“Commitment means staying loyal to what you said you were going to do long after the mood you said it in has left you.” — Orebela Gbenga
I told this story in front of fifty-five women the other day and they seemed to think it was pretty funny so…
This is what happens when a survivalist and a minimalist decide to climb a mountain together:
There will be many “discussions” about why one needs so many items for a DAY HIKE.
Eventually, the minimalist relents because she understands: You can be happy OR you can be right.
Only, what she should have understood is that if the level of difficulty for a climb is listed as very strenuous, it actually means VERY STRENUOUS. Because if she had, she would’ve certainly fought a little harder about the BS that was being loaded onto her back.
At any rate, eighty-five percent of the trek to the summit turns out mostly uneventful. Except for the fact that the survivalist half of the party likes to annoy the other half by teetering on the edge of a mountain with fifty pounds of unnecessary camping gear strapped to his back. And let’s face it: pretty much no one is going to believe he “just fell.”
They make it to the point where there’s about two hundred feet left to go to summit. This is how the rest of the climb is described:
Follow the trail to the right and back down a few hundred feet before ascending a steep, slippery slope (which can be covered with snow) to a signed viewpoint.
Get ready for some more serious climbing and scrambling through the boulders that make up the summit. The trail gets faint further up. When in doubt, keep going up. Some rocks will move under foot so be sure to use your hands for balance. You’ll notice a couple plaques, memorials, and flags once you reach the top.
This is where she decides to quit. For one, she’s carrying too much crap to make it fun. Two, she decides their children need at least one surviving parent.
She tells him to go on and to leave his pack. And for God’s sake to stop teetering on the edge. Or he is going to die. One way or another. He agrees. This is all his fault. But she doesn’t say so. Or maybe she did. She probably did.
She perches herself in a spot that unbeknownst to her seems to be designated for all the other quitters. She meets three people from her hometown and one from the Dallas area. They get to know each other. Turns, out they can’t breathe at 12,000 feet either. This quitting thing is amazing! I mean what are the odds?!?
Two men on their way down access her situation and ask who left her with two packs. You see! Sympathy. This quitting thing isn’t so bad after all!
Plus, she’s always saying she needs to be more gentle with herself. This was her chance!
She sits there. And weighs her options. She watches him climb. She considers whether or not she’s really done. She thinks she is.
Until two people stop not far from her. She listens as a man consoles his partner. “It’s ok,” he says. “No one will know you didn’t make it to the top. Just say you did.” She watches as the woman nods and appears relieved.
And that’s when it hits her: She’ll know.
Quitting is a bad idea. She might get sympathy. She might even meet people (nice people!) to hang out with along the way. People who will console her with camaraderie.
But, in the end, she’ll know.
So she gets up, dusts herself off, leaves those packs where they are, and climbs to the top.
“Where are the packs?” He asks when she reaches summit.
“Down there,” she points.
“You just left them?”
She gives him the look. “I don’t even want to carry those fuckers down. Do you really think anyone else does?”
Because he knows… she’s right.