This is Part 4 of a 4 part series. Parts I, II, and III can be found here, here, and here.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Sunday dawned calm and bright. Wanting to start our trek back to Paradise by about 8:00, we began to come back to life at 6:30. It was a little early, but the seven-plus hours of sleep felt amazing compared to the previous two nights. Our tent was littered with smelly gear, smelly clothing, smelly food, smelly people, and smelly garbage, so we set about getting everything stowed as best we could.
At one point I put on my boots to make a trip up to the bathrooms. The previous evening I had been too tired to realize the full extent of the thrashing my feet had endured. After my first two steps with those shoes I nearly crumpled to the ground in pain. Each step made me feel like my feet were being flayed alive. I knew that each step down the mountain (we still had 4.2 miles to go!) was going to be pure agony and demand a supreme force of willpower.
Figuring I'd better get a head start, I gulped down some Advil and set out on my own once my gear was all packed. It didn't take long for the rest of the group to catch up. I stumbled down as best I could and tried to glissade a bit on the snowfield where that was possible. Conditions for sliding weren't great though, so that approach didn't save my feet from very much pain.
Over the last half-mile the soft snow ultimately gives way to hard asphalt; as this happened, the pain in my feet shifted a forward bit to my toes. Each hard step on the hard surface sent jolts of pain through both of my big toes. When I took off my socks in my living room several hours later I wasn't too surprised to find swelling, blisters, lots of chafing, and two purple toenails that appeared ready to fall off. (I'm writing this post three weeks after the fact and they still look about the same).
We made it back to the parking lot at about 11:00. We were elated, relieved, exhausted, and very satisfied with our experience.
Final Thoughts
Climbing this mountain was a hard, hard thing. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. The physical toll was pretty obvious. I wasn't in the best shape of my life going into this experience, but I was in decent shape compared with how I've been in recent years. The biking this year has really helped, though it didn't necessarily put me in great climbing shape. I experienced all of the exhaustion that I expected to feel. Several times I had to dig deep to find the strength to keep powering forward rather than requesting a break. We maintained a steady, slow pace - which helped - but the path seemed endless over the last few hours to the top and it felt that way again over the last few hours back to Camp Muir. It required a real mental push to get through those moments.
The unexpected physical challenge had everything to do with my boots. While I expected not to enjoy optimum comfort with a pair of rented mountaineering boots, I did not expect the excruciation that this pair would ultimately dish out. It made for some very painful climbing and some even more painful descending.
I was grateful to not feel any kind of altitude sickness. Other than the thin air, I was able to think clearly and not suffer from any real physical discomfort due to our elevation.
I found myself in a strange emotional place during the entire climb. I watched as some of my climbing mates struggled with (what I would later learn was) self doubt and fear during the climb. I never felt those things. Despite the extreme nature of the environment I was in, I felt at all times peaceful and confident in our team and in our surroundings. It was easy to tell myself that this was a place where dozens of people pass up and down - safely - every weekend and consequently to feel safe about the route. I also felt confident in our team (especially Mike). I was comfortable believing that his skills would be adequate to handle any situation we found ourselves in, and that his judgment would help us to avoid any bad situations altogether. Emotionally I was stable and positive and I was able to provide support to my mates through their struggles.
In the end, it was simply tremendously satisfying to make it to the top of that mountain. Our family motto over the last couple of years has become "I can do hard things." More than once during our climb I thought of Maryn who one year prior to our climb had completed a 20-mile backpacking trip with our family. I remember watching her struggle mightily over the course of a 10-mile day and needing to provide her lots of encouragement so she could make it to our destination. Having watched my four-year-old display such grit I knew there was no way I was going to back down in the face of the difficult obstacles ahead of me.
And so it goes with life. An experience like this is such a great metaphor for the rest of life. As I move on to new and unknown challenges, this is an experience that I will forever be able to look back on and draw strength from.
Following our climb, Mike sent out an email to our group congratulating us and in it he said something I found quite appropriate. He wrote:
"Climbing Rainier is a hard thing, but there are future challenges that can and will be equally difficult. Remember that you can do hard things. Put your face towards those 30-45 mph winds and keep climbing. At some point the winds will change, the difficulties will fade into distant memories and the experience of the journey with trusted friends will be the real reward."
One thing I told Heather when I was speaking with her on the summit was that I never wanted to go back to that place again. It was so difficult to reach and exacted such a toll - and at that moment wanted nothing more than my warm bed. From three weeks later, however, I find that Mike's words are true. The difficulties are starting to fade and the memory is becoming a treasure to me. It is a treasure that I hope never fades.
"We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us." - John Muir
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Sunday dawned calm and bright. Wanting to start our trek back to Paradise by about 8:00, we began to come back to life at 6:30. It was a little early, but the seven-plus hours of sleep felt amazing compared to the previous two nights. Our tent was littered with smelly gear, smelly clothing, smelly food, smelly people, and smelly garbage, so we set about getting everything stowed as best we could.
The morning after
Packing up gear
At one point I put on my boots to make a trip up to the bathrooms. The previous evening I had been too tired to realize the full extent of the thrashing my feet had endured. After my first two steps with those shoes I nearly crumpled to the ground in pain. Each step made me feel like my feet were being flayed alive. I knew that each step down the mountain (we still had 4.2 miles to go!) was going to be pure agony and demand a supreme force of willpower.
Figuring I'd better get a head start, I gulped down some Advil and set out on my own once my gear was all packed. It didn't take long for the rest of the group to catch up. I stumbled down as best I could and tried to glissade a bit on the snowfield where that was possible. Conditions for sliding weren't great though, so that approach didn't save my feet from very much pain.
Returning to Earth
I slid when I could...
Over the last half-mile the soft snow ultimately gives way to hard asphalt; as this happened, the pain in my feet shifted a forward bit to my toes. Each hard step on the hard surface sent jolts of pain through both of my big toes. When I took off my socks in my living room several hours later I wasn't too surprised to find swelling, blisters, lots of chafing, and two purple toenails that appeared ready to fall off. (I'm writing this post three weeks after the fact and they still look about the same).
We made it back to the parking lot at about 11:00. We were elated, relieved, exhausted, and very satisfied with our experience.
Victory formation
Final Thoughts
Climbing this mountain was a hard, hard thing. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. The physical toll was pretty obvious. I wasn't in the best shape of my life going into this experience, but I was in decent shape compared with how I've been in recent years. The biking this year has really helped, though it didn't necessarily put me in great climbing shape. I experienced all of the exhaustion that I expected to feel. Several times I had to dig deep to find the strength to keep powering forward rather than requesting a break. We maintained a steady, slow pace - which helped - but the path seemed endless over the last few hours to the top and it felt that way again over the last few hours back to Camp Muir. It required a real mental push to get through those moments.
The unexpected physical challenge had everything to do with my boots. While I expected not to enjoy optimum comfort with a pair of rented mountaineering boots, I did not expect the excruciation that this pair would ultimately dish out. It made for some very painful climbing and some even more painful descending.
I was grateful to not feel any kind of altitude sickness. Other than the thin air, I was able to think clearly and not suffer from any real physical discomfort due to our elevation.
I found myself in a strange emotional place during the entire climb. I watched as some of my climbing mates struggled with (what I would later learn was) self doubt and fear during the climb. I never felt those things. Despite the extreme nature of the environment I was in, I felt at all times peaceful and confident in our team and in our surroundings. It was easy to tell myself that this was a place where dozens of people pass up and down - safely - every weekend and consequently to feel safe about the route. I also felt confident in our team (especially Mike). I was comfortable believing that his skills would be adequate to handle any situation we found ourselves in, and that his judgment would help us to avoid any bad situations altogether. Emotionally I was stable and positive and I was able to provide support to my mates through their struggles.
In the end, it was simply tremendously satisfying to make it to the top of that mountain. Our family motto over the last couple of years has become "I can do hard things." More than once during our climb I thought of Maryn who one year prior to our climb had completed a 20-mile backpacking trip with our family. I remember watching her struggle mightily over the course of a 10-mile day and needing to provide her lots of encouragement so she could make it to our destination. Having watched my four-year-old display such grit I knew there was no way I was going to back down in the face of the difficult obstacles ahead of me.
And so it goes with life. An experience like this is such a great metaphor for the rest of life. As I move on to new and unknown challenges, this is an experience that I will forever be able to look back on and draw strength from.
Following our climb, Mike sent out an email to our group congratulating us and in it he said something I found quite appropriate. He wrote:
"Climbing Rainier is a hard thing, but there are future challenges that can and will be equally difficult. Remember that you can do hard things. Put your face towards those 30-45 mph winds and keep climbing. At some point the winds will change, the difficulties will fade into distant memories and the experience of the journey with trusted friends will be the real reward."
One thing I told Heather when I was speaking with her on the summit was that I never wanted to go back to that place again. It was so difficult to reach and exacted such a toll - and at that moment wanted nothing more than my warm bed. From three weeks later, however, I find that Mike's words are true. The difficulties are starting to fade and the memory is becoming a treasure to me. It is a treasure that I hope never fades.
There and back again - together
"We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us." - John Muir
Outstanding. I felt deeply of your adventure as I read, and I share the need to conquer the giants that confront us, including those of stone and ice. Congrats all around.
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