We pulled up to the base of the mountain and I had a very uneasy feeling. Fear, along with anxiety had set in. As the door of the Jeep slammed the feelings of fear were quickly taken over by excitement and confidence.
I was as prepared and trained as I could have been. I had worked so hard for almost a year to make this happen. This was the first thing I was doing that actually made me feel like a bad ass. My dream of summiting my first High Peak in the Adirondacks was about to come true. We would cover over 9 miles and climb almost 3,000 feet to complete this epic adventure. I knew this day would be life-changing but I never would have imagined the extent it would change the person I am today.
Six years later my life is completely flipped upside down and yet just this morning on the way to work I sat in my truck with tears rolling down my face as I reflected on the magical day that I learned I was more than a morbidly obese cripple and that my heart could carry me when my legs refused. This was my first experience at “The base of the mountain”
My ankles were wrapped, boot laces were tight, knee brace adjusted, and trekking poles in hand. Imagining myself standing in that place that I had dreamed about so many nights, I dropped my head and started marching. I was so proud of myself. Just like all the hikers I had read about, I was “doin’ it”. The way I was moving I’d be up to the top in no time.
Then it happened. That little worm of doubt crawled into my attitude and things took a turn for the worse. I was out of breath, my brace was cutting into my leg, I had fallen a few times, and I was completely exhausted. And what made it worse is that I was only about a mile and a half away from where we had started. I still had 8 miles to go with the worst part of the climb yet to come. My confidence was gone, and I wanted to quit. This whole idea was dumb to begin with anyway. I really had no business to be up on those hills. I was a fat, cripple pretending to be Bear Grylls. Too stubborn to actually quit, I slogged onwards.
As we reached the halfway point I was frustrated and disappointed at the scenario that I had replayed hundreds of times in my head. This was nothing like I had imagined. It was torture. Mentally and physically it was taking me places that I had never been. As the battle continued my image of the summit was not even a thought. In fact, the summit had never seemed further out of reach. The only energy I could gather up was just enough to take one more step. Step by step, hour by hour this battle continued. Finally we made it to the summit. I was so beat up that I could hardly stand for a photo.
The Descent
We were behind on time that we had to head back right away so we didn’t get stuck in the dark. About 15 minutes into the descent I realized that with my muscles were so fatigued it was more difficult than climbing. My Ehlers Danlos Syndrome was making it impossible to do much of anything but scoot down the mountain on my butt. I had resorted to using my hands to lower myself from one rock to another. It was more brutal that I could have imagined. Actually, I had never really thought about the climb down. For months all my energy was about the climb and I had dismissed the decent.
The reality is that the summit, although it was the destination, was only the halfway point of the journey. I struggled and struggled, each minute was worse than the last. I just wanted to be home, or at least back to a road. My mind was in a terrible place and fear was taking over my entire being. I was planning out all the terrible ways my life would end that day. The fear was so real that I was trying to figure out how to write a note in case I didn’t make it off the Johns Brook Trail. I had given every ounce of energy already and I was absolutely done.
Just when I thought we had to be almost back, we made it to a lonely trail marker that let us know we were still over a mile and a half from the lot. I dropped to the ground and told my cousin that I was done. There was no possible way I was walking another step. That’s when it happened. That is when a fierce war between my body and my mind took place.
My body had been taken to the lowest it had ever been but somehow my mind kept enforcing the idea that the only way back to the Jeep was with the two legs that were underneath me. It made no difference how beat up they were or how much they hurt. There wasn’t another option. I got up from the ground, hunched over, I began to take a step. Then another.
Step by painful step my mind convinced my legs to keep moving regardless of how slow and painful the steps had become. I couldn’t stop thinking about a line from a journal I had read. I had repeated the line in my head over and over. The Hiker’s Prayer, “Lord, if you lift ‘em up, I’ll move ‘em forward.” I actually don’t remember much about those last two hours because somehow I separated my mind from the entire situation and stumbled like a zombie out of the woods back to the parking lot.
Success
We made it but I was too drained to even be happy that I made it out alive. My entire physical, emotional, and spiritual being had been stripped down to nothing. After I healed up from the adventure and some time passed I realized that I had taken a lesson away from the mountain. I was capable of so much more than I imagined. I tucked that idea in my pocket and from that lesson I have done so many amazing things that seemed beyond impossible.
BUT…
Years later I revisit that experience and realize that there was an even bigger lesson I had learned that day. The big lesson was actually the minute the door slammed on the Jeep. Now that I look back I see that taking that first step at the base of the mountain is the one that changed everything about who I am. I had spent many years at the base of a mountain. It’s a weird perspective at the base. You know the summit is up there somewhere but you can’t see it. You just have to trust that it is really where it’s supposed to be. Sometimes you assume you are getting close to the summit but you are miles away. From the base you have two options. You can take the step forward or get back in the Jeep. As I thought about that day this morning, I realized how many times I have been at the base of a mountain. I have taken that step away from safety many times and blindly trusted that the summit was somewhere at the end of the trail. It’s scary, it can feel overwhelming but that summit may be just around the corner so you train you mind to just keep marching. I have climbed mountains that are 13,000 feet above sea level, it was quite a challenge. However, they pale in comparison to the monumental task of climbing the mountains of Fentanyl addiction, alcoholism, self-loathing, and unhealthy living. These are the mountains who’s views will bring a grown man to his knees. And these are the mountains I needed to climb so I could get my perspective as I stand at the base of another mountain.
Back to the Mountain
In three weeks I will take that step away from safety and head to the operating room for the surgeons to fix one of my ankles. Yesterday, after some MRI results came back, the surgery became a little more complicated and I need a full reconstruction and some extra hardware installed. I have learned to stay away from surgeries because normally patients with EDS do not do well with surgery. I am starting to have trouble just walking to do daily tasks much less training. This mountain is not one I want to climb but it is, I believe, a necessary one. I don’t know where the summit is or how many miles the trail is. All I know is what I have learned from my other mountains. The summit will not come to me, I have to go to it. One step at a time, with anxiety or peace, fear or courage, doubt or confidence, I will climb until I get to the summit and then back to the Jeep.
In the end, every single mountain I have climbed, whether by choice or necessity, has always come with an unmeasurable blessing. Sometimes it is life changing, sometimes it is life defining, and sometimes it’s a magnificent view that few people will every have the opportunity to see. So, here I am once again at the base of the mountain and I have an uneasy feeling. My ankles are wrapped, boot laces are tight, and trekking poles in hand. I have dropped my head and started marching. I didn’t choose this mountain but Lord, if you lift ‘em up, I’ll move ‘em forward.
