Maroon Bells -- Aspen, CO

I'm starting this post from the wannabe papasan (which actually looks somewhat like a dignified, fluffed up camping chair) in my warped and bare apartment living room, legs stretched out onto the coffee table in front of me. I recline in absolute stillness, not because I have resumed my meditation practice and am working toward samadhi, but because moving my wrecked limbs -- pardon me, my thoroughly ravaged body -- results in excruciating pain. Alex lovingly slapped my thigh a few minutes ago, and I nearly bit his well-meaning head clean off. I believe I would have, had I been able to perform such a delicate, complex maneuver from a seated position. As it was, I merely screamed profanities at his apologetic figure as he retreated/fled into the bathroom. I am dehydrated and desperate for a sip of tea, but my mug of fragrant Good Earth is coquettishly resting on the table a good two feet in front of me, and I'm not about to sacrifice the well-being of my arms to reach for it. "Within arm's reach" isn't good enough for me right now. In fact, "at my fingertips" hardly suffices.

I hiked a mountain yesterday -- a very tall, steep, scree-full mountain. I cursed and cried and laughed and self-deprecated nearly to the saddle of the Maroon Bells. In the last 15 months, I've hiked an impressive total of one meager hill -- so how in the world did I find myself at the godly altitude of 13000+ feet, you ask? Well, I'm still not quite sure, but my body is certainly paying for the foolhardy, spontaneous, thrill seeking, I WILL NOT BE LEFT OUT nature of my mind. It's afflicted with a deep, overwhelming soreness that doesn't go away in the course of a day. I'm not counting on going to bed and waking up tomorrow feeling moderately better. I'm counting on going to bed and waking up tomorrow feeling significantly worse.

It all started Friday night over a pleasant, perfunctory dinner at my parent's house. My mother had thoughtfully prepared three enormous platters of gluten-free enchiladas topped with some manner of nauseating vegan cheese (forgetting that the only member of the family avoiding dairy was off babysitting somewheres).  Alex and Jason discussed the next morning's trip up to Lincoln/Democrat/2 others I can't remember, and I sat in silence, duly intimidated by their modest ambition to summit four peaks in one fell swoop. Then my father inopportunely butted into their agreeable conversation, committing the unforgivable act of bringing me into the thick of things by innocently assuming, "Aimee, you're going up with Chelsea, aren't you?"

Stunned, I cast Chelsea a nervous glance, managing to mutter, "No... no, I uh... I don't think I am."

"Why not?"

"Yeah, you're welcome to come, Aimee," Chelsea returned my dazed look of shock with a warm invitation.

Now, before all of the reasons why I should have said, "Gee, thanks for the invite, but I think I'd better stay home," become glaringly apparent, allow me justify my response of, "Umm... sure. Yeah, okay. Only fourteen thousand feet, you say? I'll be super slow, but yeah. Nothin' in my calendar, so why not hike an enormous mountain?"

Justification #1: I've always wanted to hike a fourteener. I live in Colorado. If one resides in this mountainous state for as long as I have, it's practically a requirement to have a fourteener or twenty under your belt and on your resumé. I'm surprised I haven't been deported yet, due to my inexcusable lack of climbing tall things.

Justification #2: I like Chelsea. I like Chelsea a good deal. Spending a day outside with Chelsea sounded like gobs of fun.

Justification #3: Getting out of Grand Junction. Although I've been presented with an unfathomable amount of wonderful opportunities in the past two months, I still loathe this town.

Justification #4: Alex was hiking one. I mean four. Alex was hiking four. Yoga has helped me to conquer a bit of my unhealthy competitive nature, but has not eradicated it entirely.

After I'd ruminated over my justifications for an intense 15 seconds, and uttered my irrevocable, resounding, "sure," Chelsea proceeded to inform me that she would pick me up at the unassuming hour of one o'clock in the morning.

My spur-of-the-moment "sure" sure started feeling a bit sour as I tossed and turned in apprehension that night, deliriously drifting off for a completely rejuvenating half an hour before I had to wake up to prepare my camel-bak and await Chelsea's text. I stuffed my pristinely expensive and unused bag full of lara bars, a rain jacket, a headlamp, my iPhone, my camcorder, and an extra T-shirt. Feeling extraordinarily prepared, a slipped on my barefoot running shoes, gave my groggy boyfriend a goodbye kiss, and joined Chelsea, Katelyn, and Chelsea's four jars of chocolate almond milk in Chelsea's Subaru for the two and a half hour drive in.

The drive was uneventful, and I even managed to doze off for a minute or two near the end. We reached our destination at about four in the morning, and made the unanimous decision to nap for an hour before we began our traipse up the slope. I contorted my body into an uncomely ball of elbows and knees and backpack, and forced myself into the uncomfortable state between sleep and awake. The state wherein you're so tired that you can't move, but you're awake enough to be appropriately pissed off at your body for not being fully asleep. Chelsea's alarm jolted me out of my fog of peevishness at around five, and we unhappily roused ourselves and began to gear up. Chelsea and Katelyn tied on sturdy hiking boots and slipped into outdoorsy sweaters and jackets. I spent an uncomfortable, embarrassing few moments wherein I realized that other than my frumpy grandpa cardigan (solely for the ride up), I'd brought nothing warm to wear. After abashedly sharing my unpreparedness with the experienced mountaineers in the front seat, Katelyn offered up one of her layers.

I will forever be in Katelyn's debt. I donned the long-sleeved shirt, strapped on my camel-bak, and tumbled out of the subaru.

The hike itself started off well enough. The sky was breathtaking, the company couldn't have been better (unless my friend George had been able to fly out from Ireland to join me), and I felt much more capable than I'd expected. There was a steady uphill slant, but nothing undoable or unsustainable. I began to feel confident. I puffed out my chest, inhaled the pure mountain air, I began to feel like a true Coloradan. With each painless step, my hubris increased, compounding into a series of thoughts similar to this: "Maroon Bells, you got nothin' on me. I may have been born in California and have spent the last year and a half doing absolutely nothing physical other than my yoga practice, but I'm a Coloradan, dammit. I grew up in the mountains. I have adopted mountain into my blood. Climbing mountains = piece of cake."

Group yoga pose in front of the second lake -- about a mile and a half in. 

Marmot! A fuzzy creature indigenous to the Rocky Mountains but world renowned for its indisputable cuteness.  

 Three and a half miles in, I was still feeling pretty good. Tired and a wee bit wobbly, but in decent overall health and spirits. However, my false sense of belonging and colossally misplaced confidence became painfully apparent as we reached the foot of the foreboding Maroon Bells and I got a good look at what was next to come. 

"So, Chelsea -- just how high is that beast?"

"Four thousand feet."

"And how many miles?"

"Two and a half." 

Panic attack, commence. A four thousand foot climb in a two and a half mile hike. This was most certainly not what I had imagined when I'd given Chelsea my "sure". Four thousand feet in two and a half miles seems like something one ought to train for in a manner akin to a marathon. 

After stumbling along for about thirty feet, the self-deprecating humor and tears began. The scenery lost it's beauty, as looking up merely told me how much further I had to hike, and looking down reminded me of how little I'd actually progressed. The only consolation I afforded myself at how very often I forced Chelsea and Katelyn to wait on my winded, broken self was that I had warned Chelsea that should I attempt the hike, I would be very slow. My left hip began to ache, the pain in my knees was nearly unbearable, and my calves and ankles burned with each step. Oh, the absolute idiocy of wearing barefoot shoes up slopes of scree. I can say I have a very intimate connection with the Maroon Bells mountains, as I felt every single angle and edge of the rocks on which I stumbled. 

It was this steep the entire way up

Near the saddle, we met a meteorologist and a guide on their way down. As clouds were gathering rather ominously over the mountains, Chelsea and Katelyn asked these knowledgeable folks what they thought we ought to do regarding continuing our climb. We were told that reaching the saddle would be feasible, but they recommending we not attempt the technical climb to the summit, as the risk of being caught in a rainstorm and stranded wasn't worth the magnificent view and bragging rights to which reaching the top entitles you.

I would have loved to actually reach the top, but I was far from devastated at being given a perfectly feasible excuse for heading back down the mountain.

Chelsea couldn't pick a signature pose, so she put a rock on her head.

This goat blocked out way to the saddle. Chelsea called to him in an attempt to move him off the path, and he liked the sound of her voice so very much that he decided to follow us fifteen hundred feet down the mountain. 

It didn't rain. We could have reached the summit, had the clouds not scared us off. Katelyn and Chelsea were rather miffed and disappointed. I made an impressive effort to appear disappointed. 

After scampering dangerously down the mountain scree (finishing off my knees and ankles), and walking the three and a half miles back to the car, we clamored in and headed down to Glenwood. After gobbling up a gluten-free bagel, a white mocha, and a chocolate truffle, I felt significantly better -- although walking was still tremendously hard. Teaching yoga is going to be excellent fun this week.