This is the third installment in
a five-part series on my experience hiking Mt. Whitney this summer. The first
two can be seen here and here.
For
the sake of reference, I live here:
The view from my office building. Terrible, I know. |
Hiking
Mt. Whitney took me here:
A pretty good view from the top too. |
There
is a considerable change in elevation between the two. Like 14,505 feet of
change. And, having a job that requires my presence as well as a family that
requires my attention, it's not like I could drive off as often as I'd have
liked to prepare for this hike (read: at all).
This
makes training for a climb difficult (as does my arthritic knee and general
huskiness). But failing sucks worse than physical fatigue, at least to me, so I
trained hard.
I
hiked a tiny local mountain repeatedly. I ran hills. I rode my bike. I drank water in ridiculous
quantities. I shrank my meal portions in the run-up to the climb to be ready
for a day of energy bars and electrolyte tabs.
But
none of this is Whitney. And I knew it. If there was anything I was afraid of,
other than another bout of altitude sickness, it was not being in good enough
shape to get to the top. After all, the one day round tripper is tougher than
the two-day trip that kicked my ass the first time.
Worse,
there was no way I could know whether or not I'd make it until I touched the
top of the mountain.
In
this gap - faith. Also, imagination. I believed I was ready. I had to, or it
would have been pointless to start walking in the first place; pointless to
make Gus and Jeremy rearrange their lives to come with me; pointless to think
about it in the first place.
But
I also studied the hike intently. I watched videos online of ascents. I read
people's blogs and stories about their own experiences. I looked back at
pictures of the first hike and read maps of the trail along with pacing guides
for reaching various landmarks along the way. With all this in my head, I could
imagine myself at almost every point along the way, reaching forward to see
myself at the next checkpoint when the climb was at its most difficult.
I
liken this to the way Thornton Wilder was able to create an accurate
representation of Peru in his classic novel TheBridge at San Luis Rey. The book won the Pulitzer in 1928. Wilder wouldn't visit Lima
until 1941.
When
he did, I'm certain it all felt familiar. As familiar as the summit Mt. Whitney
felt when I reached it.
2 comments:
The parallels between mountain climbing and writing make me feel prouder of the act of courage it takes to start a long project. Thanks for that.
Sometimes sitting down at the keyboard feels more difficult than setting foot to trail, but they both pay off.
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