By At the age of 6, I was climbing mountains.
I’ve always loved being surrounded by nature, but I truly fell in love with God’s green earth the first time my father took me backpacking in the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range.
Going on week-long trips, we lived off the items in our packs. We were completely alone with each other and the natural world around us.
One trip, in particular, taught me the illusion of limits, that there’s no backpack too heavy for my legs or my spirit.
I was 9 years old and eager to hike with dad. The day started like all our trips, at 3 a.m. The goal was always to leave the house and reach the trailhead by car just as the sun was rising. This left us with an entire day to hike.
I remember vividly the first day of that trip. At the base of the mountain, the heat of the desert sun burned off the early morning dew in a matter of minutes. The cold morning air was replaced by the far-off ripples of heat waves as we put on our packs, locked the car, and set off up the trail.
We hiked a full day to reach our first campsite. We seldom stopped, although my father did tolerate my pauses to excitedly examine the molted skin of a rattlesnake or the discarded antler of a Rocky Mountain mule deer.
We quickly came upon the toughest part of our journey – the steep switchbacks leading up the mountainside.
This was my second or third summer backpacking with my dad. Previously we had only taken day trips. This hike would last a week.
I had been adamant this time during preparations and packing that I could hold my own and pull my weight. I was determined to help my father carry more of the supplies.
He seemed doubtful, but I begged and assured him that I was ready to carry a heavy pack of my own.
Finally, he agreed. He carried most of the equipment, but I was allowed all my own items. I carried my clothes, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, snacks, all of it.
I remember how proud I felt.
I would soon discover that I had been overambitious. On level ground, I could handle the weight fine. But when the path steepened and the sun bore down on me, I started to grow tired and faint.
That hike was 11 years ago, but I still remember every moment, every step, from that morning climb.
The soul…rescues the tired body by transporting the mind someplace else.
I tried so hard to keep going. I pushed and pushed, but eventually began to slow. When my father realized I was falling behind, he stopped to ask if I was all right.
I was embarrassed and ashamed but finally told him how faint and exhausted I felt.
I knew he wanted to get up the mountain as fast as possible, but he stopped for me. We took off our packs. The relief from the weight of my heavy pack made my sweaty shoulders feel as light as the breeze.
He had me hydrate and try an energy gel. The gel was absolutely disgusting, and I threw it up a few minutes later.
My dad’s motto had always been to “give everything we do 110% of our effort” and “never give up.”
But his love for me was greater than his desire to conquer that mountain.
He was patient with me, and I knew that without words, he was giving me the opportunity to decide what we would do.
We waited a few more minutes. My dad knew we needed to keep going, so, even though he had a full pack of his own, he strapped mine to the top of his own.
I now had a light load that I could handle, and I assured him I was ready to keep going. Inside, I was upset at myself. I wasn’t as confident as I sounded, but I put one foot in front of the other and kept going.
My father is the toughest person I know, but looking back on it now, I’m sure he was struggling too. Even the strongest hikers have limits that would be tested. When trekking up a rocky trail, carrying two full backpacks with five days’ worth of supplies, legs would tire, spirits might flag.
But my dad made it look effortless.
To keep our minds off our tired legs, he suggested we tell stories.
We spun tales of cowboys and spaceships and horses and elves. There was no limit to our imagination.
It is the soul that rescues the tired body by transporting the mind someplace else.
Our tales worked. Soon, I barely felt tired at all. We had been transported out of our exhausted bodies and into our own private metaverse, a land where legs don’t ache, and packs are light.
We were having fun.
I told my dad I was ready to take back my things. He seemed unsure at first, but seeing the determined look I was giving him, he relented.
I proudly took back my pack.
Packs back – and feeling lighter – I hiked all day to our campsite. We arrived just as the sun was chasing the horizon of the tall walls of the mountainside to the west of the ravine. The songs of the summer birds filled the air and through the gaps in the deciduous trees, we could see down into the sprawling valley below us.
That hike was a day of triumph for me.
I was 9 then, and I loved soccer.
I have continued to play soccer up until the present day.
Every run down the field, every training exercise, and every fitness test, I tap into the same strength I summoned on the mountain that day. I know my personal bests can always get better if I dig deeper.
While I was embarrassed that he had to help me, he later proudly told the story to our friends and family. He smiled as he talked about his daughter’s toughness.
I had conquered the doubts in my mind. Instead of turning around and giving up, I continued all the way to the very top.
Looking back on that day, I now realize I learned a lot about myself, my limits – my resilience.
That day was also a day I saw my father more clearly than ever before.
I wasn’t just his little girl riding up the mountain on his shoulders. I was his equal, carrying my own pack, pulling my own weight.
My father wasn’t telling me bedtime stories. We were co-authors of wild tales and far-off adventures together.
That day would have gone a lot differently, if not for him. In all the different stories we told, and all the fantastical stories and mythical heroes that I have fallen in love with since, he is, and will forever be, my favorite hero.
I intend to live the rest of my life inspired by that climb.
I know steep mountains can be climbed one step at a time.
I know sharing stories can lift my spirit.
I know the soul can rescue the body.
No matter the task, no matter how hard, when I commit to something, I will see it through to the end – and beyond.
I have learned this from my father.
