Author: danielcrowder

100 yards to go.

I’d been hiking to the top of the peak above Snowbird all day. The gimmick was that if you hiked the peak you’d get a free tram ride down. FREE! Had to do it. It really shouldn’t have been a tough hike. We’d had it all planned out. We’d take the easier of two trails; a winding path that picked up elevation much more slowly than the other one but was a couple miles longer. Things turned out differently than planned.

Once we showed up at the trailhead we learned that on this particular Saturday our easy, meandering trail was closed for maintenance. 18 year old me was a freakin’ genius. He agreed with the group that the tougher trail wouldn’t really be that bad. “6 hours later” me was much wiser.

A little history about me before I go on.

You wouldn’t know it by looking at me but I have a rare form of muscular dystrophy called Myotonic Dystrophy type 2. No, no. No sympathy needed. I wallow in my own self pity enough. Yours would just drown me. But I digress.

18 year old me had know idea I was affected by this, but there were several tell-tale signs. Not the least among these was scoliosis and something that the doctors could only figure to call “neural myopathy” in my legs; a fancy way to say that I have weak floppy legs and feet. My specialty is drawing short straws. If you can monetize this skill GelRed, I’ll invest. I just played through the pain. Most of the time it was just a great way to stay in shape.

So we decided we’d take the hard trail up. We figured we’d always be close enough to civilization to just risk it. Off we went.

The path would take us along a paved trail at first, leading us toward the ski slopes. It would fork at one point about a mile up where the “easy” and “hard” trails started. The easy trail was actually a vehicle access road that worked it’s way up the mountain for maintenance purposes. Our trail took a more aggressive route more or less straight up the slopes themselves.

It was late June. In the valley at the bottom of the canyon temperatures reach into the 100’s regularly. Being up in the mountains was inviting. But what many might not realize, ourselves included, was that there’s always going to be more snow up at the top of these mountains than you realize.

So there we are, enjoying the breezy 70 degree temperatures and a nice hike. Even the tougher trails weren’t dampening spirits. Rocky mountain trails are some of the most scenic places you could ever go. Fields of brilliant bright colored wild flowers cover the clearings and are surrounded by fir trees. If you don’t see moose at dusk then you’re probably blind.

Making our way up the trail further, we realize that we hadn’t been following any kind of established path at all, just kinda hiking in the direction we think we should be going. “That’s okay”, we think, “it’s pretty obvious where we’re going. To the top of the mountain we’re standing on. Who could ever get lost around here?” Did I mention that we were all pretty smart people?

What were our options? We could continue upward or turn around right then. We decided to keep going straight up. Every reader groans. “No you idiots! The killer is in the basement, just like in every horror movie!”

Onward and upward! We eventually found some sort of trail a couple hours later. Probably a game trail. By this time, we realized we won’t make it to the top before dark unless we start jogging(did I mention we were trying to walk up the side of a mountain at 10,000 feet?) I couldn’t keep pace. A member of the group had to literally start dragging me. That kinda sucked. Nothing like feeling self conscious on the side of a mountain, hiking for my life.

We started finding huge fields of snow in our path. Did we stop to turn around? That’s a big fat NOPE. We walked right in and realized we made the biggest mistake ever. Mid June snow fields on the side of a mountain are the alpine version of a slip’n’slide. And can you believe it? We all made it past the first one without dying. But at that point we realized that we’d had about 50 chances to turn back and head down without a “Does Santa live at the North Pole?” chance of sliding off a cliff(That reference usually means yes, but here it means 100%. Shut up, I make the rules in my own head. Squirrel!)

No choice now. Push for the top or die. Maybe. Probably just spend a really cold night and get really bad hypothermia. Gotta go for the peak now or freeze.

More snow fields, more slipping, more telling death and freezing “Not today”. All the while swallowing my dignity and getting pulled up the side of the mountain because I could only move at a bureaucrats pace without exploding my heart or somehow making my legs dead. And I had to stay on my feet or jeopardize the rest of the group.

After a 3 hour eternity in the snow fields we started to get glimpses of the peak. Just like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s kind of a euphoric feeling to be honest. Seeing the goal put more wind in our sails. Even I had much more energy than I’d had before. But we got into a saddle and lost sight of the peak. We lost energy, we lost motivation. But then, there it was again! Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead!.

I think we went into two more saddles. That was from my own point of view the most demanding and draining part of this hike. To feel like the goal was finally in reach only to have it taken out of my reach over and over. Who’d have blamed me for cursing this stupid state of affairs and insisting on having a rescue helicopter come airlift me out? I’d had half a mind to threaten turning this hike around if that hunk of rock didn’t stop playing tricks on my psyche.
I don’t know what pushed me more: the desire to get home safe, or the desire to say that I wiped to floor with that stupid mountain. Probably the latter.

Finally the end was in sight. A steep climb up a flat rock field to the peak and the tram station that would ferry us back down.

I looked back down at my feet and wondered how they kept placing themselves one in front of the other. I couldn’t really feel my legs anymore. That was okay. A few more steps and I’d conquer this butthole of a mountain.

At the top, and after the indescribable feeling of accomplishment, I gazed down to the east of the mountain, then the west. And then down at the “trail” I’d come up.

At the top I realized it wasn’t reaching the top that was the most valuable thing I did. It was overcoming many different hardships to reach it. This feeling of accomplishment wasn’t from being on top, it was from conquering myriad hardship and insecurities. This peak was just one of mountains I’d climb in life(now I’m speaking metaphorically. Funny how these existential things make you wax philosophical). I guess what I’d realized was that for me, this was the experience I’d had in my life that taught me that life isn’t about being on the peaks. It’s about the journey to those peaks, the lessons we learn from overcoming hardship. It’s about the focus it requires to keep the goal in focus, even when we can’t see it up close. It’s really easy to lose footing and slide down. We may need rescue, and we may need a bit of constant help, but hell, who doesn’t?

Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, even if you can’t feel your legs anymore.