Where is my sunscreen? Do I have enough? Which socks should I wear today? It’s a longer day, so I will go with these. Should I bring my hiking poles? Do I really need an ax and helmet today? I think I will leave them behind. Did I grab that extra water? Where are my car keys? Is my inReach on yet? I think I am ready. I hope I have enough food for today.
Alright, that’s it. I toss the pack on my back. Clip the waist belt. Clip the chest strap. Shut the back hatch to the Subaru. I am ready…I think.
Mountaineering is selfish.
My climbing team, Ginger Sandwich, spent the spring months training for Mt. Rainier. We carry heavy packs filled with technical gear, and paced ourselves to stay in zone 1. Zone 1 translation: go slow enough to keep the heart rate down, and prevent any mouth breathing. You do not want to expose the roof of your mouth and tongue to UV rays bouncing off a glacier. Yes, you can sunburn ANYTHING. Trust me on this one, says one of the two gingers on Team Ginger Sandwich – that’s me. My team summited Mt. Rainier on June 16, 2019, but this story is not about Rainier. This story is about why I was alone on the 4th of July ready to suffer a little in the Rocky Mountains.
Three weeks before Rainier, I broke up with the man I expected to spend my life with growing old together. I thought we would carry on over the years from adventure to adventure. He would keep me young at heart. I would keep his heart soft. Dreams can be beautiful, and are always worth having. Sometimes dreams just do not come true. I felt selfish for breaking up with him so close to his departure for a mountain like Denali. How could I be so mean, but it was the right decision. A week before Rainier the rest piled on top. As most people put it, “when it rains, it pours.” A friend from a core group of my community family was involved in a vehicle accident that left him on life support. My last living grandparent’s terminal cancer spread, and he was moved into hospice. My stepfather was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia, and something strange was showing on his lungs in an x-ray.
I had a mountain to climb. I needed to think about myself. Mountaineering can be a selfish sport. I felt deep quilt for leaving on an adventure while my friends and family stayed behind, but I needed to clear the clouds and obstacles in my mind. I needed to stay focused for my team. We were a small team, and if I bailed to be with my family, they would not summit. I left instructions not to be updated on any health issues while I was on the mountain.
My grandfather was the kind of person that could really draw things out, so I expected another month or so out of him. Bob was a Navy Seabee during Vietnam. He was invincible. He could bounce back, I thought. Two hours after getting back to civilization, I received word that my stepfather was in the ICU on a ventilator. The second morning off the mountain, I received the call that my stepfather had passed away. I was in Portland, Oregon. My mom was in Texas. I needed to get to my Mother. I worried about my grandfather. He was not going to make it much longer either. I needed to find a way to be with my Dad too. My friend in the car accident was not going to recover. He would be removed from life support.
The two and half weeks after Rainier, I sat by my Mother’s side to grieve the loss of her love, ate my weight in pie, arranged photos and flowers for a memorial service, planned visits with my family, sat by my Father’s side as my grandfather took his last breath of life, watched another grandparent’s lifeless body be wheeled out of his home, and ate more southern comfort food along with more pie.
I have learned, mostly in the last year, to allow myself to cry when I need to. There were many years in my life where I did not cry. I was raised to believe being vulnerable was a bad thing, and crying was a sure fire sign of vulnerability. There were many years where I rationalized away thoughts of grief and sorrow. This current down pour was getting to be too much to bare at times. Now those years of unhealthy compartmentalizing where coming in handy. When I needed to be on, I was on – I kept it together. When I was alone, the grief would take me in waves. Sometimes, summiting Rainier seemed in the far off past of my life, not just a week or so away. I texted my climbing partners, and asked them to promise we can celebrate when I get back. I was thinking of myself, but I needed to.
I have lived in Colorado for six years, and every year for the week of July 4th, I take off and go to the mountains. Taking off the whole week was going to be impossible this year. I needed those two days before the 4th to get my office back together. I also needed to give my mind and body a break from the crazy reality that engulfed me after Rainier. I really needed to be selfish, and think about myself if only just for a day. I needed to refocus…reimagine…revitalize.
“Happy” 4th of July!
I worked on July 3rd, and used the evening to unpack from life and repack for the mountains. I set the alpine alarm for 2:00am, then I let my mind run its course of abundance in nightly thoughts before sleep, as it had for about two weeks now. Falling asleep had been hard. I only slept about three hours before the alarm. I made my bed, brewed some coffee, scratched the cat’s head one more time, and hit the road. I picked the standard route of Shavano and Tabequache – nothing too difficult, but difficult enough with 5,600 feet of gain. I was at sea level for almost two full weeks. My body was filled with comfort food, which while delicious and rightly purposeful, was not the greatest fuel for mountains. Please note, I do not regret eating my weight in pie. My family knows how to make pie, and I will brag about it shamelessly.
A little after sunrise, I was boots on trail ambling along in the aspens. Sounds of early morning birds filled my ears. There was a slight breeze fluttering the leaves through the aspen groves, sounds of pebbles and sticks cracking under my boots, a slight hollow sound with rocky steps, a person here or there, a dog or two passing by, but mostly I was alone. I made a conscious decision to let my mind wonder wherever it wanted for the day. Surprisingly, it was more focused on the trail surroundings than my grief. I reached the summit of Shavano in about four hours, took off my boots and plopped down on a comfy pile of boulders for over an hour. Oops, that might have been a little too long. Afternoon storms roll in fast in the mountains during monsoon season. There was no sign of an oncoming storm. With barely a cloud in the sky, I made a decision to continue over to the summit of Tab as originally planned. It was the last 1,000 feet of gain that I needed to really push myself for the day.
The altitude and fatigue finally started showing their faces on my way back to the Shavano summit. My second and third toes started to go numb – I really should get this checked out by a specialist. I took another break at Shavano. I took my boots off and let my feet rest. Are my boots too small? Is it my socks? I really should figure this out…wow! Where is the usual afternoon thunderstorm we always see in monsoon season? Overall, I spent more than two hours just sitting on summits for the 4th of July. It was the 4.5 miles back to the trail head that would release the thoughts of my mind. When I was tired, and at my most vulnerable state.
Just fine and dandy. Now let me cry, please.
I was like a child constantly wondering, "Was I there yet?". I would check my GPS. Really! Only half a mile further than last time? What was happening to me? Going down should be faster. Why am I struggling? I would rest, taking my boots off again and again. Whatever it took to give my now eight numbed toes and sharp pains in the ball of my foot a break. I cannot see through the nail polish, but I am pretty sure those nails on my big toes will not be around in a couple of weeks.
I thought about my ex, about the visit we made to the iris garden the day before he left for Denali to “talk it over”. Even though we did not want to change the outcome of our breakup at that moment, it was unclear where things would go. I thought about the messages he sent me from Alaska, and what did they mean for us. I thought about all the time he spent with my family, how much he liked my stepfather, and how confused his actions after I told him of Bob’s passing made me. I thought about why I allowed his actions to bother me like this. I broke up with him. Why did I care so much? Why did his actions hurt me so deeply? Was it because I still wanted to grow old with him? Was I not ready to let go before? Did I make a mistake in believing he could be human? I came to the conclusion we would have broken up after our mountain adventures anyways. I loved him, I really did. The truth of the matter is, he was never a team player in the relationship. As simple as it is, I want someone that is on my team.
How is it possible that I still have 2.5 miles left to go? I have been hiking down FOREVER! I ran into a group of girls sitting on the side of the trail with a dog. I thought about my climbing partners, and how grateful I am for them. We always seem to have fun in the mountains regardless of how our initial plans workout for the day. I passed a group of three others, one individual was really struggling. They were on their way down. The two in front seemed impatient. I think I picked up a sniffle or two from the one in the back. The others had left her behind. I think she was crying. Even “easy” mountains can be challenging for people. They should not be taken lightly. I felt for her. I hoped her day would get better.
1.9 miles left…ughhhh! Every step hurts. I am running low on water now. I should have thought about that when I spent two plus hours sitting on the summits. I have enough food. I should take a break and eat something other than energy chews. The realities of life were starting to weigh on my heart. I want to go home. I do not want to stay in the mountains to camp tonight. I just want to go home. I need my other boots at this point. I wish I had packed my trail runners in my bag. They aren’t that heavy – I would be so much happier with trail runners on right now. If I go home, does that make me less of a person? Am I giving up if I go home?
I ran into a few search and rescue volunteers on the trail. “Hi! How are you?” one would say. “Sure is a nice day out” another would say. Exchanging pleasantries with each of them. With each person that passed my emotions began to surface even more. At first I confused them with my physical pain. I started to think about it. Why did I tell them I was fine? I’m not fine, am I? Yeah, it is a great day, but everyone I know keeps dying. I am tired. This day has turned out to be way longer than I expected. I am not OK, or maybe I am OK. I don’t know. How much further is it? Oh…another full mile.
I am OK.
Half a mile to the trail head now. That’s two laps around the track. I ran track in high school, and often mentally breakup distances based on laps around the track. By this point, I have vomited on the side of the trail, and I am in complete tears. Altitude generally gets me on the first summit after sea level. A constant influx of sugar with minimal real food probably didn’t help. The exhaustion was helping break down my guard – I allowed myself to cry as much as I needed to. The tears were the final release of my journey since Rainier. The personal mountain I was not prepared to climb. It was just another epic day in life. I put one foot in front of the other and kept going. I mean, that is the only option. Just keep moving forward.
There’s the trail head. My car is just a few steps away. I have plenty of water stored, more food, and those lovely flip-flops…oh how lovely. I have enough gear to stay another night in the mountains. I packed everything I needed to drive to Alma, park, and hike in to the Quartzville Mine. I can do the DeCaLiBron the next day. It’s an even easier one. I even brought my hammock if I find two good trees. I could stay off the road from Shavano too. There are plenty of open campsites. I don’t have bug spray, and the mosquitos are enormous this year. I could run to town to get some, or I could go home.
It’s my choice to decide what I want to do. I am exhausted, but currently on that “oh boy, the day is done” high. My blood is filled with oxygen again, and my stomach is asking for real food. No choice is wrong. All choices are right. I just need to make one. I decide to drive home to Boulder. I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to eat eggs for breakfast, and drink an entire pot of coffee. I want to binge watch something on Netflix. I want to relax at home by myself before my friend’s wedding on Saturday. I am thankful to have a celebration on the calendar so near to everything that I just went through.
I come in on HWY 285 and CO-470 as fireworks are shooting off in the Denver metro area. The sky is playing its part in the show with a lightning storm. I missed the hail, thank goodness. I am on HWY 6 through Golden during the height of their firework show. As I pass behind the School of Mines on HWY 6, fireworks are spraying over my vehicle. I had front row seats. I watched more and more fireworks shows as I drove down CO-93. It had been 20 hours since my alpine alarm. I laid down for a long night’s sleep.
I got up in the morning, and I lived another day. And, another. And, another.
There will be more mountains to climb. More loves to have. More losses to grieve. Today is just another day in this crazy world, and I am OK.