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| The children smile as we pass through a mountain meadow |
Two miles into our hike, I realized we were beginning to run short on water. The children had been careless with their water bottles, leaving dark splashes of water on the trail beneath them. Nathan and I kept reminding them that water supplies were finite and there were no refill stations on this mountain.
This was about the same time the mosquitoes and biting flies came out in full force. We looked like walking windmills as we constantly waved our arms in the air in an attempt to keep the insects at bay. It looked pretty comical: one long row of people all waving their arms in sync with each step as we passed through a forest.
Adversity comes in multiples, have you noticed? This point of the trail had not been well-maintained, and runoff had washed away much of the path, leaving behind a precarious path that slipped under our feet.
My enthusiasm for the hike was quickly waning as I scrambled over rocks and slipped on loose gravel.
The children were beginning to get tired and frustrated.
And hungry. I passed out our meager trail snacks, but that was not nearly enough to satiate their hunger.
As the trail continued up the slope, I felt myself losing energy quickly. My previous bouncy steps were replaced with methodical trudging as my body sagged more and more in fatigue. We had been hiking for hours and still hadn't reached the lake.
I murmured to Mr. Kingsley, "Babe, we've had fun and we saw the mountains, let's turn back. We don't have to make it to the lake. We're running low on water and food and we're tired. Let's call it a day!"
He protested. How could we turn back before we reach the lake? It would be a failed hike! We'd always regret not pushing ourselves to the top of the mountain.
My heart sank. I really,
really wanted to go home. I was done. Nathan was optimistic (he actually wasn't tired at all!) and encouraged everyone to press on.
I sighed heavily and lifted one foot in front of another without any joy.
I just wanted it to be over.
The trail seemed like it would never end. My chest was heaving for oxygen in the thin mountain air. I thought to myself with a small smile, "I'm so pathetic! How did I let myself get this weak?"
As I lifted my eyes to look up the trail, I couldn't believe my eyes. Around the bend came a woman from the opposite direction. She was unbelievable.
She was running
-RUNNING!- down the path and literally leaping from rock to rock. She was athletic and full of energy and power. She was like a mountain goat, stepping on the uneven rocks with confidence as she skipped along the path.
I imagined my jaw dropping to the ground in awe as she breezed past me, leaping off the trail to get around me and then hopping back on without even breaking her stride. In a moment, all that remained in our sight was her bouncy ponytail flashing through the trees.
That was really funny.
I mentally juxtaposed these two images- her trim athletic build, overflowing energy, powerful muscles, (and I admit- her cute clothes) next to my body, which was tired, saggy, worn down, slow, plodding, and streaked with dirt.
I laughed.
Life is full of irony.
After another half-mile of trudging we finally arrived at our goal: Dog Lake.
My head was spinning (from fatigue or thirst or hunger....take your pick) as I unsteadily lowered my body on the shore of the lake. I needed to rest (honestly, I would have happily face-planted into bed for a three-hour nap at this point). Sarah used my camera bag for a pillow and tried futilely to sleep on the shore.
The boys had a great time and seemed invigorated by the sight of the lake. They uncovered a reserve of energy from within and laughed as they frolicked in the freezing water. They had a great time exploring and splashing.
As for me, I felt exhausted and sore and had the sad realization that this was only the half-way point. We still had to hike back the entire distance before there would be food or water or real rest.
My mind raced trying to think of any possible 'easy way out'. I had to accept the tough answer that there was no way off the mountain other than the way we had come. Mr. Kingsley couldn't swoop in and rescue me from this self-imposed trap.
I eyed the cold lake water wishfully, weighing the risk of harmful biological contaminants against my raging thirst. My heart sank as I realized how weak I was and thought again what a fool I had been to plan so poorly for this hike. I felt trapped on this mountain with no hope of assistance. My head fell into my arms and- I'll admit it- I cried silent tears of anger and exhaustion.
Nathan, cheerful as ever, asked me to turn around for a picture. I wiped my eyes and smiled at him (pretending I was having a great time).
It wasn't until after we returning home that I found these other pictures he had taken earlier without me noticing. They tell my real feelings at that moment.
At that moment I resolved to work harder at building strength- strength in body and strength in character.
It was ironic to realize I had imagined myself conquering this mountain by hiking to its summit. I realized now that the only thing to conquer was myself and my weak body.
How was I going to get off this mountain? One step at a time.
With renewed determination, I faced the trail and we began again.
Read the conclusion of this story later this week.
