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Guts to Glory
Reaching My Summit
By Kathryn Ralston
It’s 1 am on June 26, 2005: I was full of excitement, anticipation, and a lingering self-doubt. I had trained for months. I was mentally and physically prepared for this challenge, but could still hear my inner voice chattering: Was I strong enough? Was I tough enough? Could I really do this?
Earlier that year, I began training with Reach the Summit, the American Lung Association’s fundraising program that helps raise money while training people to achieve a steep goal, climbing Oregon’s majestic Mount Hood.
The cause was near and dear to me: One of my closest friend’s children suffers from asthma. I suffer from exercise-induced asthma myself, but my biggest health challenge is one I battle on a daily basis: fibromyalgia and chronic depression. It was these two monsters who proved to be the toughest obstacles to summiting the mountain.
Depression and fibromyalgia have been unwanted companions in my life for far too long. They have, at times, robbed me of personal and professional relationships, my once-skinny body, my energy and willingness, and even a clear vision of reality.
As I write this, tears drip from my eyes. It has been a painful and often lonely journey. I have been to countless doctors and counselors. I have tried nearly every medication available. I have experienced drug reactions that landed me in the hospital. I have had to take time off from work, resulting in huge financial strain.
Despite the hardships I’ve endured, these same two unwanted companions have driven me to fight and find a fierceness inside that I didn’t know existed. These two thorns in my side have inspired me to train for marathons and half marathons. And it was these two fools who goaded me into climbing Mount Hood.
I believed that if I could climb that mountain, I would be proving to them, and myself, that I was the tougher one. I was also searching for that “high on life” feeling that depression so often steals from me.
During the Reach the Summit program, guided hikes were offered in the Columbia River Gorge and the coastal mountain range to condition our bodies and allow us to become familiar with the equipment needed to safely climb the mountain. I was so excited by the experience, and took so many photos, that I didn’t even think about my body. Being out in nature and pushing my physical limits did offer that aliveness I was seeking. But with each week of training, I was battling extreme fatigue and painful muscles. I would come home from a hike and crash on the couch, blowing off the rest of the weekend. The even greater struggle was balancing the other responsibilities of my life: work, pets, home, and garden.
For years, I had been juggling like this, just not as consistently. Before I started training, for example, if I chose to paint a room or play a round of golf, I knew the following days at work would be more difficult. This training schedule had me pushing my limits.
One day, I was struggling to breathe before we even took our first step on the trail. I was so fatigued I didn’t think I could start the hike, let alone finish. I was full of self-doubt. To make matters worse, the hike leader that day was a 72-year-old man, and he was kicking my butt. Halfway up the trail, he noticed my struggle and pushed me to take the lead. He was sure I could do it, even when I was not.
That was the turning point in my training. Yes, I finished the hike and required a long afternoon nap. No, my house didn’t get cleaned that weekend or my grass mowed. But I did it, and it gave me the determination I needed to continue.
So on the morning of our climb, why was that negative chatter haunting me? I was so nervous that my breathing and heart-rate rose just by walking out the door. One gulp of cold mountain air and my asthma kicked in. We hadn’t been trekking more than an hour when I thought, “I don’t think I can do this!”
I asked our leader to slow his pace. I felt panicked and tense, which in turn made my muscles cramp. I forced myself to think back on that previous hike — when I was forced to lead the group. I recalled the leader, his confidence that I would summit Mount Hood. I used the echo of my counselor’s voice to challenge the negative voice I was hearing. I forced myself to believe that I was stronger than any diagnosis.
As we ascended to what is called the Pearly Gates, tears welled in my eyes. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I realized that I had wrestled asthma, fibromyalgia, and depression, and won. I was almost to the top of Mount Hood. God had blessed us with a perfect night of stars and a glorious sunrise. The mountain cast its own shadow on the clouds below, and the view was breath-taking.
Sitting on the crest, I knew why God resides in heaven. His view of the world is truly incredible. In that moment, I knew how alive I was. I was also sure that the next time depression knocked on my door it was well worth the fight to take it down.
Life is wonderful. Life is worth living. There are moments that do take your breath away.
Kathryn Ralston has been a physical therapist for 18 years and an athletic trainer for 20. She works for works for Majerus and Co. Physical Therapy in Vancouver, WA. In addition to scaling both Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens, Ralston has completed two marathons and numerous half marathons.
For more information call 503-718-6151 or visit www.ReachTheSummit.us
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