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Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. ~Lao Tzu

It was about two weeks ago, wasn’t it?  This promise of climbing a mountain.  Of each moment of exercise, each step being one in the right direction.  Of the pursuit of a mountain top.  A promise to myself to claim my own rights to that specific summit: Sharp Top.  I had a personal understanding then that the incline may take me months to condition for and finally master.  But I knew the fate I was weaving and  that it would be realized:  a triumph would result. 

 I figured at least a few dry runs on less strenuous climbs were to be expected.  Something more to my bodies liking and understanding.  More to its current capabilities.  But I guess sometimes you just have to jump in; both feet bounding toward the goal.  So, that is exactly what I did.  We did. 

We headed out on Sunday: six of us, a backpack per couple.  With four younger hikers blazing the way, it kept,hubby and I, the older, less spry folk, pushing forward. 

Two of our trail blazers. Jennifer and Cyndia

In addition to my unconditioned body, ice and wind sometimes slowed progress.  The sound of the wind slicing through the trees often drowned out words, but laughter ran alongside it.  There was a bit of hiking prowess required in scaling over ice covered trails and at least once, most of us walked tall above the earth at one moment only to be nearly planted horizontally the next.    Although I seemingly accomplished the slippery slopes, it was unexpected soft soil that undermined my sure-footing.  There were no preconceived notions that the clamber up the mountain would be without incident. Muscle rub and bandaids trimmed away any discomfort.

Matt skating across the trail.

Soon to be the greens of Spring encapsulated in ice.


Grunting, panting and yes, enjoying each step, we did it.  Someday I’ll be the 65 year old still taking on mountains.  That’s the ultimate goal.  But it won’t happen if I’m the nearly 47 year old staring up with disbelief.

Perfect respite spot for the weary. Only a few hundred feet until the trail opens up to the wide open blue skies.

The male half of our entourage resting at the highest spot they could find.

Never measure the height of a mountain until you have reached the top. Then you will see how low it was. -Dag Hammarskjold