A funny thing happened to me over the holidays.
Some of the adult members of my family went on a hike. The trail was roughly a mile long and a little rocky. (Think something slightly rougher than the picture on the left, although we were not on Tuckerman Trail).
My parents and spouse dropped out about halfway through it. Youngest brother and I kept going.
He’s in fantastic shape. I’m in decent shape. It wasn’t hard as long as you paid attention to where you placed your feet when the rocks grew slippery.
The trail began to get a little tougher. I started to use my hands to steady myself. There was a steep drop-off on the left side of the trail, and I preferred not to see how far down it went.
The rocks were getting bigger. I was hot and thirsty.
Youngest brother looked up and pointed at the top of the mountain. It looks like the kind of trail that requires legitimate hiking boots and a big bottle of water.
“I think that’s where we’re headed!”
He sounded cheerful.
Why, oh why did he sound cheerful? I thought it was supposed to be a class 2 trail.
“Are you sure?”
“Um…I think I’m going to head back now.” He was okay finishing it alone, so that’s exactly what I did. After he finished it, he walked back and found me and our mom waiting for him.
“You almost made it to the end!”
“Yeah, you were like 90% finished.” He actually went on and completed another short hike further up the mountain before walking back because this trail ended so quickly.
Well, shoot. If I had known that, I would have kept walking.
I wonder how often in life we all give up right before the tough stuff ends?