Unabridged

My legs get tired as the hill gets steeper. I'm not sure if I can make it to the top. I want to stop, but I keep walking. I am out of breath. Finally, the incline levels out, and I am at the top of the hill. I look around at the beautiful view. This is why I kept walking, for this vantage point. But I am not done. The trail goes down the other side of this hill and up another, then down that hill and up yet another. When I finish this hike, I will have summited three large hills. I will be sweaty and stinky at the end, tired of walking and glad to be back at the car where I can sit again for the ride home. There, I'll be glad to get my boots off, and I'll likely take a nap. My legs will be sore for the next couple days, but I will be better for wear for having hiked.

I spent a long time hating hiking. So much effort just to see another waterfall or canyon, or just to walk in a giant circle through some trees or rocks or whatever. My knees especially dislike hiking and often ache while walking downhill almost too much to continue. I felt like I spent every hike with tired legs on the way up and hurting knees on the way down.

One of my favorite places for a stroll in Tucson is Sabino Canyon Recreational Area. They have made nature more manageable with a paved road for walking and shuttles up to the viewpoints. Even their side trails with slightly more gravel, inclines and actual nature are mild hiking.

I much prefer to walk through the heart of a city. The diversity and creativity is endless, and there are always unique treasures to find in all the nooks, crannies and alleyways. The sidewalk and often level ground are also nice. But I have learned to appreciate a good hike, one that hurts my legs and makes me out of breath and takes longer than I want. One that zigzags and changes altitudes and challenges me to keep going after making me almost feel like there's no way I can.

A few years ago, I woke up unbearably early and took a miserably cold train to the small town of Aguas Calientes, Peru. As the sun came up I walked through the quiet town for about an hour to the base of Machu Picchu, where I had been promised a seat on a bus to the top. A man and woman who between them knew maybe ten words in English met us there. Through confused and broken conversation, we learned that we did not have tickets for the bus. To get to the top, we would have to hike.

So I spent the next two hours walking up over 3,000 stone steps, the equivalent of about a hundred flights of stairs. At some points, I could take just a few stairs at the time between rests. As slowly as I went, though, I kept walking.

Finally at the top, I thought I could stop for a while. But a guide met us at the top to walk us around the ruins. We had to keep going. For another hour, when the last thing I wanted to do ever again was take another step, we walked and walked and walked some more around the top of this mountain. Everything in me wanted to stop, but the view and the stories were nothing like I had ever seen or heard before. So I kept going.

Before the hike back down, some of my fellow travelers and I, no exaggeration, took an hour-long nap on a picnic table. I briefly considered, like the ancient Incan spirits, making the top of this mountain my home in order to avoid walking anymore. But eventually it was time for our inevitable descent, and we walked back down the same 3,000 stairs we had just walked up.

I think we have this expectation that life is supposed to be a flat walk on a paved road in the sunshine, like many pleasant Saturday mornings I have spent at Sabino Canyon. But that's a boring life. There are days for clear skies and easy strolls, but you will never walk a flat, paved road and end up at the top of Machu Picchu. Machu Picchu level shit can only be found after things like a dreadfully early morning on a miserably cold train, after receiving unfortunate news that the trip will not go as expected. Sure, some people take the bus. But for me, Machu Picchu's summit could only be reached by climbing a hundred flights of mountain stairs. I have had to trek brutal trails to get to beautiful things.

The beginning of 2013, I found myself at the base of a different kind of mountain. I was low and didn't want to look up much less climb. Someone told me the walk would not go as expected. For weeks, even months, I sat at the base of this mountain. I could have sat there forever. But one day, I decided to start walking. I hiked up this mountain and explored. I enjoyed the view. I saw new things. I hurt and got tired, but I was stronger for having climbed and could see things from a new perspective.

Again, in the fall of last year, I was in a valley at the base of a similar mountain I didn't want to climb. This emotional valley was lower in elevation than the one before, and the mountain I faced was much steeper. But this time I didn't stay at the bottom for long. Though I didn't want to hike, I had hope for the beautiful view I may see at the top. So I walked, even when I could only take a few steps between resting. I kept going.

And here I am, near the summit of another mountain. The view is amazing, like nothing I have ever seen before. And the walk was brutal, but I'm better for it.

Life is not meant to be a flat, paved road or an easy, gradual ascent. And whoever is selling a quick ride straight to the top is usually cheating you. I have found life to be more like an up and down, zig-zaggy hike in giant circles that seem to lead to nothing in particular. You've heard the cliché that life is about the journey more than the destination. I say life is only about the journey and is without destination.

So I'm enjoying this view, but I know in time the terrain will change again. I have stopped expecting everyday to be sunny. I have stopped longing for every walk to be on level ground. I have stopped traveling with a destination in mind. I have accepted that I will not someday arrive at the top of a mountain and be able to stay at the top forever. I rest when I need to and don't start walking again until I'm ready. I have learned to appreciate the climbs, both up and down, and find beauty in the valleys. I have found purpose in the pain and fatigue. I have felt like giving up and am so tired of walking, but I am stronger every day I keep going. I have come across fellow travelers with stories of their ups and downs and all the things they have seen and learned along the way. I have felt without hope in dark valleys only to see the sun rise again over the next ridge. I have stood at the base of mountains and cried in despair, but I have summited those same mountains.

Hell yes, I have summited many mountains, and I will keep walking.