Exorcising Ego

I haven't been blogging as much as I'd like lately, mainly because I haven't felt that my thoughts were worthy of publishing lately. That, and there is a black hole where Wi-Fi goes to die at my mom's house. Among the many positive traits I am developing, I regard ego-busting to be high on my list, as I believe ego gets in the way of living a humble existence.

This story began last spring, when Carl and I were discussing the Grouse Grind. Not hearing the warnings of the story, I decided that I too would like to be one of the proud, the elite, the few survivors to climb to the summit (or at least to the pub) of Grouse Mountain. The warnings were many, and involved pointing out the level of shape a person should be in, but I didn't hear those. I'm in good shape, I thought; hamburgers create fuel that I can use to climb easily to the top. Maybe I can even do it in under an hour!

Finding myself in Vancouver last weekend, I decided to phone Carl and see if we could go. As luck would have it, he was available last weekend (he'll be busier this weekend, but that is for another post) and off we went. As we left the parking lot, I still maintained a vision of reaching the top in under an hour, and having enough breath to converse about it. As we began a steep section, Carl was explaining that on flat sections like these, he usually attacked it to make good time. Wait, what? I wanted to ask him what he meant, but the air is really thin at Grouse Mountain, and I was having trouble disguising my gasping wheeze.

I soon discovered that he was right, but I was still enjoying myself, although the forest seemed very damp, the kind that soaked through clothes and plastered my hair to my forehead. We must have climbed an awful long ways up, as I was still finding the air "thin".

Before the halfway mark, I abandoned all hope for a one hour time, as we had already passed that. My gasping wheeze had become like a donkey braying, and I stood out against the granola munching mountain goats like Rita MacNeil at a yoga class. I valiantly struggled on against the thin air and my increasingly heavy shoes. After what seemed an eternity, I saw the halfway mark, and through the pounding drumbeat in my ears, I heard Carl explaining that meant altitude, not distance. That meant it was getting steeper, if that were possible.

I soon realized that it was possible, as I labored on hands and knees up the scree. The trail resembled the stairwell Frodo & Sam climbed on their way to Mordor, right before they met Shelob the giant spider. Carl bounded on ahead, taking photos, admiring the view, and generally enjoying the afternoon, and I laboured under the weight of a thousand hamburgers. At long last, we reached the summit, and had some sandwiches. At this point, it is critical to rehydrate the body to prevent any damage from dehydration, and a hefenwiesen worked quite well in that regard.

This has been a long post, but the point of the story is this: life is made up of moments that we remember, and when we look back, we see a series of moments stretching back into the grey fog of distant memory. This will be one of those moments for several reasons: it is always good to get out with friends to enjoy Canada's wilderness, and I am grateful to Carl for providing this opportunity. It is also good to have a more accurate view of one's general condition, and not the invincible view that Ego gives us. This allows us to more accurately judge whether or not we should be lifting washing machines or other appliances, or even to offer to help someone move! But most important, I spent a glorious afternoon hiking with a good friend I've known for over 25 years, and this I will remember fondly for many years.