It was a cold day in February. I had my hat, boots and ruck sack on my back. I was ill-prepared for what awaited me. Much to my dismay, my crew was chipper and ready for the day ahead.
I'm not exactly sure where my lack of judgement began. Probably with very little caffeine or sleep.
The hike began. I packed an extra layer, a few bananas and a sandwich. Everyone on this hike seemed more prepared than me, but once we'd started, there was very little I could do about it.
At first, I thought it was easy. I swiftly ran uphill like a knight in battle. I owned this mountain.
Then. It punched me in the gut.
Suddenly, I could no longer use my body in the same way. My legs quickly felt like I was treading quick sand and my eyes turned watery, as if I'd been standing under a water fall. A cold sweat crept up my body and I could feel the fatigue luring me into the trap.
After 4 long hours uphill, I decided I was ready to turn back. The constant nagging of back, butt and ankle pain pinched me in the depths of my consciousness. I knew that I simply could not make it up this giant, painful, dreadful, torturous hill.
But before I started my descent, I stopped to rest.
Scratch that. Let me rephrase. I actually laid flat on the ground like a baby mule deer who was just born into the world. I felt like a rock, sinking to the bottom of a creek while my in shape, healthy, annoying, chipper friends passed me like a torpedo.
And then something happened.
It shook me inside and out. My mind was racing with realization of my flawed way of thinking. I started to see my own arrogance, and lack of respect for the mountain. I was here, on it's turf. Who was I anyway?
Right then and there, I dug deep inside my own head and made the determination that instead of turning around and ceding to my own personal failure, I'd do whatever it took to beat my body and mind into submission. My body was no longer the limitation. This game was mental.
I sat for a while, analyzing my posture, and my stance up the hill. I quickly realized exactly where I went wrong. My failure was not in the body at all. It was TOTALLY in my own mind. I realized that during my entire ascent, I'd been staring at the top of the mountain.
This was a huge realization for me.
You see, my staring at the very tip top of the mountain meant that I was judging my performance against the future. Not focusing on right now. Internally, without even realizing it, I was telling myself that there was a very long way to go, and I simply couldn't do it. My brain was sending signals to my body that didn't really exist.
So what did I do?
I stopped looking at the top of the mountain, and instead focused on my feet.
The second I stopped judging the difficulty of my future ascent up the hill, my pain went away. I continued up the mountain and summited 4 hours later.
To this day, this was one of the most surreal and life changing epiphanies I've ever had.
Sometimes, it's important to just stop and look down at your feet.
As a side note, I took this photo directly after we broke through the clouds. It's one of the most breathtaking scenes I've ever had the privilege of shooting. It was shot on my iPhone 6.
