The Trail
For my 30th birthday, I decided I wanted to do something fun.
Apparently, my definition of fun was climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. 😆
I had been researching the tallest mountains on each continent and looking into which ones might be approachable for a beginner. Kilimanjaro kept coming up.
So naturally, I started looking at pictures.
I found photos of people standing beside the Uhuru Peak sign and added them to a digital vision board on my phone.
I wanted that picture.
I wanted the experience of standing there.
And because I had limited time off from my job, I chose the Marangu Route, which allowed me to trek with guides and sleep in huts rather than camp along the mountain.
A mountain adventure that could fit into approximately one week of leave from work?
Perfect. 😆
I traveled to Tanzania by myself but booked a company that provided experienced guides and support throughout the trek. They prepared meals, helped carry my daypack when I became tired, and most importantly, helped me pace myself.
I quickly became familiar with the phrase pole pole: slowly, slowly.
As a plus-sized beginner, I thought that sounded wonderful.
Finally, an environment where nobody expected me to move fast. 😂
The funny thing is, once I got started, my adrenaline had other ideas.
I didn’t always want to stop for the required breaks. Stopping meant eventually having to start again, and sometimes slowing down felt easier than stopping altogether.
But I followed my guides.
Pole pole.
The first part of the mountain was beautiful. We moved through lush greenery, and everything still felt exciting and relatively comfortable.
My lungs were happy.
Gravity and I were still on speaking terms. 😆
As we climbed higher, the landscape changed.
Eventually, I found myself above some of the clouds.
I remember looking around and taking in the scenery, thinking about how different this was from anything I had known growing up in East Flatbush, Brooklyn.
What did I know about sitting above the clouds eating lunch on the side of a mountain in Tanzania?
Apparently, I was learning.
This was why I loved traveling.
I wanted to see what the Most High created and called good with my own eyes. I wanted to experience as much of it as I could with the senses He gave me.
I already have to wear glasses to see, so I might as well give them something interesting to look at. 😆
But eventually, the adrenaline wore down.
The altitude became harder on my body.
And my toes really started hurting.
At first, I kept going.
I had a summit in mind.
I had already spent days climbing.
I had come all the way to Tanzania.
I wanted my picture beside that sign.
But by the time we reached the final hut before the push toward Uhuru Peak, I was moving much more slowly and the pain in my toes had become significant.
My guide became concerned.
Continuing wasn’t the safest choice.
And that meant hearing something I absolutely did not want to hear:
It was time to turn around.
I cried privately.
Of course I did.
I had traveled across the world with a particular ending to this story in my mind, and suddenly I knew I wasn’t going to get it.
But wanting the summit didn’t change what was happening to my body.
So I turned around.
Later, after getting off the mountain, I understood more clearly how badly my feet had been injured. My toes had repeatedly hit the front of my boots during hours of trekking, causing blood to collect beneath my big toenails. Both nails eventually turned black and purple and partially lifted from the nail beds as they healed.
My lower back wasn’t particularly pleased with me either.
Once the adrenaline completely disappeared and I was resting again, my entire body seemed to have prepared a detailed report about what I had just put it through. 😆
I was disappointed.
I was sore.
I had not reached Uhuru Peak.
And I had successfully experienced Kilimanjaro.
Both were true.
What I Carried Home
For a while, I think I associated endurance primarily with continuing.
Keep moving.
Keep trying.
Don’t quit.
And I still believe deeply in trying.
I don’t know what an experience might hold for me if I never give myself the opportunity to try.
But Kilimanjaro added something to my understanding of endurance.
Sometimes wisdom tells you when continuing is no longer the goal.
Turning around didn’t erase the distance I had already traveled.
It didn’t erase the landscapes I’d seen.
It didn’t erase the moments above the clouds, the changing ecosystems, the conversations with the Most High, or the experience of discovering what my body could do.
And it didn’t make my disappointment disappear either.
I wanted the summit.
I didn’t reach it.
I don’t need to pretend the destination never mattered in order to appreciate the journey.
When I think about Kilimanjaro now, I don’t think of it as a mountain I failed to climb.
I think of it as something I successfully experienced without reaching the summit.
There’s a difference.
Trying doesn’t guarantee that we’ll get the outcome we imagined.
Trying creates possibility.
Sometimes the possibility becomes exactly what we hoped for.
Sometimes we discover a limit.
Sometimes we need help.
Sometimes the wisest thing we can do is turn around and return safely.
And sometimes the experience still gives us something worth carrying home.
Trail Notes
Think about something you genuinely tried that didn’t end the way you hoped.
Have you been measuring the entire experience by the outcome?
What did you learn while trying?
What did you experience that wouldn’t have happened if you had never begun?
Did you encounter a point when continuing was no longer wise?
And if you turned around, changed direction, or stopped, have you allowed yourself to recognize the courage it took to try in the first place?
Scripture for the Journey
“A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.”
— Proverbs 16:9
We can plan carefully and move toward something with genuine intention while remaining open to the reality that the path may not unfold exactly as we imagined.
Take This With You
The destination can matter without becoming the only measure of whether the journey mattered.
You can want the summit.
You can be disappointed when you don’t reach it.
And you can still look back and say:
I went.
I tried.
I experienced it.
And the journey counted.
