Let's just get to that rock

I remember the night before climbing my first fourteener. It’s an easy memory to tap into because the feeling of it has never left me. I remember the curl in my stomach, the anxiety I've come to know like a friend, as I snuggled up in a tent next to my childhood best friend and hiking buddy. She was a track star; I ran track too. I worked for every bit of strength that emerged from my thirteen-year-old body. She was one of those people who had the gift of innate talent. She was strong, beautiful, and brilliant, and she was the kind of person who carried those things in a way that made you think, you could carry those things too. I knew I was lucky to have her to compare myself to. I knew that if she made it to the top, I had to make it to the top, in that thirteen-year-old girl's way. Which is to say, I knew I was climbing a fourteener the next day.

I remember whispering to her, “I wish we were doing something relaxing tomorrow,” and she responded to me, “We are doing something relaxing,” as she drifted off to sleep, and I lay there calculating the feat.

We laughed the first few miles, sang songs, and cracked jokes, and I remember feeling delighted to be on this hike. That is until we reached the end of the tree line, and as we laid eyes on the Summit, my heart sank. The sight took the wind out of me. I was overwhelmed by the goal I had laid out in front of me.

What I know now about my body, at twenty-six, is that it is very big on survival. My mind went first, and the anxious thoughts began as the air got thinner, and my breathing grew stunted. My legs became shaky, and I started to feel nauseous. I fell back from the crew as I looked down and my legs and hands were swollen. We were only about two and a half miles from the Summit, and as those who climb know, the last miles are the toughest. My body went into survival mode or, as most people call it, altitude sickness.

My body did not want to reach the top of the Summit as it sensed danger. My mind knew we were making it to the top. My hiking guide Mike also knew by the look in my eyes that I was making it to the top. He presented to me calmly and steadily the option to stop, but he assured me that if I kept going, he’d make sure I was safe, and if he noticed my judgment was becoming impaired and I was putting myself and others in danger, he’d have to stop me.

I looked about 500 ft. in the distance and saw a rock, “let’s just get to that rock and reevaluate,” I whispered. We walked to that rock as nausea settled in, and when we reached the rock, I threw up. But then, I felt better. I saw another rock a bit further in the distance and said, "let’s get there."

This is how I got to the top of my first fourteener. One rock of a goal, after one rock of a goal, pushing through nausea and rock-hard toes and swollen fingers. When we got closer to the Summit, I met up with my childhood best friend she asked, “are you ok?” I don’t remember my answer, but I remember her saying, “you don’t look too good; I was worried about you.” She went a bit ahead, and I kept my eyes on her. She’d look back to ensure I was ok, as we scaled the last half mile to the Summit. I remember feeling such an adrenaline rush that I forgot about being sick, I was on top of the world. Thus began my relationship with nature.

In my everyday life, there is a certain toughness I tap into that I know comes from nature and my childhood best friend.

Nature is a teacher. I’ve never met a rock, a tree, a flower, a sunset or a sunrise, a river or a lake that I didn’t love. I am grateful that nature has loved me back. Two times in my life, a monarch butterfly landed on me; I once spotted a rattlesnake hiding under a rock seconds before my friend stepped on it and was able to divert. I trust nature, and I feel safe in nature. I've learned nature’s cues, and how to read the signs of danger, and I also feel most myself in nature. I’ve also been told I look my best in nature. For someone who has a complex relationship with family systems, and community systems, nature is a system I can understand. Nature feels like home.

Nature is the place I feel closest to God, nature is where I go to feel connected to something bigger than myself. I encourage everyone to be curious about what drives them to a sense of wonder and an appreciation for the simplicity of existing. It may be science, art, dancing, working out, gardening, animals, travel, or even working. Hold these things gently. Allow them to center you in focusing on just getting to that next rock, when you need it.