Uphill, Both Ways

This is the third installment in a five-part series on my experience hiking Mt. Whitney this summer.

For the sake of reference, I live here: 

The view from my office building. Terrible, I know.

Hiking Mt. Whitney took me here: 

A pretty good view from the top too.

There is a considerable change in elevation between the two. Like 14,505 feet of change. And, having a job that requires my presence as well as a family that requires my attention, it's not like I could drive off as often as I'd have liked to prepare for this hike (read: at all).

This makes training for a climb difficult (as does my arthritic knee and general huskiness). But failing sucks worse than physical fatigue, at least to me, so I trained hard.

I hiked a tiny local mountain repeatedly. I ran hills. I rode my bike. I drank water in ridiculous quantities. I shrank my meal portions in the run-up to the climb to be ready for a day of energy bars and electrolyte tabs.

But none of this is Whitney. And I knew it. If there was anything I was afraid of, other than another bout of altitude sickness, it was not being in good enough shape to get to the top. After all, the one day round tripper is tougher than the two-day trip that kicked my ass the first time.

Worse, there was no way I could know whether or not I'd make it until I touched the top of the mountain.

In this gap - faith. Also, imagination. I believed I was ready. I had to, or it would have been pointless to start walking in the first place; pointless to make Gus and Jeremy rearrange their lives to come with me; pointless to think about it in the first place.

But I also studied the hike intently. I watched videos online of ascents. I read people's blogs and stories about their own experiences. I looked back at pictures of the first hike and read maps of the trail along with pacing guides for reaching various landmarks along the way. With all this in my head, I could imagine myself at almost every point along the way, reaching forward to see myself at the next checkpoint when the climb was at its most difficult.

I liken this to the way Thornton Wilder was able to create an accurate representation of Peru in his classic novel The Bridge at San Luis Rey. The book won the Pulitzer in 1928. Wilder wouldn't visit Lima until 1941.

When he did, I'm certain it all felt familiar. As familiar as the summit Mt. Whitney felt when I reached it.