For the last 3 years my husband and I have accompanied our
daughter, son-in-law and children to Scottsdale Arizona for eight weeks in the
Spring. Our primary function is to
assist our daughter with the daily tasks of homeschooling, cleaning, laundry, shopping
and preparing healthy meals for all eight of us while we are here. We consider it a privilege to have this
precious time with our family, and are extremely grateful to have the
flexibility to be away from home and work this long. Most of all we are thankful for the weight
loss and restored health that allows us to endure the pace this young family
requires to flow smoothly. Six years ago
I could barely function—much less imagine that all these years later I would be
putting in 12-hour days 5 or 6 days a week!
During our breaks we enjoy taking long walks, swimming or
playing games or tennis with the kids—muck of which I was previously unable to
do. I was never big on exercise, and did
it sporadically at best. I like best to
walk and hike, but realize now I need to dramatically amp up my cardio and
weight-bearing exercise. Because I
rarely took time out of my busy life to appreciate the beauty around me, I
decided to start by looking for places of interest we could hike wherever we
travelled. Keep in mind with my previous
health issues, hiking through hills usually created severe inflammation in my
hips and joints that would sometimes require physical therapy with medication,
ice, and rest to correct.
So what possessed me
to attempt to climb Camelback Mountain here in Scottsdale is still a mystery to
me. Our first year I probably made it
25% of the way before the heat and incline forced me to turn back. Last year, I would say I made it halfway up
the mountain before once again succumbing to the elements. This year, on my husband’s 66th
birthday, I decided we should finally cross this off of “my” bucket
list. So off we went, with one bottle of
water each (you would surely think I would have learned by now). After a half mile hike from the car to the
base of the mountain, we began our assent at 7:20 am (at least an hour later
than we should have). We made the first
half fairly smoothly, with God providing little pockets of shade and bursts of
cool air just when I needed them most.
Every so often we would ask someone coming down if we were getting
close. They would just shake their head smugly as if to say: “you poor old
fools have no idea what you’re in for!”
As the climb became exceedingly treacherous I determined
that we would at least commit to reach the helicopter pad (a tiny flat spot
which I realized was the only way to rescue someone off the mountain). I later learned that was a frequent
occurrence—probably another fact better unknown to me at the time. With great resolve we plowed ahead and
finally made it to the infamous helicopter pad.
I quickly understood why many people (especially those as old as we are)
decided to stop here. From there to the top we could see people literally
scrambling on their hands and knees through treacherous rock formations,
slippery gravel, and very near the edge of steep cliffs in hopes of conquering
the mountain.
At this point I was debating the sanity of going any
further. After all, we had made it an
impressive distance for our age and state of fitness (especially considering my
fear of heights, broken bones, and death).
I reasoned that probably next year, we could make it all the way if we
started earlier and paced ourselves a little better (and brought more water)! Then people passing us coming down started
cheering us on—suggesting we go a few hundred yards, listen to our bodies, and
decide when it was time to call it quits.
That made sense to me, and gave me the impetus to forge ahead. As worried as my sweet husband was about me,
he let me decide when it was time to quit.
And somehow I knew this time, I would not let fear (or common sense)
stop me. Who knows what tomorrow holds,
much less if this chance would pass our way again. So, we kicked it in gear and ate that
“elephant” one bite at a time—pacing ourselves as needed to catch our breath
and take pictures. I joked I wanted
evidence for my family in case we didn’t make it back. On one of those stops we photographed a huge
Gila Monster shading himself under a rock.
It was about here
that I had to stop looking up or down, or the fear would begin to overtake
me. I had no idea how we would safely
get down this god-awful mountain if by some miracle we made it to the top. We just kept following the people ahead of us
and it became apparent that the remaining climbers were younger, more
physically fit and experienced than we were at climbing. That made the elation we felt (or at least I
felt) as we finally stood atop Camelback Mountain that much greater. I drank in the beauty of the desert in
Spring, and marveled at God’s attention to detail as He provided us with the
sweetest breeze that cooled my beat up and overheated body enough to prevent
the desert sun from claiming yet another victim that day.
After a snack and a
few swallows of water, we began the arduous task of descending this monster. I noticed my husband had hardly touched his
water, and it occurred to me he was saving it in case I should need it. All went well for the first ten minutes,
until I remembered the rock I was about to grip onto was the same one that the
lovely Gila Monster was hiding directly under.
As I jerked back my hand I felt my shoes lose their grip on the sandy
slope I was attempting to descend. Fear
gripped me as I fell hard and began to slide downward, unable to stop
myself—certain I would roll right off that mountain. Were it not for my guardian angel of 48
years, I shudder to think where I would be.
All I remember was someone yelling “Good catch!”, and sliding right into
him as he broke my fall. I was extremely
shaken as I scrambled to my feet, and I knew my knees were injured. Blood spurted down my legs and I prayed
nothing was broken. I could only imagine
the cost of being airlifted off that mountain--I was determined to get down it
the same way I’d come up.
The assent up the mountain
took roughly 1 ½ hours; however, the descent took much longer. Every step was painful and we had to stop
often. We poured a little of our
precious water on my leg, and another hiker offered me a couple Kleenex that I
stuffed under my yoga pants to slow the bleeding. I was afraid to look at how deep the puncture
wounds were. My legs felt like rubber
and I had to lock in every step I took because they kept wanting to buckle
under me, and I was terrified of falling again.
My thighs were burning, the temperature was rising and I really had to
stay focused not to panic. We were both
beyond relieved to safely reach the ground after our four-hour adventure on the
Cholla Trail.
My friend Judi was glued to her television that night fearing
it was me when the news announced a woman being rescued that day, and a second
young woman also had to be airlifted out from heatstroke after reaching the top
and being proposed to by her boyfriend.
What a story they will have to share with their kids in years to
come! As for me, I nearly broke into
tears of joy that we actually pulled this off, and that my injuries were minor. I am honestly astounded that I am doing these
things at 62 that I would not have attempted at 30. How foolish of me to take my younger healthy
body for granted for so long, I am saddened when I think of all the adventures
I could have been experiencing!
It has been a few weeks since our epic climb, and except for
a swollen ankle and my cuts and bruises, I feel great. To celebrate I ordered us “Camel packs” so we
can be properly hydrated on our next adventure.
However, my guardian angel assures me we won’t be doing any the likes of
Camelback mountain any time soon. So,
for the time being I will limit my “bucket list” of nature hikes to
fair-to-moderate intensity, anywhere we can explore the beauty and diversity of
this great country.
I am beyond grateful to have the second chance at life that
God and a healthier plant-based diet has afforded us, and look forward to
finding joy in each day that I am blessed to share with the love of my
life. And now...to start planning our 50th
wedding anniversary adventure…..hmmmm….maybe surfing lessons!
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The sweet taste of victory:)
On top of the world!
No turning back this time!
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