I am struggling. Gasping for my breath, I stop for one microsecond and continue on my way, as I will stop and think if I halt for any longer. My legs are in agony, but I know I cannot let them rest. I must push on, I must persevere. That is the reason that I came here, to prove to myself that I will not give up. I know that it will be worth it, when I see myself over the entire earth, with a bird’s eye view. I realize that this hike is difficult, but will definitely be worth it.

Now the rain has come. It pours down in icy sheets, penetrating my woefully inadequate jacket. In seconds I am chilled to the bone, though this does little to convince me that I must turn back. I have made my decision to come and I stand by it wholeheartedly. Still, it is discouraging when the small daggers of rain come down like icicles from Mt Olympus. It feels as though I have left the nice, caring world of men and entered the cruel domain of the Greek gods. This mountain trail feels so long, as though I had started when I was a baby, and had been walking up it for all of my life. I am not going to give up on this lifelong journey just because my clothes are a little wet. I raise my hood on and ascend the slippery rocks.
In a half an hour I have left the rain behind. I am at peace in this forgotten place. I am reminded of the past, the way my grandparents would tell me stories of their childhood. I see how the wind catches the leaves and for a moment they are dancers from the roaring 20’s, their dresses flailing about. The old and knotted trees call to mind old Clint Eastwood films, full of cowboys and gunslingers. It is odd that this is what pops into my head. It feels as though this mountain is the furthest thing from the desert. The picturesque trail is full of life, full of tiny individual stories. I have seen more life on this journey than ive ever seen in a crowded coffee shop or packed restaurant. I feel the connection with other hikers as they softly say words of encouragement. “You’re almost there” “You're doing great” “Drink lots of water.” We know that the journey up is difficult and we need as much help as we can get.
It feels as though it has dropped ten degrees. The tiny bushes that once decorated the mountain landscape are gone, replaced with jagged rocks. The trail flattens out and I am caught off guard as I start to walk normally. A quick, casual glance behind me turns into a full minute of awe-inspiring beauty. I watch as those misty clouds wash over the face of the mountain. The cloud is right in front of me! I reach out and my arm is covered in icy condensation. I decide that this is my favorite part of the mountain. The regulars call it the saddle. It is a narrow strip of land connecting two false summits together. I cannot resist the grin that is sweeping over my face. I can honestly say that I have been inside a cloud. It fills me with a sense of wonder. I marvel at what I have just experienced. It was a life-changing event, almost religious in nature.

After a while I press on, for I am not through yet. When I am done admiring the saddle, I reach the first of three false summits. A man comes running down. I can tell that he is one of those insane nature fanatics, and that he probably runs up and down this mountain several times a week. He tells me that I am lucky, that the winds are weak. The air still bites and claws at me though. I feel the chill pierce me to my bones. My resolve is beginning to weaken. How can I keep going like this? How long until my legs give out under me? I grit my teeth and stop thinking. All I do is place on front in front of the other and take it one step at a time. Two false summits later and I can barely breathe. Finally a sigh f relief washes over me. I see a pile of stones with a flag on top. The flag reads:
Humphrey’s Peak
12,635 ft
I become still, astonished that I was able to complete this deed. I allow myself to choke down some apples and juice, before I make my trek back down. It is time to return to the world of man.