Queen of The Bench

March 22nd, 2019 (The date this tale concluded)

In numerology, the number 22 is a highly spiritual number. It’s a “master” number that indicates spiritual growth and ascension. Sometimes spiritual growth and ascension result in wondrous miracles and sometimes they result in our most painful lessons. Only the best and worst things occur on the 22nd of a month.

I had not been as diligent in my training for taking on the mountain again as I had planned to be by the time March 21st came to pass, but like a predator instinctively knows when to strike its prey, I knew that if I were going to beat the mountain, it was going to have to be on March 22nd. My hips were nowhere close to ready but my calves were and I could sense the number of cold days left before the lethal desert heat of the greater Los Angeles area returned was shrinking. And because it was the 22nd and I’m inclined toward a belief in numerology, I suspected that this day would either be a spectacular triumph or potentially the end of me. I was prepared for either outcome.

You might be thinking to yourself, “Wait. Is she joking or is she actually saying she was prepared to die climbing up that mountain? She can’t be saying that. Is she insane?!”

Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying and sanity is a matter of perspective. People die every day and many of them die in ordinary ways after having lived ordinary lives during which they rarely tested their own limits or risked much of anything in a painstaking effort to do little more than ensure their next heartbeat. If that’s what sanity entails, I happily label myself a “lunatic”.

Eventually, try as we might to retain our mortal coils as DNA commands us to, all of our hearts will cease to beat. I just happen to be someone who would prefer, if it comes down to it, fewer beats that pulse with passion than a century of monotonous, metronomic beats that will end up serving solely as a measure of time during which I was technically alive but in the truest sense, never was.

You might also think that the likelihood of me dying on a well-worn trail in the foothills of the Northern San Fernando Valley wasn’t high. It’s not exactly Mount Everest. I suppose if I were perfectly healthy that would be true. But I’m not. In addition to the health problems I’ve mentioned so far, I also have low blood pressure and occasional low blood sugar both of which are exacerbated by intense exercise.

I honestly couldn’t tell you what the chances were of me meeting an untimely death, especially not knowing how far up the trail I got the first time around,  so, yes, I was prepared to die. I prepared myself to die the moment I decided to live which was decades ago.

That does NOT mean I wanted to die or intended to die. I absolutely wanted to live so I could kick the living shit out of the mountain and continue living at least long enough beyond that to tell the tale of my victory over my geologically immortal foe.

I arrived at O’Melveny Park for the second time just after 5 pm. On top of the pressure I was feeling over making it to the top of the mountain, I was also under a time crunch. The sun would set at 7:09 pm and I wanted to be out of the woods by then. I thought I could get to the top of the mountain in an hour and then run down the moderate slopes to make it back to my car by dusk. Looking back, I’m sure the gods had a good belly laugh over that plan.

I had told my sister I was going hiking before I left the house but not where so I texted the only friend I know who has an iPhone and told her where I was and turned on location sharing so she could call my parents in 4 hours if I wasn’t out of the woods and then texted my mom my approximate location. I made sure that someone would know where to begin searching for my body 😛

At 5:15 pm, the temperature was dropping into the low 60s. I was freezing in my tank top as I jumped out of my car and flew (the pace of a sedate walk for most people) toward the trail. My body tolerates cold only slightly better than it does heat but I knew I would warm up as soon as I hit the inclines.

The trail was stunning this time around. Los Angeles got hit with a lot of rain over the winter so the normally skeletal bushes were sporting lush greenery and the air felt cool and fresh in my lungs. This had been the nature I had been seeking the first time I’d climbed the mountain but I wasn’t there for the scenery this time. I was there for redemption.

I climbed the first few inclines but I still had to stop every few minutes to get my pulse to slow down. I had not anticipated I might have to stop in the cold weather but apparently it was not just the heat that had been causing my pulse to race the first time I attempted to ascend the mountain. I had not considered stops when making my calculations about how long it would take me to get to the top and so to avoid getting stuck in the woods after sundown, I started running up the moderate sections of the trail to make up time.

If my body was starting to flag, I couldn’t feel it. Adrenaline and vengeance in combination is one of the most powerful spiritual fuels on Earth, second only to Love.

So as I approached the fourth incline, the one that had forced me to turn back last time, I felt a sense of euphoria and self-satisfaction because I knew it wasn’t going to beat me this time. I was so high I almost declared victory right then and there because I was certain I was going to make it to the top. The only reason I didn’t was because I wasn’t completely sure how much further I had to go.

It had to be close, right? I checked the time and it was 5:45 pm. The top seemed so close now I thought surely it couldn’t possibly be more than 15 minutes away which would give me plenty of time to declare an easy victory and make it back to my car while it was still light out.

And then I came to the base of a 5th incline. It seemed no more daunting than the others but I paused to let a hiker behind me pass me because I knew he was going to make it up a lot faster than I was. But instead of passing me, he stopped next to me. I never got his name but for the sake of this story, I shall henceforth refer to him as Sir Edward.

I took note of Sir Edward’s professional hiking polls and guessed that though he was clearly winded, he was an avid hiker and so I asked him if he’d been on the trail before. He said he had and so I asked him how far I was from the top. He informed me I was about three quarters of the way.

I noted the time on my phone again. It was 5:52 pm. Anxiety kicked in as I came to the realization that I was probably NOT going to make it to the top of the mountain and back down again before dark. I rationalized to myself that I had been in the woods after dark before and nothing bad had ever happened to me. Besides, I would probably be almost back to my car by the time night descended.

Sir Edward then volunteered that he used to be part of the San Fernando Hiking Association and said that if someone could take this trail from the parking lot to “The Bench” without stopping, they could hike any trail. I mentally thanked him for confirming my suspicions that this was indeed an absolutely brutal trail, possibly the most strenuous I’ve ever encountered, and I was not a total wimp for failing to make it up on my first attempt.

I asked him what the rest of the trail was like. He said that after this incline, there were a few more hills which would bring me to a pond and then beyond that, there was another trail that went up to “The Bench”. I intuited from his words that “The Bench” was at the very top of this beast of a mountain and so The Bench became my goal.

He also informed me that there was another trail that was less steep but much longer that went back down the mountain and gave me some rough but clear instructions on how to find it. Considering how difficult it would be getting back down with my baby-giraffe-like sense of balance, I thought my descent might go faster if I just took the longer trail and ran down it.

And with all pleasantries out of the way, we each continued our ascent. I let him go first so I wouldn’t hold him up.

I’d been up four very steep inclines before the fifth one and from the base of this fifth one, it looked no different than the others so I expected it to go as the others had. However, I would soon discover that this incline was VERY different from the previous four.

After a few steps up the fifth incline, I started to become aware that each progressive step was almost at hip level and each step up was inclined downward so slipping back down was a serious hazard. And though I do have the coordination of a newborn giraffe, sadly, I do not possess its long legs. I quickly started using my left hand and foot in combination with my hiking staff in my right hand to get up each successive portion of the incline. I was basically hugging this incline and I realized there was no way for me to turn around and go back down if I needed to without potentially serious injury.

It was about halfway up the incline that catastrophe struck. I came to a step up where I couldn’t detect a safe foothold even with the aid of my left hand and hiking stick. I looked up to see Sir Edward just passing out of view and I’m not sure he could have helped me even if I’d had the nerve to call out to him.

Asking for assistance is not one of my strong suits. In fact, the likelihood of me asking for help is only slightly higher than that of me deliberately stabbing myself in the eye with a fork. It’s not a matter of pride so much as it is the fear of my concerns for my own wellbeing not being warranted and imposing on someone when there really was no cause for concern in the first place.

There were about four feet of steep slope between me and what seemed like the next relatively safe step. I couldn’t see a way forward and I knew I couldn’t turn back. I was rooted to the spot, clinging to the side of the mountain for dear life and while I was PREPARED to die, I’m not immune to the mortal terror that immediately precedes it.

A profound sense of panic erupted in the pit of my stomach and spread like a wildfire until it consumed every last cell in my body and thought in my mind. I went through every conceivable scenario in my mind as to what my next action should be and what it meant for my fate.

I had my cell phone. The only solution I could think of in that moment, since I believed with all of my heart that I could not move a single inch from the spot I was in or risk death, was to call for help. I imagined a helicopter coming for me and having to hover over my precise location while a rescue worker descended like Spiderman and plucked me off the mountain.

That probably would NOT have happened because it would have been easier for an ordinary fireman with ordinary human balance to simply come up behind me, hoist me over his shoulder, and carry me back down the incline. But I was freaking the fuck out so reasonable potential outcomes didn’t occur to me.

However, just when I thought my little adventure was over an even greater fear than mortal terror overtook me: the fear of failure. It wouldn’t just be a setback this time. It would be permanent failure. I couldn’t try this again. I wouldn’t be able to make it past this point. The mountain would WIN and I would lose. FOR. EVER. My triumphant tale would end in ignominious defeat and, while my body wanted to give into its primal need to survive, my soul was unwilling to accept anything but TOTAL victory.

Whether it was the voice of my own spirit or an angel of courage, my thoughts of fear were quickly replaced by the commands of an internal drill sergeant:

“Emily, you’re four feet from safety. FOUR FEET! And you don’t have to come back this way [Sir Edward’s information about the alternate path down the mountain could not have been timelier]. You THINK you can’t take another step forward but you haven’t tried. YOU’RE ALMOST THERE. You’re so close to winning this battle you can taste it and yet you’re going to give up because of four measly feet?? Take just one step forward. JUST ONE.”

And so I did. I lifted my left foot from its position of safety and I placed it on uncertain ground.

The voice spoke again, “Now grab the ground, push yourself up, and crawl on your stomach if you have to for those four feet because YOU. DO. NOT. LOSE. You are going to win. Cross those four feet and you’re going to WIN.”

And so I got as low to the ground as I possibly could and then lifted my right foot from its position of safety. I could slip back down any second and so I scrambled over those four feet without a secure foot or handhold and made it to a position secure enough to continue climbing.

I essentially crawled the rest of the way up but I made it to the top of that fifth incline. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I couldn’t tell you if I was more relieved to be alive or that I hadn’t let my primal fears betray the aims of my spirit. I looked at my phone and saw it was 6:10 pm. I had lost time but I didn’t care anymore. Even if I had to walk back to my car for an hour in pitch blackness, I was going to make this mountain my bitch.

The next part of the trail was a fairly steep hill but not an incline. I looked up toward what I believed was the top of the mountain and backlit by the sun, was a man sitting on a bench. My heart soared and I raised both hands to the sky and shouted, “The Bench!”

With renewed enthusiasm I ran up the hill but when I looked again toward The Bench, in its place I saw a tree waving in the breeze. I squinted at it and realized the mountain had fooled me. It was clearly trying to get me to give up by making me question my senses. I didn’t know you could see a mirage that realistic anywhere but in an episode of Looney Tunes.

That was the first indication I had that my body was weakening. My vision was going fuzzy and my fingers were tingling. I had thought the pins and needles were a symptom of being out in the cold but I sensed now that my blood pressure was plummeting. But as long as I kept my blood pumping, I wouldn’t black out and so I mentally gave the mountain both middle fingers and kept going.

I ran up the hills until I came to the less steep trail that Sir Edward had told me about. It looked like a major thoroughfare in the park. Leave it to me to completely miss the easiest, most well-traveled path and gravitate toward the most vicious and least-traveled. If that isn’t the story of my life, I don’t know what is.

I followed Sir Edward’s instructions and quickly came upon the pond he mentioned. I could see there was yet another higher peak but I didn’t know how to get to it. Fortunately, as I walked past the pond, I came upon Sir Edward again.

I asked him how to get to the top of the mountain. He said to me in a congratulatory tone, “Look. You made it. There’s the pond.”

He gestured toward the pond and I glanced at it out of politeness. While it was a lovely pond, it was most assuredly not The Bench.

I’m sure there are many people who would have been content to make it to the pond especially considering my harrowing journey thus far and my new knowledge that despite my pounding heart, my vital signs were discreetly slipping away. But I perceived in that moment that the pond was a milestone for settlers, ne’er-do-wells, proud owners of participation trophies, and those who think corporate-speak is a legitimate form of communication rather than an information-age form of dark sorcery designed to dispossess flesh-and-blood human beings of their passions and capacity for original thought.

I doubt Sir Edward or anyone else looking at my cherubic features and pink sweatshirt or hearing my voice (which I’ve been told sounds like that of a 15-year-old boy) would guess that my heart bears the brand of the devil from my frequent trips to hell and back or that my soul burns with a kind of primordial fire that could birth universes into being and thus it’s unlikely he could have known that even on my worst day, I was not and never will be a pond person.

So I smiled at Sir Edward and asked if he could please direct me to The Bench.

He pointed it out to me on top of the peak I’d been eyeing a moment earlier and I saw The ACTUAL Bench for the first time. He told me there were two ways to the top: a short, steep way and a slightly longer, less steep way. Well, I may not be a pond person but I’m also not so blind to my limitations that I would risk another ascent like the one that almost cost me The Bench earlier so I decided on the longer route.

It was fast approaching 7 pm and sunset. I was supposed to be halfway down the mountain by now but instead I was still ascending. Again, I ran wherever possible. After several minutes on the long trail, I came to a dirt road that surrounded the pinnacle of the mountain. The last portion of the hike was steep. It looked like I could climb it but I also remembered how badly I misjudged that last incline and wondered if I was going to end up stuck again.

I paced the road that circled the base of the final peak, debating what to do. I was mere minutes from The Bench. I jogged down the road a bit to see if there was an alternate route on the other side that wasn’t as steep. There wasn’t so I jogged back. And that’s when my angel of courage whispered in my ear once more, “You know what? You might get stuck again and you might not make it. But if that happens, this really was your best effort unlike that pussy-ass shit back on incline five.” My angels have potty mouths.

And so I went for it. There were times I had to grip the ground with my hand and a few times I felt my ankles threaten to twist but at 6:37 pm on the twenty second of March in the year of our lord two thousand and nineteen, I reached The Bench and I beat that motherfucking mountain.

I walked around for a couple of minutes in a daze. I was both exhausted and elated. I had begun the hike without a shred of doubt that I would make it to the top but I almost didn’t. The fact that I had to battle a fairly significant demon to earn my victory made it that much sweeter. My heart and spirit soared. And after taking a few pictures and video, I collapsed onto The Bench, made it my throne, and declared myself its queen.

Enjoy some pictures I took at the top of what I later learned was called “Mission Peak” followed by a breathless video of me vowing never to return (click to see full-size images):

And finally, the full panoramic view of the San Fernando Valley from The Bench:

 

I’m sure many people rested upon The Bench before I did but I’m not sure anyone who came before me felt the moment as deeply as I did and I so I experienced no hesitation in crowning myself its rightful monarch.

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