14,421ft.
Sawatch Range
19/58

You shouldn’t hike a 13.6mi round trip 14,421ft mountain with 4,500ft of elevation gain in brand new ankle-high heavy-duty hiking boots. I know this.

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After my backpacking trip on Mount of the Holy Cross (June 26th – 27th) and a 13mi backpacking trip with girlfriends (June 30th – July 1st), my ankles were understandably feeling particularly weak. I had already intended (a sincere thank you, REI) to return my current almost-broken-in pair of hiking shoes due to pitiful traction. That in conjunction with the weak ankles and a resolution that calling off the hike wasn’t an option found me in REI thirty minutes before it closed on July 3rd, old shoes in hand. I explained my need for wide shoes with mentionable traction and ankle support to an especially helpful employee, who worked through his break to help me find a conducive pair of boots before the store closed. Subconsciously certain of what he would say, I kept my mouth shut about my plans to drive to the trailhead of Mount Massive that very night. A few minutes later, I began my remaining two and a half hour drive with my new, sturdy, pair of boots and a pair of flip flops as a backup option.

Yeah, I panicked.

I arrived at the trailhead around midnight, crawled into my sleeping bag in the back of my Subaru and munched on a few triscuits, for extra measure, too aware of my failures on Mount of the Holy Cross (I’m learning .. a lot of things), before closing my eyes. A few steps into my hike early the next morning found me painfully (literally) aware that the boots I bought on a stupid whim were significantly too narrow for my wide feet, not to mention too not-broken-in.

I proceeded to hike and summit Mount Massive.

It was an otherwise beautiful day. I saw more fellow-hikers than I had on any other 14er this season due to the holiday, but unlike my past two solo treks I didn’t end up hiking with anyone else for significant portions of the hike. I ignored my foot, ankle, leg pain as much as possible and soaked in the sunshine and the beautiful views that Colorado’s second highest peak had to offer.

On my hike down I had come to terms with the fact that Mount Massive would be my first solo trip without friendships that transcended the mountain. When I first entertained the idea and the reality of solo-hiking, I held no expectation of meeting, let alone keeping in touch with people I met on mountains, but after Mount Yale and Mount of the Holy Cross I couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit disappointed. As it stood, my remaining 14er plans were with other people. I was honestly thrilled about that and felt no need to intentionally keep seeking out solo-hikes, but it felt like my opportunities to independently create and embrace the relationships I’ve developed as a solo hiker were temporarily through. Because of that, I couldn’t help but feel Mount Massive was missing something while simultaneously feeling proud, because I knew I didn’t need anyone else to be there to fully embrace these adventures. I never did.

I got to my car, immediately tore my boots off and left. Aware the hike took longer than I intended for it to, I was eager to both let my parents know I was alive and to make it back home to celebrate the 4th of July in some capacity.

That plan wasn’t without a necessary stop at what has become my favorite Leadville coffee shop thanks to my frequent trips through the town these past months. As I stood in line, I noticed two familiar looking girls in front of me. I quickly identified them as the two girls I’d struck up a short conversation with on the trail a few hours ago – I was in my final-push for the summit and they were headed down. One mentioned that she had a dog similar to Arlo and asked how he did. They told me I was close, I told them congratulations and stepped aside so they could continue down the mountain. Tired and unsure if they would recognize me, I didn’t plan on saying anything, but as we waited for our drinks it was obvious they did. The three of us talked as we waited for our drinks and I learned that the two of them have a friendship-tradition of hiking a 14er every 4th of July, they preemptively invited me along next year and we exchanged contact information. Continued conversation led to the discovery that I live in the same town as one of them.

I drove away, 3/3. (I ended up getting coffee with the girl who lives in my town a week or two later. We still touch base on frequent occasions and once again I’m blown away by the people this world keeps bringing me).

A few hours later I found myself on a best friend’s couch, the roof of her place promised an excellent vantage point of the local lake and firework show. But instead, we both sat on the couch listening to the fireworks through the screen door, satisfied with each others company and too exhausted to move.

It was a busy summer. I slept at work, in my car, in a tent, on the floor and I didn’t sleep at all significantly more than I slept in my bed. I spent a comparable amount of time with people I met on mountains as I did with my closest friends (my schedule wasn’t the only one to blame for that, summers always seem to be this way for whatever reason).

I’m so thankful they’re there, all of them. I’m thankful for how lives intersect and for 4th of July memories on a mountain, at a coffee shop and then on a couch listening to fireworks with my best friend and my shoeless feet.

“When push comes to shove, you taste what you’re made of. You might bend until you break because it’s all you can take. On your knees, you look up, decide you’ve had enough. You get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shake it off; then you stand. (Every time you get up and get back in the race, one more small piece of you starts to fall into place).” – Rascal Flatts (Stand)