My plan, the one I’ve been talking about and writing about for so long, was to spend forty days hiking the Colorado Trail. Instead, I spent six. I was defeated by altitude sickness. More than once I found myself sucking for air like Matthew McConaughey in the movie, Intersteller, and then bent double throwing up on the trail.
Here is my first draft analysis; a data dump of sorts.
Did my gear work like I expected? Everything worked just like I’d hoped. Well, I had some slip-on camp shoes that I tossed in the first trash barrel, but besides that I was very happy.
Did my body perform as expected? I had no physical injuries or pains. No blisters or foot problems. My after-market knees were wonderful and my right shoulder (the one that’s bothered me for two years) had a great trip. My quads were usually burning at each summit, but that quickly subsided.
On Wednesday, I hiked two 12,000+ summits connected by an exposed rocky ridge. It was beautiful, and possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever done. If I end up spending the rest of my life on the couch growing lazy, at least I’ll know I did those peaks.
Was I adequately prepared? I don’t know what else I would have done, or could have done, except be born at altitude, or live in Colorado. I knew I was front-loading my hike, doing the most difficult part of the trail first, so I never expected it to be easy. I’ve hiked at altitude before, but not for so many miles as this. I had no idea how hard it would be for this 61-year-old flatlander. I never expected to be taken out completely.
Was my eighteen months of preparation wasted? Not in the least. Preparing and listing and spreadsheeting are the most fun part of an adventure. And I wouldn’t have attempted anything without working it out. I’m not an impulsive person. I like to know what I’m getting into. I want to be a student of everything.
Did I give up too soon? That is always the fear, isn’t it? That you’re giving up only one day before the best day? But I spent six days unable to breathe, light-headed, nauseous, and throwing up at least once during every ascent. I think I would’ve tolerated this if it got better the longer I was in the mountains, but it didn’t. In fact, Friday, my last day, I passed out two different times while sitting on a log to catch my breath. I woke up on the ground staring at the sky, wearing my backpack so that I was like an inverted turtle with arms and legs in the air. I was concerned that I might fall off a cliff and never be seen again.
When Cyndi and I were finally able to text each other, and she said she was coming after me, I felt, not disappointment or shame, but huge relief. I took the tangible release of tension as a message from God that I was making the wise decision.
Friday evening, I sat on a log at the intersection of Forest Service Roads 550 and 564, wiped out, exhausted, and prayed, “Help Cyndi find me, or send someone else.” And then I heard a pickup coming up the road. It was a silver Tundra belonging to our San Angelo friend, John. He and Cyndi were coming to rescue me.
When Cyndi got out of the pickup it was all I could do to keep from crying. The first thing she said as she ran across the road was, “I love you; I am so proud of you.”
Will I try again? Maybe, but I doubt I’ll do it alone. With each passing year, doing things by myself feels more and more selfish.
What do I think this all means? I don’t know, but I expect I’ll be working on it for a long time. My friend John Hard taught me that small inflections make huge changes in the trajectory of our lives, but we can’t know the direction or destination until time passes. However, in the moment, we must be honest with our story if we want God to shine through.
Why am I telling you about all this? Because so many of you have followed me on this journey for so long. We must be honest about our lives, both victories and disappointments, or we rob each other of the opportunity to see God in each of our own lives. And besides, a life without goals and dreams is no life at all; certainly not one I want to live.
Thank you, Cyndi, for loving me. Thank you for rescuing me yet again.
Thank you, God, for putting dreams in my heart. Thank you for giving me one more turn to do what I love.
“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32
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