"We all have hills in our lives, times of struggle and times of ease, but how we run them will determine a lot..."
It has been over two and a half years since I wrote those words for the February 2010 issue of The Source. I still believe them to hold true. Back in June over Father's Day weekend I had the opportunity to hike the Grand Canyon with my dad, brother, and 12 other friends and friends of friends. It was a 22-mile trek along the Kaibab trail that began on the south rim at 5:00 AM.
For the months and weeks leading up to the trip there was immense enthusiasm towards the impending journey. Every time I’d go home to Wisconsin I’d hike the hills of Green County with my dad and brother in preparation for what was to come. Often times this was done during the hottest part of the day while carrying numerous textbooks in our backpacks. As the day of the hike approached I felt I was physically and mentally ready for this adventure. I slept easy on the eve of the hike and woke up feeling refreshed after a four-and-a-half hour slumber. With my adrenaline pumping, I was ready to go.
It was comfortable 37 degrees when we first left our cabins for the trail at 4:30 AM. As the sun rose and illuminated the valley, a stunning landscape was presented. Reds, oranges, purples, and greens were found throughout the canyon walls and you couldn’t help but be awestruck by the scenery.
By 7:00 AM, it was approaching 90 degrees. We continued on our downhill course towards the Colorado River, winding through tunnels and across bridges. After three-and-a-half hours of hiking we stopped for a lunch of MRE’s, protein bars, and Gatorade. We were 7 miles into the journey and grateful to be at the first water station.
Having completed the 7,260-foot descent, we were in what I called the Valley of the Sun during the hottest part of the day. Here the mildly shaded path along the giant canyon walls were merely a memory as the trail offered no relief from the 110-degree heat for the better part of four hours. The initial energy and enthusiasm began to be replaced by symptoms of fatigue and dehydration. By the time we reached the next watering hole, some in our group were already starting to cramp. Unfortunately, we still had the most difficult part of the journey ahead.
With 16 miles under our belt, an additional six to finish off the day didn’t seem terribly intimidating. Even with a 3,900-foot climb over the last 4.5 miles, it seemed very doable. I knew how far I still had to go, I had a relative idea of how steep it would be, and by now I was well acquainted with the sun. However, what I did not realize is, true to the hills of the past, I was not going to be able to climb this one without learning something about myself along the way.
When we began our ascent up the last 4.5 miles, my blood sugar was 130. Two hours and three miles later, it was 489. I didn’t realize it right away, though. In fact, after reaching the final watering hole before the top, I dropped my bag and fell asleep on a rock for twenty minutes. When I woke up, I was immensely dehydrated, nauseous, and felt completely awful. To put these numbers in perspective, on average I want my blood sugar around 100. When I train, I have it around 150. This reading was much too high and my body was not happy.
After giving myself insulin, I dumped out all of the water I was carrying minus a two-liter bladder. I wanted to make my pack as light as possible for the final ascent. Up to this point, I had been fortunate enough to not cramp up. With this extreme hyperglycemia, however, I was now on the verge of having my quads cramp up with every step. This subsided after about forty minutes, but I was still a ways from the top. Then the altitude started to get the better of me.
The trail was broken into switchbacks that were roughly 50 yards in length. At this point, I was struggling so mightily with the altitude that I had to stop at the end of every switchback to catch my breath. I’d take five deep breaths, take a swig of water, and head up the next switchback. This was a slow, but solid, strategy for me, until I ran out of water.
So there I was, separated from the group at this point, struggling to take in enough oxygen, dehydrated with no water, legs starting to feel like they are about to cramp again, and my blood sugar crashing down (I tested in at 63 by the time I got to the top). I. Felt. Terrible. I wanted nothing more than to be done. This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t enjoyable. I was not having a great experience. I couldn’t stop, but quite frankly I wasn’t sure how much farther I could go. I pushed myself to the top of the next switchback. I looked over my shoulder through a clearing in the trees, and this is what I saw:
I could see clear across the Canyon. I could see where I started. I could see how far I had come. I could see what I had accomplished. And in that moment right there, when I felt as close to death as I have felt, I felt happiness.
There are many things I took away from this experience, but these are three lessons that stick out most in my mind. First, no matter how difficult somebody tells you the task will be, your ability to mentally prepare for it can only be pushed as far as your past experiences. If your past experiences haven’t brought you to the level of fatigue or challenge you are about to experience you do not have any way of truly estimating how difficult the process will be and how far and hard you will have to push yourself throughout the process.
Second, in order to accomplish something great—truly, truly great and worthwhile—you will undoubtedly experience an uphill battle at some point that will test you immensely. When this time comes, do not fret or panick. Instead, break the task down into small, manageable segments and complete them step by step.
Third, do not lose sight of why you are doing this. Understand that you are facing your current challenge for a reason. Embrace that and be grateful for it because it is the burning in your legs and lungs that makes the view from the top worth it. And believe me, if you truly want it, it is worth it.
“...while the destination is motivation, the journey is why I breathe...”
Here’s to faith, strength, and passion.
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