I have posted a few times on my fitness page that I have a goal to hike up Pike’s Peak this coming summer. It’s 13 miles up a twisty, turny, technical Barr Trail to the summit of the Peak at 14,114 feet. I can do it. Mentally Im good and if my knees will hold out I think I can do it. Im in “training” now working on building my endurance. I casually mentioned to my husband that I was going to hike it alone and he flipped out.
Apparently it’s “not safe”. Honestly there should be other hikers on the trail especially if its good weather. Ill file a plan, carry bear mace and not talk to strangers but he insists that some crazy mountain man might drag me away so I need a partner. So I TOLD my friend Susie this past Saturday that she’d be hiking it with me. Without flinching she said “I’d be honored”. I love her for doing this for me.
You know what sucks…as much as I love Susie I wish it were Patrick. I wish my husband could hike with me. It was never even an option. His fucking brain rot makes his balance very off and maneuvering such a technical climb is not possible for him anymore. And that sucks big fat ass. There was a time not long ago we wouldn’t have flinched. We would have already hiked that sucker by now. Patrick was a triathlete. Biking, climbing, swimming, running…many miles at a time. When someone dies suddenly and tragically you mourn so instantly. Its like a sledge hammer hits your chest and a knife stabs your heart. You scream and writhe in pain and hurt so badly so deeply and so quickly its like being struck by lightening. I feel as if brain rot must be like cancer or other long term illnesses…you mourn for so long. And its like every little thing that slips away is a new sledge hammer to the chest. Its exhausting.
It’s not quick. Its very gradual. Slowly and steadily and methodically the physical body starts to fail. And it’s day after day after day of mourning and being sad about yet another small loss. Most of the time we are fine. Some days I am pissed. Maybe today I am pissed. Pissed that instead of ripping the bandaid off quickly and efficiently so the pain is intense but hits you fast, the bandaid is so so slowly being peeled off against his will that you have to suffer through each hair it pulls on. And why the fuck did he have to have a band aid pulled off in the first place.
Tomorrow I will feel better. He won’t. I am finding strength as this disease creeps on. I am finding strength in me as a woman and mother and wife. More than I EVER thought I was capable of. It’s a necessary strength. But there’s a guilt that comes with a gaining of my own strength. For I can climb a mountain. I can run. I can speak clearly. I can do anything. And I should. I should do everything for those that cannot. I have no excuse NOT to. I know many who would never attempt to climb Pikes Peak. I mean whats the point? Why? It will never cross their minds. But they CAN. If they want to. Patrick cannot. Someone who ACTUALLY wants to cannot. So I will. And Susie will. And like no other human on Earth she knows me and why I need her to go. She has suffered great loss.
And like my friend Steph says “sometimes we step in for others when they cannot do for themselves”. I’ve had a LOT of friends step in and step up for me. I am eternally grateful. And I will push play on this stupid fucking INSANITY MAX workout that nearly kills me everyday because I CAN. Because I have no excuse not to. And I will climb that Peak this summer. For myself, for Patrick, for those who cannot.