Courage on its own two feet

When we reached camp and pitched our tent, I crawled inside and tried to sleep, wanting rest before the climb planned for the next morning. He stayed out and made photos of the stars that hovered so bright over our tent, you'd think the Big Dipper could really pour into the palm of your hand. 

My experience on the trail to Mt Whitney in California stood in stark contrast to the one I took down from it the previous year. I had started to lose control of my body on the descent, which comprised the last 8 miles (and the longest 8 miles) of our hike on the John Muir Trail. I'd cried and cried when I saw the parking lot. We hitched a ride into Lone Pine and checked into a hotel. My ankles swelled to three times their normal size and I took two showers. I didn't feel satisfied like I thought I would.

The second time, we started our hike only an hour or so ahead of sunset. I hadn't seen any of the scenery the first time, and I watched golden hour pass with giddiness I couldn't have faked a year earlier.

I often wait until someone makes me do something risky. I hiked the John Muir Trail because Ben dreamed of doing it and I wanted to prove to him he hadn't made a mistake when he married me at the start of the summer. In that beneath-the-surface kind of way, I had what it took to carry the same pack and wear the same clothes for 15 days and 220 miles. I didn't have enough to do it all along with a smile, but I was young and mountains and remote trails were the most terrifying things I'd been asked to confront.

Like any fearful, self-doubter, I preferred to be told what to do, what to say, how to think. I never knew how to strike out on my own. And I'd fail anyway, I thought. I hid in shallow pools of wit and condescension until 2012 when I met Longs Peak and he looked right through me.

I learned courage isn't found in someone else's boot prints. Nothing pulls it around like an afterthought. Courage hikes on its own two feet side-by-side with fear and weakness. It watches the light sink below the mountains and notices the purple tinted rock. It stays out late and watches the Big Dipper pour out the night.