My First Mountain

**Edited to add this link to a previous post on Diablo from The Anxious Traveler" and to remind you that you can make the pictures bigger by clicking them--you can really see more detail that way.**

When I moved to Antioch in 2006, I was surprised to find that pretty much anywhere I went in town, I could find some view of a mountain. It was practically in my back yard (not that I had a yard, living in an apartment, but you get the idea). It was Mount Diablo--Devil Mountain--and ever since my time in Antioch, I have associated that particular devil with anxiety, depression, self-doubt, and a whole host of negative feelings.

For a while now, I've wanted to conquer Diablo. I have wanted to show it--and myself--that I am stronger than I was in Antioch, that I've come a long way. So today, I set out to climb it. Alone. Much to the surprise of everyone from G. the Meanie to Mom and Dad, I wanted--needed--to do this solo.

I needed to climb the mountain--it's possible to get to the summit by car, but I wanted to actually show that mountain just who is in charge, so I parked near Rock City (elevation: approximately 1,450 feet) and caught the summit trail near the main road. The sign showed me I had 3.71 miles to the summit. My goal for the day was to get at least six miles, as I do on the treadmill every Saturday. I figured a 3.71 mile hike to the summit should be relatively easy.

I figured wrong.

It turns out that in addition to conquering this devil mountain, I had to conquer some bad things inside myself, too.

The first hour wasn't so bad. It was muddy from the recent rainstorms, but the elevation changes weren't too bad and the views were marvelous. I got my heart rate going and walked at a fairly brisk pace, stopping only to take pictures.






My shoes were caked with mud, but I had a smile on my face and some interesting signs to read. Apparently Diablo is a geologists fantasy.





The trail was getting more difficult, but I felt like I was really getting somewhere.





Imagine my horrified surprise when I realized, after an hour, that I still had 2 miles left.





There comes a point in any difficult journey--and this was a difficult journey for me--where quitting starts to look good. I had reached it here. I had been walking for a long time, I had a blister on my right heel, and I was still two miles from the summit. How could I possibly make it? I felt defeated. I would walk fifty yards and stop, panting. I would walk another fifty yards. I thought I would never make it to the top at this rate.

The temptation to turn around was so strong. What would it hurt if I turned around, walked the two miles back to my car, and drove to the summit?

It would hurt a lot. Driving to the summit is not conquering the devil, and would only make me doubt myself more than ever. I wanted to see the top of this mountain, and I insisted on doing it by foot. So I put one foot in front of the other and I kept walking.

It's amazing the things that go through your mind at times like this. I was pretty much alone on the trail, so I softly sang to myself: "Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." I recalled a favorite Mary Engelbreit verse: "So just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and taking your life day by day. There's a brighter tomorrow that's just round the bend. Don't look back--you're not going that way!"

I started comparing myself to Horton the elephant. "I did what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent." If Horton could hatch that egg, I can bloody well climb this devil mountain.

On top of all this, I heard G. the Meanie's voice. Asking me if I was going to quit. Telling me to push through the pain. There have been times he's had to put his hand on my back and push me along when we're running. He wasn't there to push me up that mountain--and having him do so wouldn't have been conquering the devil. But everything I've learned about myself since working with him was in my head, so I kept putting one foot in front of the other.

And what do you know, the summit kept getting closer.

The world below was getting farther away. The path was steeper, rockier, narrower. The views were stunning.





I heard two men on the trail behind me, and before long, they overtook me. They were friendly as we nodded and said hello. One, the larger of the two, was panting and red. He gestured to his companion and said, "He's my trainer. His sole purpose in life is to make me suffer."

I had to laugh. "I have one of those back home!"

A few minutes later, I overtook them. We would continue to play leapfrog like this for the rest of the hike. At one of our meetings, I mentioned how I'd wanted to quit a mile or so back. The trainer said, "But you're over halfway there!"

And so I was.

Finally, I was within a half-mile of the top. The trail was its most difficult. I was exhausted.


But I made it.

I. Made. It.

I met up with my trail buddies near the top. We introduced ourselves. Gary and Evan laughed at my excited, "Oh my God!!" as I reached the summit. We shook hands and congratulated ourselves. For Evan, and for myself, the hike was not easy.

I stood at the summit of Mount Diablo and just grinned like a fool. I felt like I owned everything I could see--and I could see a lot. On a perfectly clear day, you can see Sacramento to the north, and Half Dome in Yosemite to the east. These were not visible today, as there was still some cloud cover left over from yesterday's storms. But I could just make out my beloved City By The Bay, and the Golden Gate Bridge. I could see Antioch, and all of the sad times there were made so tiny and insignificant as I looked down at that city from so high. To the east, I could see Stockton and the various waterways that connect it, like arteries, to the East Bay. I could see the farm lands that surround my adopted home. I recalled how six years ago, I couldn't wait to leave California. How four years ago, I was somewhat appalled to come back. How now, I often can't imagine being anywhere else.

It was so very beautiful.





I took a picture of myself with Stockton behind me.

I texted Dad, Summer and G. the Meanie: "I am at the summit of Diablo. 3.71 miles from my car to the top. I made it!" I don't like to bother G. with texts on his weekends, but I wanted to share my accomplishment too much. I immediately received a reply: "Nice, very proud of you. be careful enjoy."

It was cold at the top, and windy. I took refuge in the visitor's center, where the true peak of Diablo is left exposed for people to stand on.


I parted ways with my new trail buddies. They stayed to watch a little film, but I was bursting to get back down the mountain. Suddenly, I wasn't exhausted. I was invigorated. Proud. The devil had tried to make me quit. I didn't let him succeed.

It took me about three hours to get to the top, and an hour-and-a-half to get back down. The going was much, much easier, though I did slip once on a rocky patch. My left foot slid on some rocks and went shooting out from under me. In an amazing move reminiscent of Russian folk dancers, I managed to do a perfect squat with my right leg, regain my balance, and stand back up before my hands or butt hit the ground. The rest of the trail was uneventful and easy...but I was still very glad to see Rosie Pro back at Rock City.

For three years now, I have associated Mount Diablo with anxiety, stress, self-doubt, and a feeling of failure. No more. The minute I stepped foot on the summit, that devil had lost.