The Climb

The Manitou Incline- Colorado

• 2,768 Steps

• 1 mile

• 2,000 elevation gain

How many steps do you need to take to know what you are made of? How many times do you look up and see the endless staircase and continue on, knowing you will make it to the top? How many times do you turn around and see nothing but stairs below, seeing how far you have already climbed?

I put on sad music…the spotify playlist called “Sad Girl Mix,” I smiled at every single person I came into contact with, and I put one foot in front of the other. Even as I listened to the sad songs about love and loss.

This is a very popular hike. There were a lot of people on this never ending staircase. I went during a holiday weekend, mid-day. It was fairly packed. In circumstances where I want to be one with nature, I never would have chosen this time of day or a holiday. But to me, this was about a staircase with the nickname of “staircase to hell” and it sure fit my mood, where I was at emotionally and just needing to sweat and breathe heavily and push through. 

The first half I didn’t think. I didn’t see much either besides my feet. One foot and then the next. I basically was a robot. The music was playing. I didn’t look too far ahead and didn’t turn around either. I just pushed. My ego was involved. I was in a race. 

The race I realize that was with myself, my heart, my confidence, my vulnerability. I was racing up those steps, one at a time and away from the self-doubt, the ideas that I am not good enough, the pain I have been letting go of for the weeks prior, the life I thought I was going to lead. I was racing up that staircase to force my body to move so I could prove I was good enough. To whom? I am not exactly sure. But I raced up anyway. 

I hit mid-point and it is where I needed to take a breather. This is where I looked down. This is where I looked up. This is where I paused. Funny how the physical self can mess with your mental self? I hit the wall physically enough to take off the blinders. What I saw changed my perspective for the second half of the climb. 

I saw an older woman with walking sticks, taking one step at a time at a very slow and controlled pace. She was smiling at every single person she came across. She wasn’t going to make it up to the top in record speed, but it sure looked like she was enjoying the journey. She had a brace on her leg and I wondered the pain she might be in, taking these stairs? I wondered what prompted her to be here on this day, climbing this climb? Was she facing something internal too? 

I saw a couple climbing at a medium pace. The woman; a few steps ahead of the man. Her eyes were on her feet. You could tell by the way she walked she was nervous. She was breathing heavily and she was stopping often. The man’s eyes were on her; you could see him tracking her every stumble of feet, the lift of her knees to the next step. He was there with supporting words and his presence behind her as she climbed. I saw her look back at him and there was gratitude there. A steadiness to that glance. A steadiness in them together. I wondered what their morning was like? I wondered what hardships they have faced as a couple and come through? I wondered about the storms weathered to build such support I was currently witnessing. 

I saw a man making the climb by himself. It looked like a struggle. Each step looked so very painful and difficult. He stopped often, but he did not give up. I watched him for a while. He took his deep breaths, he rested his hands on his knees and then he continued on. He kept looking up, seeing how far he still needed to go and continued to climb at his own pace and in his own way. I recognized pain in him too. He was facing some demon. He was not giving up. 

I realized that while I was in my own world the first half, I sure wasn’t alone on this staircase. We all were here for something. It might have looked different person to person, but there was something in us all that had something to prove or some reason to be at this exact place at this exact time together on this climb. I didn’t feel so alone as I continued on. Each step while physically still feeling heavy, emotionally felt lighter. I was not alone. We were all in this place at this time together. 

My mind wandered after that. I was no longer the robot. I was pensive. I looked down at my thighs, taking each and every one of those 2,768 steps. Those thighs that I have countlessly been embarrassed about, thought were always too big, spoke so negatively about. They were pulling my body up this climb. At that moment, I felt appreciative of those thighs. They were carrying me through the pain in more ways than one. 

I started thinking about what I liked to do. Here I was, climbing this climb. I was doing it alone, specifically choosing a date my friends were out of town as this wasn’t their style. It was mine. I have looked through the lens of negativity for hiking so much alone. I have thought it was sad, thought something was wrong with me, etc. etc. etc. But I realized, step by step, how much I love putting in my headphones, going at my own pace and getting to be doing these things. My body does these things. I love doing these things, regardless if someone else does too.  It’s ok to love hiking alone too. I do. 

My mental thoughts drifted again as I reached the top. Taking that last stair, doing it completely alone, completely sweat drenched and completely exhausted, I felt gratitude in myself and who I am; that I am the person that loves to do this; that I am spending my time and my trip searching for the hardest hikes to do. That is who I am and I felt so triumphant in crossing that incline finishing line. I felt such pride in who I am. And in that moment, I knew I was going to be ok, that there was light shining in, that I had a big beautiful future ahead.

So I ask again; how many steps do you need to take to know what you are made of? For me, that day, it was 2,768. How many times do you look up and see the endless staircase and continue on, knowing you will make it to the top? It took me hitting half way, for me to see I wasn’t alone and that we would all make it to the top. How many times do you turn around and see nothing but stairs below, seeing how far you have already climbed? The one time that mattered most was at the top. Where I looked down, and I saw myself; truly saw myself, dancing in the sunshine.