I woke up to an ache in my chest. A glance at my watch and I saw that it was 11 PM – another 4 long hours before my alarm would sound. We had left the rain tarp off our tent, and through the mesh window I could see millions of stars glimmering in the sky. I tried to root myself into the beauty of the moment – stars lighting up the snow crested mountains, our tent nestled in a little valley at 12,000 feet, my favorite person inside the sleeping bag beside me. And yet, pulling me out of reverie was a throbbing head pain and a dull ache that sat atop my chest.
“Why am I here?” My mind raced along in an attempt to protect me from what felt like imminent danger, “You don’t belong at this altitude. You are not in shape enough for this! Your heart – there must be something wrong with it. Why is it beating so fast?!”
I woke Daniel, fearing something more serious must be going on. “It’s alright Mimi. You’re freaking yourself out and having a mild panic attack. Take some deep breaths. Let’s try and go back to sleep, it will be okay.” I questioned his assuredness – how did HE know if I was okay? He wasn’t in my body. Still, I closed my eyes, holding on to his words as he held on to me, and fell back into a restless sleep.
Prior to departing for Mount Whitney, I hadn’t really put much thought into the adventure ahead. Heck, I didn’t even realize that my backpack was in Oregon until just two weeks before our trip – I was going backpacking and didn’t have a backpack. As the days narrowed down, I began to consider the task before us and an inkling of fear began to make its way in. Daniel and I hadn’t really prepared for this hike. Granted, we are in shape, but we had done exactly ONE 9 mile hike at 7,000 feet just two weeks before. Could I actually handle 14,500 feet? More than double of our last outing? Reading reviews, we learned that there was still a fair amount of snow on the mountain, unusual for this time of year. Did we have the right gear?! Would I slip and fall?! Was this even smart?!
As we drove into the Whitney Portal on Sunday morning, my fear was replaced with awe. The Sierra Nevada wilderness is awe inspiring – mountain peaks that resemble the gothic cathedrals of Spain, crystal clear glacial lakes with mountain trout darting around, and the bright purple of spider lupine illuminating the trail. The first 6 miles up to camp left Daniel and I marveling at the beauty. We took our time as we climbed nearly 4,000 feet – taking breaks to lean our backpacks up against rocks as we made our way through a ziploc bag of salami and cheese.
With each 1,000 feet we gained in elevation, our breath became shorter and a slight headache developed. We got to trail camp at 1:30 PM and wearily set up our tent. With the whole afternoon before us, we toyed with the idea of just summiting right then. It didn’t seem like the wisest option though. As two individuals who are almost always in motion, the six hours of idle time looming ahead was slightly anxiety provoking. But, as we lay on the grass before yet another clear lake, eating oreos and resting our exhausted bodies, we began to settle into the stillness. A great deal of time passed as we filtered water into our 3L camelbacks with a filter that dribbled out an excruciatingly slow return. We explored our surroundings, brought life to a dehydrated dinner of beef stroganoff and played crazy 8’s in the warmth of our tent. At 7:30 PM, with the sun dropping behind the horizon, we lay our heads to rest, seeking sleep before a 3 AM departure for the summit.
Sleep came fitfully as fear found its way back in. My heart rate had been sitting just over 100 bpm for the majority of the day, failing to settle as we found ourselves at 12,000 feet. I’d never stayed overnight at an elevation this high and I wasn’t sure if my heart could handle it. Sleep would find me for an hour or two, and then I’d wake up restless with anxiety and an overall ache throughout my body.
When my alarm finally rang, the pain in my chest had diminished and my head felt slightly better. We dressed in silence, not wanting to wake any of the nearby campers, and began to crunch through the snow towards the trail.
Trail camp to summit was approximately 4.5 miles with 2,500 feet of elevation gain. The journey took us 4 hours – the longest, and also some of the most beautiful, 4.5 of my life. We hiked the first couple of hours in the dark, our headlamps lighting the trail. Several snow crossings had my heart fluttering as I dug my fingers into the icy bank in an attempt to maintain balance. Just as we reached the trail crest sign, above the infamous 99 switchbacks, the sun began to dance to the east. A rainbow glow haloed the mountains in the distance. I was exhausted, a bit scared, and also totally overwhelmed by the beauty of the experience.
As we climbed higher, we stopped every 20 meters or so to catch our breath, making progress slow. Fortunately, with the wonder of the Sequoia National Forest below and Mount Whitney before us, neither of us really minded. Less than a mile from the Summit, at about 14,000 feet, I really started to feel unwell. The pain in my head was piercing, aggravated by the slightest of nods or sudden movement. A salmon jerky stick had left me feeling nauseous and on the verge of throwing up. I worked to maintain focus on the goal at hand – Summiting the tallest peak in the lower 48. Feeling so awful did further heighten the alarm bells in my mind. Was I okay? Was this normal?
At 500 meters from the summit I could hold it no longer and I threw up. About 100 meters further I threw up again. Now Daniel was concerned as well, “We should turn around. That’s not good Mimi.” Frustration welled up and with tears in my eyes I pleaded, “Absolutely not, not when we are this close.” At that moment, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever want to do that hike again and my heart broke at the thought of turning around before reaching the top.
Slowing our pace, the trail lost beneath several feet of snow, we scrambled up rocks to the top, the Mount Whitney shelter signaling that we’d made it. We were officially at the tallest point in the continental US. It hurt to move, breath was hard to come by, and my stomach was greatly unsettled, but we’d made it. Daniel wrapped me up in a hug as we looked out over the great expanse- smaller mountains, glacial lakes, and the southern California desert off in the distance. It was a moment of pure elation.
Unfortunately, the Summit is only the halfway point of a hike. You still have to go down… We had another 7 hours of hiking before us. The final 3 miles hurt like hell, our thighs cramping under the weight of our backpacks and 12 hours of being on our feet, toes slamming into our boots with the steep descent. Never have I been more happy to see my car.
As we rolled down the windows and began our drive home, I sat in quiet reflection over what we’d just accomplished. Throughout the adventure, the recurring theme of my own fear wasn’t lost upon me. Fear had been a companion to me throughout the weekend. Fortunately, I decided to hold fear’s hand and walk forward, with her, anyway.
Fear is a regular in my life. Worry of all that could go wrong plagues me. Anxiety that I’ll fall short, that others will frown down upon me, that the other shoe will drop. At times, this fear consumes me and it is challenging to see a way through. It is in those moments that I am tempted to succumb – to stay home where it feels safe and warm. Yet, I am always so grateful when I don’t. When instead I sit with fear, listen to her and then show her that we can in fact step outside into the unknown, practice trusting that we will be held.
And now to you – What is your relationship with fear? What does “facing your fears” mean to you? What has been the result of choosing to “face your fears”? I’d love to hear.
backtomeblog.com 