Just don’t stop

The first time I hiked, at age 18, I remember feeling so alive. I’m an Earth sign. Does that have anything to do with it? In the past two years, living in Colorado, hiking has become something more than an occasional activity. The opportunities here seem endless. During this past year, 2021, I completed 79 hikes, 39 of which were on trails that were new to me.

The kind of hiking that I am doing has evolved. It’s now a lifestyle, and it’s been an integral part of my journey in grief. This passion for hiking, and all that it does for me, also resides in my subconscious. I recently awoke from a dream with these words in my head- I noticed the sensation of my feet cupping the earth and I felt like royalty.

I am sure I could not have conjured up a more elegant description while awake.

Last summer while on a favorite and challenging trail, Herman’s Gulch, I was descending from what had been a long four-mile incline and stepped aside for three women on their ascent. FYI, that’s trail etiquette. I noticed as they came closer that they were probably twenty years older than me, early to mid-70’s. As they approached, I said, “you ladies are beautiful – you are glowing. I just hope I can be hiking these trails 20 years from now.” One woman responded with a big smile and said, “you will – just don’t stop.”

That is some simple and sound advice.

One of my favorite families visited me in Colorado last year. Isabella, who was preparing to enter her freshmen year of college, had a short but ambitious bucket list for her summer. It included hiking a 14er. This is Colorado lingo for summitting a mountain above 14,000 feet in elevation. There are fifty-eight 14ers in the state of Colorado. There are only a few others in the entire country sprinkled in Alaska and Washington.

I have found that many people, outside of Colorado, don’t really grasp what this means. But to provide perspective, Denver is famously called the mile high city at 5,280 feet. And it is essentially flat. Elevation is deceiving. On the flip side, we can incorrectly think that because we have been in the mountains, anywhere, we are automatically at a very high elevation. But the highest point east of the Rockies is Mt Mitchell in North Carolina at 6,684 feet, not much higher than flat Denver.

I honestly never even thought about elevation until I moved to Colorado. Even I incorrectly assumed that I must have been near 14,000 feet at some point in the past while downhill skiing in Europe or the US. But as it turns out, Breckenridge Colorado is the highest ski resort in the US (third highest in the world) and it is only at 12, 841 feet. The highest ski peak in Europe is in France and is 10,600 feet. The vast majority of us have never been above 14,000 feet except in an airplane.

Why is it even a big deal? Well, for one thing, there is a lot less oxygen, so it’s simply harder to breathe. And, there is a chance of acute altitude sickness. When hiking at that altitude hydration, fitness level, mental stamina, a favorable forecast, and just plain luck are all helpful. So, you don’t enter into it lightly, you prepare yourself mentally and physically, you check the forecast, you carry the ten essentials in your backpack, and you acknowledge that you may not make it to the summit, and that’s okay, as long as you make it back to your car.

So there you have it. My quick lesson in elevation. Why is this relevant in a blog that’s not about hiking? Elevation will slow you down. And so will grief.

And so, back to Isabella’s bucket list. With all of this in mind, Isabella, her sister Sophia, and their parents Amy and Paul, piled into the car with me early on a July morning to the Mt. Bierstadt trailhead 40 miles outside of Denver. Although this was my second time hiking this trail, and would be my third 14er hike, it was the first of its kind for my guests.

This is one of the greatest memories of my summer. Each one of us faced our own challenges. Mine was knowing what to expect, and often ignorance is bliss. We all summitted in our own time. And we all descended the mountain during a hailstorm, arriving back at the car, soaked from head to shoes.

I think that day we each had some version of the words, “just don’t stop,” playing in our heads. The mind is powerful, and these three words may be what we need to hear while trekking a mountain or grieving a loss. It may feel like your legs are heavy weights. You may feel like you can’t breathe. And you may feel like you will never make it. You may be acutely aware of your struggle, with that pack on your back and what feels like all of your sorrow inside. But you are on this journey, and sometimes what you have to do is keep moving.