Surviving the Summit

There it was...the trail went up, the mountain loomed, and I took those first steps knowing that before the end of my journey, each of those steps would hurt.

I was right.

Two and a half hours later, I was two and a half miles up the mountain and still had eight switchbacks to go. Though it was only a three-mile hike, the trail ascended 3,000 feet in those three miles--literally an uphill climb the entire way. My knees were ready to give out, my ankles hurt were aching, and I was soaked with sweat. I didn't know how I was going to make it up that last half-mile to the Summit.

That was when my little brother Ethan, the firefighting champion that he is, walked with me at my slow pace, sometimes pushing me from behind, as I fought to keep hiking. And I thought, this is what family is all about--supporting each other when we falter, pushing each other up when we feel we have no strength, walking at the pace of the slowest person to make sure we all make it to the top.

The hike to Hidden Peak at Snowbird has become a yearly tradition for my family since my dad was diagnosed with cancer. Though we don't always hike, we at least ride the tram to the top of the mountain and stay for the program that the Cancer Wellness House does and take pictures of the hundreds of yellow flags snapping in the breeze. The flags are each dedicated to people with cancer, and each one speaks of hope and love, triumph and strength, as well as grief and farewells.

This year was the first year I was able to hike all the way to the Summit, and though it just about killed me, I am so glad that I did it. I realized as I hiked that surviving cancer, just like surviving the Summit, isn't about the end result--it's about every step along the way, it's about taking control of each day, it's about how you live and how you hike. And if you're lucky, like I am, you will have a loving, crazy, wonderful family to do it with you.