SumoRunner
Well-known member
I've seen a lot of people refer to "climbing the mountain" on these forums. Their comments are usually an allegory for overcoming the great struggle, a triumph over the evil of disease or a defect. But for me it evokes an actual event. I climbed my mountain once and it was a glorious day.
I had my aortic valve replaced in July of 1991 at the age of 43. I was a long time fitness buff and I was determined to return to workouts as close as possible to what I had been used to. The recovery was indeed a struggle, not so much from the bones they sawed in two, more so from a collapsed lung. A nasty side effect of the surgery was that one of my lungs was deflated and for a few months I was moving forward on reduced capacity.
I was diligent in walking every day for the six weeks post-op, then attempted a bit of running. I made it perhaps 80 yards when I had to stop, gasping for breath. I never expected to go a whole mile the first time out, but 80 yards, that was a disappointment. A year earlier I had been going 35 or 40 miles a week, now one mile seemed insurmountable. On the other hand, if there's is one trait most people would use to describe me, it is persistent. I'm tenacious when I set my mind to do something. I worked at it every day, a bit at a time and made that first mile and more.
Fast forward to next spring. I was running well again, but still slowly and still nowhere near the level of fitness I once had. It was time to take an annual camping trip with my two sons. My boys and I had been going into the Adirondacks for a bit of recreation every year for a decade. It wasn't the sort of thing I wanted to skip and taking it "easy" on the trip was also out of the question. We went and we had a good time.
On the second day we were hiking around a lake, perhaps a 4 mile trek, a pleasant and not at all stressful trail and we came across a signpost. The "something something" trail. I can't recall it's name now. It lead to the top of a mountain from which you could see all the way south to Albany or east to Vermont. Can we take it dad? Can we go up? Well, it's worth a shot. I might have to rest once or twice. Let's go. So we took the path less traveled by. I use the term trail in the loosest sense. It was not marked and poorly maintained and scarcely identifiable. A novice hiker might easily get lost. It had stony streambeds, fallen trees, boulders the size of a car to traverse. The one constant trait it had was it continued to go up.
I don't know how many miles it was, it was just up and more up and it was exhausting, but we reached the top and the view was grand standing on the bare stone crest, a clear sunny day where you could make out the distant towns. My boys stood there trying to identify what they though were various areas. The younger one said isn't this a great view dad? Yes it was. I could see forever from up there. I could even see my future. I climbed my mountain that day and I never looked back.
I had my aortic valve replaced in July of 1991 at the age of 43. I was a long time fitness buff and I was determined to return to workouts as close as possible to what I had been used to. The recovery was indeed a struggle, not so much from the bones they sawed in two, more so from a collapsed lung. A nasty side effect of the surgery was that one of my lungs was deflated and for a few months I was moving forward on reduced capacity.
I was diligent in walking every day for the six weeks post-op, then attempted a bit of running. I made it perhaps 80 yards when I had to stop, gasping for breath. I never expected to go a whole mile the first time out, but 80 yards, that was a disappointment. A year earlier I had been going 35 or 40 miles a week, now one mile seemed insurmountable. On the other hand, if there's is one trait most people would use to describe me, it is persistent. I'm tenacious when I set my mind to do something. I worked at it every day, a bit at a time and made that first mile and more.
Fast forward to next spring. I was running well again, but still slowly and still nowhere near the level of fitness I once had. It was time to take an annual camping trip with my two sons. My boys and I had been going into the Adirondacks for a bit of recreation every year for a decade. It wasn't the sort of thing I wanted to skip and taking it "easy" on the trip was also out of the question. We went and we had a good time.
On the second day we were hiking around a lake, perhaps a 4 mile trek, a pleasant and not at all stressful trail and we came across a signpost. The "something something" trail. I can't recall it's name now. It lead to the top of a mountain from which you could see all the way south to Albany or east to Vermont. Can we take it dad? Can we go up? Well, it's worth a shot. I might have to rest once or twice. Let's go. So we took the path less traveled by. I use the term trail in the loosest sense. It was not marked and poorly maintained and scarcely identifiable. A novice hiker might easily get lost. It had stony streambeds, fallen trees, boulders the size of a car to traverse. The one constant trait it had was it continued to go up.
I don't know how many miles it was, it was just up and more up and it was exhausting, but we reached the top and the view was grand standing on the bare stone crest, a clear sunny day where you could make out the distant towns. My boys stood there trying to identify what they though were various areas. The younger one said isn't this a great view dad? Yes it was. I could see forever from up there. I could even see my future. I climbed my mountain that day and I never looked back.
