Personal Narrative : Personal Essay

After two more strenuous miles I had reached the summit of Mount Lafayette. As I stood there surrounded by the beautiful mountain ranges I could not get over how blessed I was to have the ability to make it here. A year prior, just walking up a hill was impossible. Then I was fighting a

Feeling exhausted, I focus on my breathing. I breath in through my nose and then out through my mouth, breath in and out. Repeat. After passing the mile mark, my coach is shrieking for me to relax, because I am on my way to qualify for cross country states. The top twenty girls qualify, and I have been dreaming of this day since freshman year. All I have to do is hold my position, and then I am golden. Suddenly, my legs begin to feel like jello. My running partner slowly fades ahead of me, and I cannot keep up. It feels like I am running backwards as the rest of my teammates pass me one by one. Fighting fatigue, I tell myself I am finishing this race, whether or not I have to crawl like a turtle to do so. I am crossing that finish line.

Pine needles and underbrush crunched underfoot as I climbed uphill on the mountainside. The forest canopy acted as a strainer, blocking all but the most lucky rays of sunlight. Sweat rappelled down my face and jumped off the tip of my nose, falling to the soft earth. My body commanded me to stop, to rest, to give up. For days I had already hiked and camped among the Blue Ridge Mountains with no sense of accomplishment, and I hungered for satisfaction. Rain and constant change in elevation broke my spirit, and encouraged me to go home. I felt as if nature itself taunted me, pushing me to give up. It became my worst enemy.

I soon snapped out of this state, hastily trying to stretch my muscles, which were cramping because I was so anxious. I heard the announcer yell “Ready, Set, Go!” followed by the pop of the starting pistol. Startled I took off running as fast as I could momentary forgetting to pace myself. I knew I would run out of energy if I didn’t do something to correct myself, so I slowed down and matched my breath to my steps. This way I could get an adequate amount of air into my lungs for aerobic respiration. By doing this I cruised through the first mile of the

Each step was more difficult than the last, my breathing became a fast-paced panting, my legs reluctant maintain my long stride. Doubts settled themselves in my mind, reminding me that I had never run long distance before, taunting me as I willed my legs to keep going. I had set out to own my run, but now I couldn’t bear the thought of enduring the rest of my last mile and a half.

Cresting the hill, I struggled with my ragged breathing and the pain in my hips. I focused on my rhythm I in order to keep going. My running shoes slapped the pavement as onlookers expressed their encouragement with cowbells and cheers. I wondered again why I put myself into the situation by choice. As I passed mile 13 I remembered. I felt my eyes water and my legs shake as the finish line approached. Marines in uniform stood ready with medals and smiles as they encouraged us in our own hardships to rise above the pain and finish. The announcer spoke my name but I hardly heard him as a medal slipped over my head and I marveled at the weight, not of the medal, but the accomplishment which seemed impossible for the past three hours. I finished in 3 hours, 7 minutes. It was not an Olympic record and I detested running at mile two, but I did it.

I ran back up the hill to our camp, trying to move quickly without wasting too much energy, took my inhaler, and rushed back down the hill. Soon, it was time for the race to start. The officials gave an overview of information about the race and how it would start. The official behind us blew a long whistle. We stood, motionless, just waiting for that starting gunshot. Pow! The race was off. I sprinted out of the pack. I tried to find a good pace and settle in. We ran up a few hills, and then we made it to the first entrance to the creek. Unintelligently, I didn’t slow down very much going into the creek. Because I didn’t slow down, I splashed into the creek with a belly flop, almost submerging my whole body underwater. I got up quickly, then began to climb up the mud wall. I clawed at that wall like it was my enemy. I avoided the rope, even though it actually wasn’t that busy at the moment. I was too focused to switch strategies. We continued to run on, passing many fans, their cheers a chaotic blur. We passed through the second part of the creek, which was not nearly as deep. It was only about mid-shin to knee level, so I made my way through just fine. We ran all over the vineyard. I wasn’t feeling too awful. I was just caught up in the thrill of the race! We made it to the cornfields, and there were lots of small hills. I ran through them staring at the ground, and I kept seeing the same pair of shoes. For some strange reason, I kept staring at those shoes. People do crazy things when they run, you could say! Anyways, I passed the person wearing those shoes. We ran away from the corn fields and under a bridge. I was coming closer and closer to the finish. I was struggling to continue, but I would not quit! I pushed through the pain, but by the end of the race, I was just done. I saw the final hill in front of me. It was one of the biggest hills on the course, if not the biggest, and it was definitely the most difficult after

So I decided to keep running. I knew that I may be a little more sore tomorrow, but if I was going to accomplish my goals I had to work hard. I kept running, and toward the last mile I began to really feel the burn, but I did push and finished with plenty of time to spare. That practice is what I thought of as i crossed the finish line with a smile on my face. As I headed back to camp still beaming about my time I thought to myself,

You boundless excitement and willingness fuel every step as you climb. Nature surrounds and fills your senses. The endless green from trees and fields flow together as if it were a vase ocean. The effervescent smell of cedar and pine flow in waves over you, unfortunate for those allergic to it but revitalizing for everyone else. After escaping the sea of trees at lower altitudes, you reach a place that can only be described as cliff side meddows. They are lush and vibrant even in winter. The flowers that call the fields home are sweet and bountiful, and as you walk a little farther you step into a cloud. This is a rare instance, one that many people have dreamt about, yet the fabled thought of clouds being soft and fluffy is meer myth. They drench you in a permeating mist that shoots straight to the bone. The cold sets in and you question whether this trip was worth it, you check your map and realize that you’ve barely hit 7,000 feet elevation. Trundle on if you want, but you mind tells you to return to your warm and cozy

The air is thinner as breathing seems more labored, the temperature cooler, even in midsummer it seems as if Mother Nature engineered the day for comfort. With each step, the civilized world pushes deeper into the recesses of the mind becoming a distant memory. Anticipation mounts, as the path all but seems to disappear into a stand of Frasier Fir trees. Passing through the fir trees brings to mind memories of Christmas and all that the season brought at that time of year. Exiting the wooded parts of the trail, the skin is illuminated and warmed, provided by the sunlight that finds the occasional break in the trees. Entering a clearing, the mountaintop comes into view appearing even more intimidating than from the view at the bottom. As the trail ascends toward the peak, prior thoughts of a strenuous trip yield to the realization of a relaxing and tranquil atmosphere. The final steps approach the highest point in the eastern United States, opening onto gorgeous panoramic views of exquisite mountain ranges and unending blue skies. Thoughts of spending an eternity in such a natural wonder pass and soon are replaced with the curiosity of what the return trip down the mountain will bring. After taking in one last breath of the fresh mountain air, the trip back begins.

When we got closer to the top I could see the ocean. We went higher and higher up the mountain.

The Cascade mountain air scented of fresh pine in the mild 55 degree weather as we made the short walk from our cars to the trailhead. We had worked for months previous to this, hiking our local trails every Tuesday and Thursday with an expansive hikes every Saturday. We knew that all the training had led up to the moments would soon follow, this was it . We checked and double checked our overly packed gear as we were Boy Scouts and began on our long trek ahead. The initial portion of the hike included large groves of pine and spruce trees along with small boulders and rock patches spotting the landscape. This went on for approximately one and a half miles until we reached the true base of the glorious peak we were about to summit, Mt. St.

“ALL ABOARD!” the conductor yells out over the intercom, as we are finding our seats on the Pike’s Peak Cog Railway. The kids and I were ready to see the top of Pike’s Peak. The train takes off slowly and begins to pick up speed as we make our way up the mountain. Our ears begin to pop the higher in elevation we reach, my son grasps my hand and squeezes as hard as he can, his hand is sweating and I can almost feel his heart beating through my hand. Mesmerized, we stare out the window at the tall cliffs, mountain ledges, rock formations shifted by nature, little waterfalls throughout the mountain, and then, there it was; the one thing we all wanted to see, “SNOW!” My son shouts out. About 10,000 ft. in elevation, still making our way to the top, the snow laid out over the mountain sides like a white cotton blanket. I have never seen something so beautiful in my 28 years. Pine trees with snow covered branches, dark brown rocks poking through the snow, if you look closely you can see animal tracks left behind in the snow. Finally, an hour and fifteen minutes later, we have reached our destination. 14, 115 ft. in elevation, we are at the top of Pike’s Peak.

My pace evens out and my legs make the course fly under me. I hear my heart pounding to the beat of my shoes plumping on the soft, muddy ground. My body glistens with sweat as the bright sun shines down on me and the salty drops invade my eyes. Running steadily, I try not to think about the pain shooting through my shins or my stomach twisting from the nerves. I focus on pumping my arms and catching the girl in front of me. I hear my coach, once again, on the sidelines shouting, “Keep the pace up, and make sure no one passes you. The team is counting on you!” I blink my eyes for one second and realize there is only four hundred meters left in the race. My eyes are set on the sweaty back of the competition singlet in front of me. I run confidently, as I go through the checklist: 1. Relax, 2. Listen to your breathing, and

With the sun beating against my back, I ran through the narrow path, my breaths heavy and jagged. This was my first time running an obstacle course, and the different stations, from rope climbing to log jumping, had left me exhausted. My squad members had started to notice me struggling, but instead of running past me, they started to shout encouragements and cheer me on. Although I was drained of energy when I reached the finish line, I was overflowing with appreciation. My squad members, whom I met just four days before, had all teamed up to support me.