Last week I climbed Croagh Patrick…
It was the hottest day in over forty years, I was wearing cheap runners & not enough sun screen… and we didn’t bring much water BUT we pushed through. My husband, always the optimist, was positive every moment, laughing and making jokes to keep our 12-year-old focused. They both moved at a swift pace, without fear, while I was calculating risk, noticing dangers… anticipating the next fall or near-miss while staring at every rough rock making up the ground. When I would look up, the height & breeze made my legs shake as we approached the summit⛰. I was scared. I felt powerless. Powerlesness is the absolute WORST feeling for me. I hated it!
At the same time, I knew I wasn’t going to quit. I knew it was going to end AND that I would be happy afterwards, proud. I wanted the memories with my family, I wanted the experience, even if it mostly sucked (which it kinda did). I was disappointed at the top and even more terrified and sore coming down.