Uncharted Territory

One of the scariest things I survived as a mother was allowing my sons to go on their first 50-miler. After months of preparation, which included required meetings with experienced leaders who made sure parents knew how isolated and rugged the area would be, I pretty much knew that if son #1 (barely 13 years old at the time) didn’t die of an asthma attack while they were hiking at 12,000+ foot elevations in Colorado, son #2 (11 – he was only 11!) would fall off a cliff and the body would never be found. I KNEW that it would be one or the other; mothers FEEL things, and they KNOW when they are right. But I saw them off and never let them know my fears, and I cried every day they were gone.

Lo and behold, they returned hale, hearty and filthy 8 days later, full of excellent tales of adventure. I could see the drastic difference in their confidence. I marveled at the stories they told. I was in awe of the beauty of the pictures they shared. I was so proud of my strong, young sons who had endured with gusto and enthusiasm such an arduous trek.  I would look back on this experience every time one of my chillins left - for college, for foreign exchanges, for missions, for marriage - and it made it a little bit easier to let them go.

When son #2 went back to Colorado for a second 50-miler I was a bit envious of his opportunity. Somehow a conversation began with some daughters and friends, and before I knew it I was involved with a mother-daughter group determined to undertake the same hike. Five teenage girls, five moms, and a very brave young man who had led our scout sons in years past, as well as some of our YW 4th-year hikes. We worked alongside a scout troop to plan the trip, with the idea being that we would travel together to Durango, take the train to the last stop before Silverton and begin the hike together, and then separate into 2 groups going on different trails by the second day.

As we boarded the train on a day in mid-July I could hardly contain my excitement. It was really happening! The sun was shining; we could smell the pine trees and see the swirling river at the bottom of the steep, rocky cliffs. Ashes and cinders from the steam engine blew into our faces and hair. I was grinning from ear to ear. My friends expressed some nervousness as the climb became steeper and steeper, and the rough terrain literally surrounded us. But I was ready for this! I had not an ounce of fear.

Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Train

We unloaded all of our gear from the train at Elk Park. Passengers staying on expressed amazement at our undertaking. We posed for a group picture, put on our heavy packs, and began climbing. And climbing. And climbing. I learned too quickly that I don’t climb well with 35 (45?) pounds on my back at high altitudes. I was slow. I was the slowest, in fact. It was quite embarrassing, but I kept going and I ended up in the same place everybody else did in time to help with dinner and setting up camp for the night. We slept well and began climbing again the next morning.

As we went up one narrow pass we found snow, lots of it, and most of the kids enjoyed sliding down it and playing in it when we stopped for lunch. Later that day we came to the infamous switchbacks to the top of the Continental Divide. David, our fearless leader, had told us more than once that we should take our time and stay on the trail. I wish I had listened to him, but when I saw that he was heading straight up the mountain it looked easy enough, and so I followed him. It was my undoing, and once again, I was the last one to arrive at the top. Everyone was shouting encouragement, and then they were shouting for me to hurry up. A storm was coming! We took only a few moments to get a group shot at the top and then began heading down the slippery slopes in rain that turned into sleet that turned into snow that turned into whiteout conditions. It was surreal; I felt like I was on a National Geographic expedition. We couldn’t follow any trail, and we were slipping and sliding our way down. Our goal was to just get off the top of the mountain and find a safe place to dry out and warm up. We eventually found an old miner’s shack where we started some fires and hung up wet clothing. We heated up hot cocoa, ramen soup and oatmeal as quickly as we could, but some of the youth who had gotten wet playing in the snow were in a bit of trouble because they had been cold and wet so long. The night was spent huddling with and helping each other stay warm.

In the morning it was determined that we had used up too much of our food supply to continue the hike as originally planned, and so 4 of the strongest young men, including David, who knew the trails, were sent ahead to get word to our pick-up crew to meet us in a location 70 miles away from the original designated spot. Thank goodness we were still a combined group and could help each other out! That day we were able to hike to a lower altitude, warm up and dry out our gear. The next several days were spent hiking out in glorious conditions and reveling in the magnificent beauty surrounding us.

Lessons learned and relearned:
• Listen to the voices of experience! We had been given excellent guidelines to help us condition and prepare physically for the hike. I convinced myself that I was in good enough shape when I really was not, and should have been working much harder to prepare for the hike.
• Stay on the path! I still feel deep remorse when I think of how my choice to ignore that council caused the entire group to wait longer at the top where they could see the storm coming that I could not, and the extra risk that created for all.
• Enjoy the beauty that surrounds us and give thanks always for what the Lord has created. I didn’t actually learn this, its how I’ve always felt, but it’s something that I still remember as being a huge part of how I felt almost every step of the way, even in the middle of the storm.
• Savor the time you have with the people you love. It will always mean so much to me that I was able to do this with my oldest daughter, her friends, and their moms (who were and still are my friends), and the wonderful men who provided Priesthood support and friendship.

I reflected a lot on this experience as I began to train for a half-marathon. Six months ago I knew zilch about long distance running. I didn’t want to go into the race feeling like I had on the train to Elk Park, only to be mortified by my performance.  Training made the difference and I really knew this time that I had what it would take to finish strong.

Best of all, I got to start and finish with daughter #3!!! That for me is the highlight of the whole event – I only wish I would have hugged her more at the finish line!

And believe me, I savored the time we were able to share together with all who were able to be there, and for the tremendous support and encouragement we received from all who couldn’t be.

Finding our bib numbers

Kris, Troy, Ben, Ayrel & Laurie

Half an hour before start time!

Kris provides moral support

Sonja keeping a watchful eye

Sonja and Kris cheered us on with such encouraging words as,

"Run faster! I didn't come all the way out here to see you lose!"

Mile 3

Mile 10

Finish Line

(OK, not really - we didn't get good ones. But our time was only an additional 13 minutes; never mind that this is a time meant to inspire the full marathoners!)

Ayrel, Troy, Ben, Laurie, Sonja

It's over!

Due to injuries Ben and Troy finished behind us, but finish they did!

*Thank you, Sonja, for the very cool and cozy fleece jacket!