of over 3,000 feet, I succumb. My legs feel heavy and the weary.

I lose my balance, plunge to the ground spread-eagle into an award winning belly flop. No broken bones, just a reminder to listen when my body speaks. We make our campsite around the next corner.

By day nine, we contemplate cutting the trip short and hike out with friends delivering our resupply. An unsettled tummy and vertigo-like symptoms signal “altitude sickness.”

Circumstances present a new challenge. I don’t want to look at this performance as a failure. Of course, hiking 90 Sierra miles over four mountain passes could hardly be considered a failure.

As my head fills with a smorgasbord of conflicting emotions, I visualize the helicopter hovering above me as other JMT hikers wonder what idiot has ventured outside his/her comfort zone. Not wanting to become a JMT statistic, we discuss our options and depending on our health issues (my husband now suffering from Achilles issues), the possibility of an early exit exists.

The next two days we feel stronger and our outlook improves. Our stride would not win any awards in a timed event but our consistency shines and our attitudes are dialed to “all systems go.”

At Guitar Lake, our final campsite before the mighty push up Mt. Whitney, I battle intestinal issues, cursing myself for indulging in a spicy dehydrated meal containing ingredients not pronounceable by the human tongue. Great!

The following morning, I awake from a fitful, sleep and as I struggle up the trail, I seriously contemplate making the trail junction at 13,450 feet my highest point. But, as I reach the junction, my perspective favorably improves. I’ve conquered 2,000 feet in a three mile span and Mt. Whitney is now only a mere 1.9 miles in the distance. I can do this.

Refueled by a spam and cheese-filled tortilla, I head upward. Now with a positive outlook, instead of my body protesting profusely, it’s reborn with newly acclaimed vivacity and determination. The hut atop the summit comes into view and I anticipate my pinnacle of truth.

A hiker on his descent greets us. “It’s now only a mellow meander to the highest point in the contiguous United States.” His statement was yet another reminder of the absolute grandeur of this accomplishment.

Pressing on, tears well up in my eyes, and as I reach the summit, I wallow in the moment. The most challenging aspirations often reap the greatest rewards.