“Are you going to come?” he asks me with
a hint of surprise in his voice. I don’t know if it is because he is the man I
once loved, the one who helped me start conquer my fears, or because it is that
if I said yes, I would be climbing the second tallest mountain in Utah, I hesitantly
say, “Yeah, what time?”.
At 5 am the next day I am the first to
get to the parking lot where we are supposed to meet. It is mid July but I get goose bumps every now
and then. No one is in sight. There aren’t cars or pedestrians. Not even the
sun has shown her face. And yet, there I sit, with my car doors locked and the
windows rolled up. The next first arrives and I don’t know him but I roll down
my window half way and ask him anyway, “You going to Mt. Nebo ?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Me too.” We both get out of our cars
but lean against them, to each his own, keeping our distance. We wait for
whoever else, we’re not really sure who, glancing back and forth at nothing and
making small talk. One by one a few more arrive.
Then he gets there, the man in charge,
and half of us jump in his luxurious 1986 Buick with six seats that smell like
dirt and energy drinks--and he drives. Another person drives behind us in her
silver Prius with three others in the back seat that I don’t know. I only know
the man in charge and we don’t talk much anymore.
For about an hour he drives and I’m in
the back seat trying to curb the knot in my stomach. Do I really want to do
this? Yes. I’m determined to make it. The sun is just starting to come up.
We get there and, at first, we are all
moving forward and up at a quick and steady pace. I step aside for a minute to
catch a breath and let the others pass. Another girl stops too. But when he
comes up instead of passing he stops and looks at me and says “Hey! Don’t stop.
If it is getting hard for you, the best place to be is in the front.” And then
he waits for me to get in front of him with a toothy smile and a hand gesturing
to my place in line on the thin trail.
A little while later he passes me up.
Him and the others. I am left behind with the girl who stopped by me earlier.
She too is breathing heavily and complains about her legs aching from dance the
day before. I ran a 5k yesterday but what is slowing me down isn’t my body but
my mind and the rock in my stomach.
For a while we can still see their red,
blue, and white t-shirts. One guy has a pair of hiking sticks, but slowly we
get another tree or hill behind them.
We hear him yell something to us.
Something like, “You’re doing great!”
But we aren’t sure. We just keep going.
We talk about food and Denmark and Guatemala, and about our families and hopes
and dreams. There are times we pass the long grass and wild flowers in silence.
But it usually doesn’t last long. I offer her some Jerky that I bought the
night before. She just has graham crackers. She says she is glad that I am
going at the same pace she is. I am too.
It seems like the farther we get the
higher the peak is. Shouldn’t it be the opposite?
The trail started out thin winding
through white spotty trees and grass. Now we have gotten more than half way and
the scenery is dwindling. There are mostly just slippery rocks that taunt my
feet and balance reminding me how close I am to the 10,000 foot above sea level
edge. That is about 9,995 feet higher than my own skin that I feel calm in.
Even high heels make my face flush and want to close my eyes a little. But I
keep going and the sun is starting to show her face. We stop every now and then
to drink water and take a breath.
When I was nine everyone at school was
excited for a special day, a day we would never forget. There was a long line
of kids. Some younger and some older than me. I was hesitant to get in line but
decided, “Why not?” All too soon I was
at the front.
“You’re next,” the man with the helmet
told me. And he handed me a mangle of ropes and told me that I was supposed to
put them on my legs and hips, real tight, and then I was going to be hooked in. I
looked up and up. That was a lot higher than my 4 foot stature was comfortable
going up. Up. Who knew whether I would choose how I come down. Or when.
But I looked back at all the kids in line and swallowed hard and stepped into
the mangled ropes, pulled the straps tight and got hooked in. Then he showed me
where to put my small, cold, sweaty hands. I pulled myself up and looked for
more fake rock shaped plastic things that would hold my trembling arms and legs
up long enough to find the next one. As I reached up I took a deep breath and
pushed down what might stop me from going further. I didn’t even look down but
I knew I couldn’t possibly go further without falling to my death. That thing
wasn’t stable. “I’m done!” I declared.
The man with the helmet came to my side
and looked me in the face and asked “Are you sure?”
“Yes! I’m too scared,” I told him. I
couldn’t do it. It was too high.
Today was going to be different. Now,
years later, I remember that day and many instances similar to it when I had
given up. These memories get forced into my mind by some unknown power as the
path is getting steeper and I look up at the rocky terrain of Mt. Nebo . It goes higher and higher. I feel the same cold
sweat and that rock in my stomach.
We are short of breath. I tell my
companion “I’m not sure if I will make it to the top. Keep going if you would
like. I’ll wait here for you and the others.”
But then we see two others from our
group that left us behind, the guy with the hiking sticks and the other one I
don’t know. They are at the top of the first of three pointy, slippery, rocky
peaks. They are just going around and they seem fine.
“Look! We aren’t that far behind!” my
companion says.
I say to myself “Why did you come here
anyway? To turn around when you’re more than halfway? Of course not.” I tell my companion I’ll follow her. She says
that I need to be in front of her so that she knows where she should go and so
that she doesn’t give up. Sure. I’ll help her not give up. Yeah.
We take a couple wrong turns and I think
we should just turn around all together. The others are sure to be coming back
down by now. It has been too long since we last saw someone from the group. But
another man with hiking sticks and a big back pack probably with a parachute
and landing gear just in case, points us in the right direction. Why didn’t I
bring that stuff? We decide to take fewer breaks. Two of my three water bottles
are empty and so is the jerky bag. She saves her graham crackers for the way
down. I save my Reese’s Fastbreak. Less breaks means more for later. And less
opportunities for my racing heart to tell me I’m too high and should turn back.
We pass the second peak and my heart is
racing. There is a cloud blocking the sun and a chill in the breeze. I look
only forward not to the sides and heaven forbid I look down. I feel like a
trapeze walker except our trapeze is a little wider than that rope they use in
the circus. It’s got to feel something like this. One fall and my face could
get scratched off or I could crack my head open. Stop thinking about that. Keep
on moving. There is no way I could let myself turn back at this point.
The last rise of the Peak was steeper
than the other two but shorter. I take long steps and prepare myself for what I
will see on the crown of Mt.
Nebo
“Great job! You made it in less than 3
hours!” he says. I smile and nod. He’s in charge so he has to say that. My legs
tremble a little. I sit on the biggest rock I see.
I look in front of me. The sun is almost
above our heads now. It is warm and shining on me. “Less than 3 hours,” I
think. I look down and down and see all we have passed to get to this crown.
The crown of a mountain. My instinct is to look away but I can’t help it. We
are all here so high and no one is hurt. I’m not hurt. The mountain didn’t
crash down under my weight. My shoes didn’t fall apart. With all the times I
could have, I never turned back and so here I am 11,928 feet about sea level.
My brothers will not believe this! My stomach is trying to escape through my
throat, or is it my heart? I don’t care. I’m here. I’m fine.
“Hey,” I say, “what’s the highest
mountain in Utah?” I ask the man in charge.
“King’s Peak,” he says smiling.
“When are you doing that one?” I ask.
Thinking, I might go with him and take another step closer to the edge. And as
I take that step, know that I’ll be safe. Heights and past relationships would
no longer be something I fear. They would from now on be things I embrace. That
way they can make me a better person. Fears are meant to be conquered, like I
conquered Mount Nebo.
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