The Downside of Optimism

In life, I am mostly an optimist. I am usually the person looking for the silver lining and trying to find the way to make the impossible happen. There are a few times I've crawled under the blankets, buried my head, and willed the world to end, but for the most part I get bored of that pretty quickly and start looking for a Plan B. Plan B always includes making the best of what I've got (like my car with parts of the engine duct taped together.) However, experience has taught me, well and often, there is always a downside to this euphoric optimism. Quite often, its overwhelming failure.

I had yet another chance to experience this last week on my family vacation to Yosemite. My extended family: father, siblings, nephews et al, were gathered for a fun filled few days in the most beautiful place in California. My 13-year-old nephew had decided in advance he wanted to climb to the top of Half Dome. This is a particularly strenuous and lengthy hike totaling about 10-12 hours of uphill commitment including a final portion which requires pulling yourself up the dome on cables. I was NOT hiking Half Dome, but a couple of my older ones were going to go along with my sister and brother-in-law.

The nice thing about the Half Dome hike is that there are several other points of interest along the way. (Points of interest means-- significantly accomplished smaller hikes where one doesn't have to feel like a loser for quitting at that location.) Below Half Dome there is Nevada Falls (top and bottom). Nevada Falls feeds into another lower waterfall-- Vernal Falls. Along the route to Vernal are several scenic "chicken-outs" like the base of the fall, the bridge view of the fall, the bridge view of the river created by the fall, and the shuttle stop at the bottom, for those weak of heart.

My original intent before we started the trip was to climb to the top of Vernal Falls. I've done it before (it's where I met my bear-friend.) I did it when I was three, I'm told. I did it again at 14 and 16. Now, twenty-four years later, I'm not in the same kind of shape I was in then. My shape is mostly "out-of" and rounded. I don't get a lot of exercise and I have not recovered back up to my full capacity since getting sick a couple years ago, but I wanted to at least try. I figured I'd do my best, see what I could manage, and feel good about the effort.

The entire group of twelve set off together bright and early our first morning in camp. If the Half Dome hikers wanted to reach the top and get back before it was completely dark, we needed to give them as much time as possible. Each member of our group had a plan as to how far they intended to travel. My youngest son, kept awake the night before by the first of several bear attacks, quit before he got out of his pajamas; opting instead to stay in camp and guard our valuables…like his cot and the inside of his sleeping bag. My hubby made it as far as the shuttle stop. He stood on the bridge and waved goodbye as the rest of us marched off into the depths of hell. My brother, who claims bad knees, was going to go as far as the bridge at the lower part of the falls. By this time I had decide that was all that was appropriate for me as well. I was having some difficulty with my joints and didn't feel confident with my ability to master the incredibly difficult climb to the top of the falls. My sister was fairly certain that was as far as her youngest would make it, and my youngest, who has difficulty with her legs was considering the same decision. So, the second brigade was planning a shame-free drop-out at the bottom of the falls.

I fell behind on the flat road headed to the trail. Yep. I was completely out of shape for this adventure. Even my diabetic, weak-kneed, older brother was out-pacing me by 30 yards. By the time we hit the deeply inclined, paved-path to the bridge I was holding everyone up. They continually had to wait for me to catch up. I felt bad. Not just for holding them up but physically bad. The altitude was high, the air was thin and I was being deprived my fair share. I decided at that point I would just go my own pace, take a bunch of photos, and quit when I decided I couldn't go any further. The next time I caught up with the stragglers from the front-assault team I informed them of my plan. I was out.

I collapsed on a small boulder and pretended not to be disappointed at my lack of progress. A few minutes later my youngest appeared, headed back toward me with a bag. She informed me that she too was dropping out earlier than planned and that she had been issued her lunch and my bottle of water before her departure. My cell-phone, for emergencies, was still up ahead in the backpack. (It's important that this information be included here, for later.) Together we decided to make our way at our own speed up the path. We figured we would turn back when we ran into the next set of failures on their way back down.

We walked a little. We rested a little. We took pictures of squirrels and glimpses of majestic scenery we were not able to fully realize. Every step of the way we promised each other we would just continue a little further, around the next bend, or over the next impossibly steep section of trail, before turning back. Each time we reached the proposed landmark we looked at each other, made an assessment about our condition and continued a little further. This is where the optimism took hold. At the slower pace I was feeling much better; much more like I could go further than expected. After all, I had already made it this far. This was the point where I made the decision to go for it. Not the whole "it." Just the bottom of the falls. I wanted my youngest to see the waterfall. It is an amazing site and should not be missed. Also, a small part of me wanted the victory for myself.

When we reached the bottom of Vernal Falls it was a dazzling, sunny morning. The air was cool, the water was beautiful, the birds were chirping. My body was high on those exercise endorphins you always hear about, but never experience. My brain was momentarily on a vacation of its own. My brother, having reached his stopping point, descended from the opposite side of the bridge as we refilled our water bottles at the last refill station. (It's important that this information be included here, for later.) He explained that the stairs up the mountainside began just a few yards up the path. For those of you unfamiliar, the remainder of the "hike" is a continuous rock staircase cut into the side of the mountain. The "stairs" are anywhere from six or seven inches tall to about two feet tall. They are about the width of a body and a half, and are used in both directions, which can be hairy, but since it is still early most people were only going up at this point. Because my brain, high on endorphins and swelling pride in my accomplishment, had taken a vacation, my daughter and I decide to venture around the other side of the bridge and up the first few stairs; just so she could see them and experience it. (Yeah right!) My brother offered to wait there for us.

The first few stairs were babies. My grandmother could do this. So…we continued on. Why not? The going was pretty easy, we made it this far, and we were feeling like Olympians. It was awhile before the stairs started to become deep, but when we looked behind us, saw how far we'd come, we felt pretty good about the choice to continue up the hill. We fantasized about catching up with the rest of the group at the top of the falls while they were having lunch. Speaking of lunch…. Did MY lunch come back in that bag? No. No it didn't, but my daughter decided this was a good time to try and grab a bite, so we climbed on some rocks and she chowed-down on her sandwich while I drank some more of my water. I was still feeling ok. I'd had a big carb-filled breakfast. Since we had come this far and we were feeling pretty good, we figured we could go a little further.

At this point the stairs were all about two feet tall but up ahead was the "Mist Trail" and I didn't want my daughter to miss out. The Mist Trail is the portion of the climb where you are so close to the waterfall that the mist showers over you. It also produces beautiful rainbows across the waterfall. It was here that I finally, seriously considered my need to turn back. It was crushing, because we had come so far, so close to the top, but the climb was nearing impossible, my knees were exhausted and my hip was locking up. The problem was, as exhausted as I was, there was no way I could possibly manage to climb safely down the slippery stairs. I could barely continue to proceed upward. Down was looking like it was out of the question and I was starting to worry. As we wound up the wet staircase there was a small alcove where the mud pooled, but you could pause, surrounded by the dark damp rocks and catch your breath. This was where I had decided I must stop and turn around before it was too late. I felt defeated. We came so close to success.

Here we encountered my oldest, on her way back down the stairs. We gathered in the alcove surrounded by the mist and the roar of the nearby waterfall. She informed us that the next group was begging-off the hike at the top of the falls. My dad, my sister, and her youngest were all dropping out, while my oldest son and her oldest son continued up toward Half Dome with my brother-in-law. My daughter had decided to take the short cut back down the stairs (because she is young and immortal.) The wiser old folks and the cranky little boy had opted for the longer, but "easier" Mule Trail down the backside of the mountain. There's an easier trail down? Hold on a minute. If I continue to ascend up the rest of the way to the top of the waterfall, I can take the inclined path back down? No stairs? Well that sounded like a plan. I get to make it all the way to the top, my original desire, AND I get to take the easy way back down. This was a win- win situation. We bid adieu to my oldest and asked her to give our regards to my brother, who we assumed was still waiting for us at the bottom of the falls, and to tell him not to wait anymore. Then we continued to the top of the waterfall.

Before deciding to continue on this trek, I did ask my daughter how much further we had to go. She estimated she had been hiking down for about 10 minutes. I estimated it would take us about 30 minutes to complete the climb to the top. It was about 11:30 am when we crossed paths with my oldest. We had been hiking for about two straight hours. I was afraid to drink too much of my water because I didn't want to be overwhelmed by my tiny bladder and the sounds of rushing water. The rocks were so steep now that I had to use my hands and knees to crawl up each step. I had to stop about every third step to rest. My knee was popping every time I struggled to step up. At one point, when we stopped to rest I accidentally left the bag with the rest of my daughter's lunch and my water bottle. She went back as soon as we realized it was gone, but couldn't find it. We had to share what was left in her bottle.

The final stretch, practically vertical, took us well over an hour. All I could do was dream of the "easy" trail back down. I didn't even care about the top of the falls. I hadn't looked at the waterfall since my camera battery died forty minutes ago, and I think I saw a mountain goat. I was praying for a bear to come and eat me when we reached the peak of our climb and I stepped out onto a long stretch of shale-like rock which descended to the edge of the waterfall. I had to carefully ease myself down holding the safety railing because the rocks were so smooth and my tennis shoes did not have the required traction. We stood on the edge of the fall and had our picture taken together. I felt a rush of pride and joy. I had successfully completed my once abandoned goal. This was an amazing feat for a fat woman. I literally carried an entire extra body up that mountain-- 1.6 miles, all uphill. I was excited to share the moment with my daughter. We conquered our own bodies. Our optimism, our slow and steady, won the race. We were victorious.

We found a spot to rest atop the waterfall. She took off her shoes and submerged her feet in the icy river water. I balanced on a pointy rock and looked for signs of the Mule Trail, and the bathroom. We decided not to linger here too long. It was already afternoon. We were both tired, hungry, and thirsty. We asked other people about the Mule Trail. Most people were unfamiliar with it. The only person to answer with any confidence said we had to continue the next mile and a half up to the top of the upper falls to get to it. She described more stairs and I decided to find someone with an answer I liked better. I finally found that person at the potty-shack. She and her daughter came down from the upper falls using the trail I wanted to get to. So we determined there was a connection somewhere between Nevada Falls and Vernal Falls where we could jump onto the Mule Trail.

Finally we found a "map" posted among some brush and trees. It pointed to the side of a mountain and showed the beginning of a nonexistent trail. My daughter wandered around the rocks until she caught sight of the trail further overhead. We had no idea where it began, but we could get to it from where we were. It involved more climbing up. From here, it appeared we would need to climb a bit further up the hillside, crest the top, and join up with the "John Muir Mule Trail" on the downside. The sun was high and hot, beating down on us as the afternoon burned on. No matter how long we hiked the road was never ending. The steps were much smaller (so much so that some were smaller than my shoes.) and the rocks were slippery and jagged. The "trail" was quite steep. We continued to zigzag on endless switchbacks up the mountainside for over an hour. We could not seem to reach the top. Mosquitoes were feasting on my sweating arms. We were sharing what water we had left. I was just wetting my mouth because I had come to accept we were going to die up there and I didn't want to have to pee in the bushes before I expired.
At this point my need for food had became a problem. I had used so much energy and replenished it with nothing and now I was feeling nauseous. I thought I was going to faint. I had to put my head between my knees (which I can't do because I'm too fat.) I wanted to quit altogether but that was not an option. This was not the sort of place Search and Rescue would find easily. Luckily my daughter still had her cell phone with her. We tried to call out, but couldn't reach anyone. Eventually she got a call back from her sister, who had made it back to camp. She explained to us that my sister and the rest of the group took the path up to Nevada Falls in search of the Mule Trail. Upon reaching the top of Nevada Falls, the Half Dome hikers realized they did not have enough water to continue the next four or five hours up the final leg of the journey. They had all turned back at that point and headed back down the trail we were trying to join. No one had heard from them since.

We kept walking up for another hour. My daughter was doing very well. She hiked up a span of rock and scouted a shady place. I left one resting point and followed. After a few minutes she headed up a bit further to scout the next stop. My hips were done for. I could barely lift my legs. I used her phone to try and call my husband. I was through. I was actually calling for help, completely embarrassed, but there was no answer. I didn't know what else to do but keep climbing. We had to be close. We were even with the top of Nevada Falls at this point. A few minutes later my daughter called out. She had reached the top and there she had encountered the rest of our group on their way down. They would have been much further passed us except my sister had worn an old pair of shoes and the sole was ripped half way off (it was taped on with electrical tape before we started out that morning.) This had slowed the frustrated progress of their group. Before I even reached the top my daughter and the rest of the downward group had taken off, leaving my lame sister and I in their dust, taking with them the remaining water and all the phones. At least they left her the bag of trash and she was able to share the corner crust of her discarded sandwich with me. Together we two cast-offs slowly descend the "easier" Mule Trail, which took another three hours! I fell at least once scraping the backs of my legs and my wrist. We were passed, on our way down by just about everyone who passed us on our way up the trail. By the time we reached the bottom the trip had taken over 8 hours. And we had walked approximately 6-7 miles total. My one-shoed sister probably could have done it in half the time, but she waited kindly for me. It took us another hour to ride the shuttle back to our camp and by the time I got there my oldest, and the son who stayed in bed, had taken water and a first-aid kit back to the trail head to search for us. (Have I mentioned how much I love my kids!) My husband got me a drink and a banana before I passed out on our bed and my dear sister actually prepared dinner for everyone. In the end, my success had turned to failure in the blink of an eye.

Upon reflection (which I had plenty of time for up there) I realized that my optimistic choices were what led me to my most difficult positions, not just on this hike, but in life. So often in life we know our limitations or the road we should travel, but our optimism, pride, or delusions of grandeur cause us to reach beyond these limitations. Sometimes we are successful and sometimes we fail. More often than not it’s a draw, a little bit of both, and we get pretty torn up along the way. I have made a lot of decisions in my life where I knew I was making a bad choice, doing what I wanted instead of what I should, and hoping for the best. Throughout my life I have made mistakes. A lot of them. And they have often been foolish choices I knew better than to make. In many ways they have made my journey harder. The rocks have been jagged and the climb has been steep. And even the short lived victories achieved this way have been followed by more pain and stress and failure.

But the truth is I believe this is a good thing. I could never say I made the mistake of climbing to the top of Vernal Falls at 40, with arthritis, hypopituitarism, an extra hundred pounds of body fat, and no water, if I had not optimistically overestimated my strengths and abilities. I could have stopped safely in any number of places and not known what I was missing, even if the only thing I was missing was the disaster which occurred. But why? Life is nothing if not a series of risks and challenges. If you are not risking something, if you are not challenging your boundaries what is the point of living? If you are living successfully you are living a series of mistakes, consequences and failures. It's what you do with them, how you let them shape you, what you learn, and how you laugh at them, that determines your success. It's knowing you can't quit, can't undo and can't call for help. You just have to find the strength within, no matter how tired you are, to drag yourself up one more hill, around one more corner, up one more step. The success isn't occasionally finding your way to the top, it's surviving the trip back down to the bottom; and surrounding yourself with the people who will be there, with their water bottles, one-soled shoes, first-aid kits, and bananas to share your journey with you. Because if you discover these things, these people, you're never a failure in life.

Photos taken on our trip. So you know it's true! :)