I once read an interview with an ultramarathon runner who was asked about whether or not she ever considered giving up. She said that she gave up all the time—but continued to explain that the secret is to keep running even after you’ve given up.
I smiled and shared this anecdote with my children in response to the earliest grumblings on the day we climbed Volcano Tungurahua. The summit stands at 16,500 feet, fully two thousand feet higher than anything America offers outside of Alaska. And though it’s in Ecuador—which you might remember is near the equator—weather is still weather and altitude is still altitude, and there are some reasonable reasons for young boys to question the wisdom of our day plan.
Credit where credit is due, they smiled—more or less—and continued to trudge on. It had been pouring at 3:00 a.m. when we intended to start, so we delayed a couple of hours, hoping that the skies would clear. They never cleared, but it did stop pouring—the sky just kind of spat at us all day long. By halfway up, we were soaked to the bone, and our faces were going raw from the wind that whipped past on its ferocious journey to the summit and beyond. But it wasn’t horrifically cold, and we continued hoping that the skies would turn blue and that the sun would shine.
It was me, not the young boys, who finally pulled Holly aside and asked if we should turn back. My hands had gotten so numb that I couldn’t hold my walking sticks any longer. It’s my own fault, I suppose, for not having better gear. Our guide later explained that my gloves belonged in a disco-tech, not on the side of a mountain.
Holly seemed optimistic and said she thought the boys would be fine. I responded by squatting down, unzipping my many layers, and shoving my hands unceremoniously into my armpits—watching my body heat dissipate into the cold mountain air. If you’ve ever had cold-numbed fingers, you’ll remember that thawing them is more painful than the initial freezing. I sat there rocking back and forth, cursing quietly to myself, trusting the bitter wind to carry my obscenities away from the ears of my children.
And that was the moment I gave up.
However, by this point, I was roped in a line between two of my family members to prevent us all from falling off a cliff. When they started walking again, I didn’t have many options but to walk with them. What does giving up look like in that context?
So I trudged on, as the boys had been doing all day. Past the subsequent rise, which we thought would be the summit, but wasn’t. To the rise after that, and the one after that. Until finally, there was no further rise. Until we weren’t looking up, but rather down into the crater of an active volcano, and giving up didn’t have any meaning anymore. It was time to head back down, victorious or beaten down, either way.
We all give up sometimes.
When we got to the crater, our oldest son was crying. I was surprised because he had been ahead of us, shadowing the guide the whole way up without the need for assistance or encouragement. I only noticed he was crying when I went ahead to congratulate him and thank him for his fantastic attitude. I asked him about it later; he said he tried to cry quietly during the hike so he wouldn’t bother anyone—as a parent, that response took a while to process. He had given up a long time ago, but he just kept going.
The middle child was the first to give up, but he kept walking too. The youngest gave up a little while later but nearly danced his way back down from the crater. Holly is the only one who didn’t give up. Perhaps there is something to the local myths about Mama Tungurahua. Possibly paying homage to that beautiful mountain on mother’s day gave our Mama Holly a particular reserve or strength.
Or maybe she just cries more quietly than the rest of us.
In any case, we slowly descended back below the cloud line, and just before finishing our hike, the sun finally broke through, just to taunt us. Feeling came back to numb fingers and nerves that were worn raw reknit. The world was beautiful ahead of us and behind. We all survived to give up another day.
The lessons of feeling ok to Stop Change Direction are as important and difficult as those to Persevere. Actually more difficult in my life experience anyway. Knowing when to let go, redefining it not as failure and weakness but strength and courage. Educating ourselves about how to think and feel about our choices from the truth within ourselves, not from acquired standards of the over culture. Congrats.
well said!
my own moments of giving up seem to be littler in scale… but I feel like the sense of failure – big and small accrete over time and hang off us like unappealing bobbles. I commend you on continuing forward and for making your goal. but I know mountains can be cruel and dangerous…. I hope that future climbs you can find a balance of success in what ever part of the climb you make.
Congratulations on a truly amazing accomplishment for your incredible family. That is quite a summit! I am sorry it was so miserable. You are all inspiring to keep going without complaining. I loved your homage to your beautiful wife, Holly. I don’t have aspirations to climb so high, but you may have inspired me to try it some day.