Yosemite: Nothing worth doing ever comes easy.

Yosemite has always had a special place in my heart. My family has vacationed there since I was little because it was close when we lived in California and we're pretty much the camping kind of vacationers - no resting. But when we moved to Colorado it was a lot harder to get to Yosemite so we just kind of stopped going for a while, which sucked to say the least. So last August we decided it was time to get back on the horse and we booked a trip with the extended family for exactly one year from then, and I've been counting down the days ever since. Sadly it's already come and gone, but it was definitely one of those life changing trips you know you learned a lot from and won't be forgetting any time soon. It was exactly what I needed at this point in my life and it couldn't have come at a more perfect time.

If you stalk me at all (which, come on, I know you do) you'll notice that #27 on my bucket list says "Hike the Panorama Trail in Yosemite...as an adult." I must have done this hike as a kid at least 3 times. It was always "THE hike" everyone talked about whenever we went to Yosemite because it's really long and really hard. It's like 8.5 miles which doesn't seem like that long in the grand scheme of life (especially after JUST watching those hardcore Olympians running marathons and shit... makes you feel a little inadequate when you're talking about how hard 8.5 miles is, am I right?!) which is what I kept telling myself when mentally preparing for this trip. I knew we were going to do it, I knew I would be sore, but I knew it was something I had to do because a) I've done it before, so I can for sure do it again, right? b) it's on my bucket list so I HAVE to, right? c) It's only 8.5 miles and mostly all downhill so it can't be that hard, right?!?!

WRONG. ON ALL ACCOUNTS.

Let me just start from the beginning. We excitedly woke up at the ass crack of dawn and got on the bus that drops you off at the top of Glacier Point (pretty much the tip-top of Yosemite). We admired the beautiful view of Half Dome, took some pictures, and merrily started the downhill trek from Glacier Point into the valley singing show tunes, catching up with the fam, and laughing as a couple of us (including me) tripped and fell for the first time of the day. Still packed with energy this trail seemed like nothing. 8.5 miles? NOOOO PROBLEM.

At the top of Glacier Point overlooking Half Dome

So the first few miles are all downhill. A solid slope, not too hard, we're not out of breath or tired yet. We make it to the first resting point at Illilouette Falls. We happily cracked open some snacks, took off our shoes for a bit, basked in the sun, and kept thinking "psh, we got this." HOWEVER. The next portion of the hike is entirely uphill (it's supposedly only 1.5 miles uphill, but it feels like a solid 12). We started the trek uphill after a short break and almost immediately I feel myself having an asthma attack. My lungs are burning. It's very clear that I'm out of shape and on the verge of death. Everyone else seems to be fine, and in fact, are way ahead of me and my mom (and my dad who stayed behind to make sure the both of us didn't keel over and pass out). This uphill part seemed like forever. It was never ending. Every switchback I felt this immense hope that it would be the last one, and then would realize that I could see other people still hiking uphill wayyyyyy up ahead. It. Sucked.

I started giving myself a pep talk that went something like this: "You can do this. You have had a rough year and you are going to turn it around right now. You are going to get to the top of this sissy, bullshit hill and then you get to go downhill again for the rest of the day. You will do this. You are going to prove to yourself right now that you can still have the things you want. You can accomplish things. You can set your mind to something and get it done. You will show this hike who's boss!"

It was not helping. In fact, it was not helping so much that my thoughts started making a complete 180 and I started dramatically thinking "This hike is a perfect metaphor for my entire life right now! A never ending uphill climb and I'm struggling with every fiber of my being to make it to the top and it just doesn't end! Why can't something as simple as a stupid hike with my family ever just be easy?!" I hope you're finding the humor in this because I'm laughing as I write it. Even though I was NOT laughing while I was hiking (more like on the verge of a mental breakdown), looking back on it, it's pretty hilarious now.

I finally make it to the end of the uphill part and the trail starts going downhill again. The rest of my family is already so far ahead, they're probably already at the next stopping point and feasting on their lunch. So I take off marching down that hill as fast as I possibly can. I left my parents in the dust because I was so determined to leave that uphill battle in the past and get back to the rest of the hike. Mosquitoes were biting me left and right but I didn't care. And when I reached the rest of the group, sure enough everyone was parked at the top of Nevada Falls eating lunch and resting up for the last leg. It felt good to know that there was only a few miles left and the hardest part was over with. Whew.

....Or so I thought. 

After lunch (where one of my water bottles fell into the waterfall) we were faced with a choice: the last 4 miles on one trail, or a 2.5 mile "short cut" with a scenic route. Well, after that uphill part 2.5 miles sounds like a cake walk so we all agree, duh, OBVIOUSLY we're going with the short cut.

Let me just spell this out for you: Straight. Downhill. Rocks. Stairs made out of rocks. Are you picturing this? It's worse than you're imagining, I promise.

It's hot. I'm sweating out every drop of water I'm guzzling into my body. I haven't peed all day and at this point I've already drank 5+ bottles of water. I'm slipping on every step. My legs are starting to shake. It's getting steeper and steeper. It's been well over an hour and we've MAYBE gone a half a mile. This hike has gone from hard to completely brutal. Every step I take I'm pretty sure is going to be my last. I just know I'm going to slip on one of these rocks, land on my ass, throw out my back, and have to be helicoptered out of here. We come to another stopping point where I feel like I'm going to pass out. I'm literally delirious and have about 1/4 of a water bottle left. Everyone keeps saying "the hardest part is over! There's only a little left! Drink that water because at the bottom of this tiny hill we're about to go on there's a water station!" I'm thinking OH THANK GOD! FINALLY!

That is, until I realize I've been lied to. The next part was the hardest of the entire thing. Maybe it's because my legs were already about to give out and collapse underneath me, or maybe I was dehydrated, but I was using every muscle in my body to prevent myself from tumbling to my imminent death. And if it wasn't for my Uncle Paul literally holding my hand, I probably would have. I couldn't believe what I'd gotten myself into. I was staring straight down into a never ending staircase of rocks that I was somehow going to have to climb down.

I don't know how, but we finally make it to the watering hole and I just collapsed. We still had another mile to go before we reached Happy Isles where there's ice cream waiting for you after a long and miserable day. But we stayed there for a while waiting for my mom and dad and Uncle Prescott to catch up because they were struggle city on that last part too. I was covered in dirt and mosquito bites and sweat. I think we waited there for about an hour where I didn't speak or move, just sat and thought about the entire day.  I took a couple notes on my iPod so I wouldn't forget:

Things I've learned today:

1. It's a marathon, not a sprint. Learn some patience. Slow it up.

2. I'm horrendously out of shape, and therefore probably shouldn't commit to 8.5 mile hikes without thinking it through.

3. I idealize things in my head (both in life and in this hike) and have a tendency to jump into things I'm not ready for just to prove to myself that I can do it.

4. I am capable of doing whatever I set my mind to. 

5. Against all adversity of pain and struggle and uphill (and downhill) battles, I pushed myself beyond what I thought I was capable of and extended my limits.

6. My family is everything to me and without them supporting me the entire way I would not have made it to the end. They are literally the reason I finished the hike.
7. Nothing worth doing ever comes easy.

Final resting point at the bottom of Vernal Falls

When my mom, dad, and Prescott finally made it to the watering hole there was only one mile left to go. My legs had an hour of rest and my mind was clear of all the negativity and I got up and walked the last mile side by side with my Uncle Mark, talking about the ice cream at Happy Isles and the hour long showers and enormous amount of cocktails we were going to consume the second we got back to camp. And that last mile went by so fast. I made it to the end of the god-forsaken Panorama Trail. I did what I came to Yosemite to do and I felt so accomplished and proud of myself for NOT being carried out on a helicopter that all I could do was laugh at the ridiculous amount of emotions I experienced throughout one single day. What a crazy life I live. Ha.

Oh, and of course there was no ice cream at Happy Isles (something about an avalanche destroying the ice cream stand? Excuses.) and I didn't even have one cocktail because of extreme dehydration - but none of that mattered. I was just happy to be there with my family.

The next morning I fell as I got out of bed because my entire body hurt more than I've ever experienced in my life. My parents, brother, and I couldn't help but just start cracking up at how gimpy and ridiculous we all looked, hunched over, waddling around and groaning with each step. This is what memories are made of, people.

So the moral of the story is (are you still reading?) sometimes you have to dig so incredibly deep within yourself and summon some strength you don't even know you have, but anything is possible when you put your mind to it. A herniated disc, a hurt neck, shaky legs, and dehydration couldn't stop me from finishing this hike. Thanks to my incredible family and my sheer will to not die in a rock slide, I achieved my goal.

I'm in control of my own life. I can have the things I want. I am stronger than I think.