Six years ago, while living in Arizona, Kim and I celebrated her 30th birthday with a trip to the Grand Canyon. We camped out near the South Rim on Friday night, got up early Saturday morning, consumed roughly 25 million grams of carbohydrates and tackled a 12-mile roundtrip hike down Bright Angel Trail and back. That picture up there shows us at the 6-mile mark, a scenic stop known as Plateau Point, which is as far as you’re supposed to go if you’re not spending the night in the canyon.

So, there we were. We had reached our destination. As you can see, it was breathtaking. Mission accomplished—sort of.

The hike in, as one might imagine, is much easier than the hike out. Something to do with that whole “gravity” thing. (Park officials advise hikers to assume that getting out will take about twice as long as getting in.) As we began heading back, the temperature was hovering somewhere in the mid-to-high 80s.

The 6-mile death march from hell—I mean, return trip—was largely comprised of vertical miles along switchbacks that lead up the canyon walls. To our credit, we did pretty damn well until the last couple of miles, at which point we began to, um—how do you say?—suck wind.

By the last mile, we had intentionally reduced our stride to little baby steps, since trying to walk normally had become physically impossible, and lying on the ground, while tempting, seemed not the way to go, either.

Finally, we made it to the top, and, boy howdy, were we ever thankful we’d had the foresight to make reservations weeks in advance for a room at the hotel closest to the trailhead.

After checking in, bathing, lying in bed comatose for about two hours, and sucking down every bottle of Powerade within a 100-mile radius, we were even capable of hobbling to the restaurant for a nice birthday dinner.

It’s hard to believe that was six years ago—except when I think of how much things have changed since then.

Last Sunday, we celebrated Kim’s 36th birthday. It did not involve conquering any of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. Not by a long shot.

Zack—a.k.a. The Secretary of Birthday Celebrations—had stipulated that mommy would be feted with a Curious George-themed party, the centerpiece of which would be the massive, chocolate-chip-covered cupcakes he had seen two weeks earlier, and had not stopped talking about since.

While certainly nowhere near as adventurous as her 30th, it was a lot easier to recover from.

Still, despite the degree of difficulty, I look forward to making that hike again—presumably with our two teenage children. We have a few more cartoon-character-themed birthdays to cover before that happens, though.

Happy Birthday, Kim. I love you (even more than frozen peas).

Share This

Filed under: Life, Marriage, Parenthood
Leave a comment
trackback • RSS 2.0