I wasn’t at all sure I could still do this.
A friend invited me to join her for an overnight hike to LeConte Lodge, a roundtrip of roughly eleven miles to the top of Mt. LeConte in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
It was a very steep, straight up (and straight down), kind of hike. And I hadn’t done anything like that in a very long time.
But I had no intention of missing this opportunity. So of course I said a big, happy yes.
And then, on the day of the hike, it rained.
It rained so hard the creeks overflowed, and new waterfalls were born where none had been before. There were times when I felt like I was hiking through a car wash, with a 1,000 foot drop-off at my side.
And there were times when it was immensely beautiful, with water dancing off the rocks and mist in the trees.
So I slogged along in my own wet little world, tucked under rain gear, singing every rain song I could think of. (Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head…)
I tried not to think about how soggy my boots were, how hard it was to breathe, or how much farther I had to climb.
It was steep. Messy.