Week 8 Biography: Camelback Mountain

The sweat on my back and my twitching muscles were constant reminders that my body was not used to such rapidly increasing elevation. Camelback Mountain was no joke, especially for someone who had never seriously hiked before. I laughed at my confidence from an hour before, when I brushed off warnings about this strenuous hike for those who were inexperienced. Locals passed me one by one, and I had to remind myself to not get competitive and to instead take my time. Up and up I went, using my hands to climb up and over boulders. I soon realized this was not so much a hike as it was rock-climbing. My journey to the top was not an easy one, but once I made it, I basked in the pleasure of my accomplishment. For me, hiking will never be a pretty or elegant venture, but it will always be a worthwhile one.

______

Author's Note:

In keeping with my hiking biographical writing, I wrote about my Camelback Mountain hike in Arizona. I have been trying to write a shorter story but have found it to be very difficult since I can't figure out which details to leave in or take out. I'm so glad I was finally able to do it! I'm pretty happy with what details I decided to share in this one. It tells the story of how brutal this hike was for me, but I hope it also shows how it is one of my favorites. I have a lot of love for Camelback Mountain, and I'm glad I was able to write a small tribute to it.

Image information: Personal images of Camelback Mountain, Phoenix, Arizona, March 2017.

Week 7 Biography: The Grand Canyon

At the trailhead of the Grand Canyon's South Kaibab trail sits a sign warning hikers not to hike down to the Colorado River and back in one day. For me, it was a little too late for that knowledge, as I had just spent months planning and training for a rim-to-rim day-hike. Ignoring the sign, I shouldered my bag and went on my way.

Ooh Aah Point about a mile into the South Kaibab trail (Personal image, May 2017)

Hiking down was more difficult than you would think. I had to use a set of muscles I don't typically put to use, as I'm not typically walking on a downward slope for about six miles. Still, I knew I'd be missing it in a few hours when I was on my way back up.

Going down the South Kaibab trail (Personal image, May 2017)

At the bottom of the Grand Canyon, tadpoles swam in the Colorado River, and the flat ground provided much-needed relief from a slope.

Near the bottom of the Grand Canyon (Personal image, May 2017)

I had not been making very good time, though, so I had very little time to enjoy it. I stuck my feet in the river, took a few minutes to enjoy the view, and then went on my way.

On the way back up (Personal image, May 2017)

On the way up the ~8 mile Bright Angel trail, I eventually thought I wasn't going to make it. About a mile in, I couldn't believe I ever thought I enjoyed hiking. About three miles in, I thought I would have to be one of those people who are helicopter-lifted out. But I refused to quit, because I knew I could do it. I knew I was stronger than my mind was telling me I was. That last mile was tough. It never got easier. By the time I reached the Bright Angel Trailhead at the top of the Grand Canyon, I didn't even really care. After 12 hours of walking (well...probably nine hours of hiking, and three hours of eating, drinking water and gatorade, and resting), I was just glad to be done. Eventually, I was glad to have challenged myself, but at the moment of finishing, I just wanted a bed and a massive amount of food.

Someday I hope to hike the Grand Canyon from rim-to-rim-to-rim, but I'm at least self-aware enough to realize that I am definitely not in shape enough for that right now. But someday.

__________

Author's Note: Last week I wrote about my Manitou Incline hike, so this week I decided to keep writing about my hiking adventures. I tried to write a 100-word story, but obviously that didn't work. Still, I tried to keep it minimal and only give the most vital details. When thinking about my Grand Canyon trip, these are the snapshots I remember, so I didn't try to dig too far into my memory for the sake of writing more. I felt like these were the most important points, and they would make for the best story.

Week 6 Biography: The Manitou Incline

As my alarm rang at 4:00 in the morning, my excitement mixed with anxiety. I tried to ignore all of the emotions I was feeling and just accept that I was going to do this no matter what--I would hike up the Manitou Incline whether or not I was physically ready for it. I had driven to Colorado primarily for the Incline, and I would not leave until it was done. I would push through every single one of the 2,744 steps even if it took me all day. Locals apparently hiked it weekly in under an hour with ease, so why couldn't I at least try it?

The first few steps made me overly confident. It wasn't too steep yet, and I was passing people already. Then, about 15 minutes in, I realized my error. Those people I had passed were now passing me as I slowed to catch my breath. I knew I would need to take it slower.

The Incline from near the bottom. The top half is hidden from view, which makes you constantly think you're almost there...but you're far, far from it. (Personal image, October 2018)

Some minutes would pass quietly, where it was just me, the sun rising, and the people hundreds of steps both ahead and below me. Other minutes, someone would catch up with me and a stranger would become a hiking buddy. Then one of us would decide to pick up the pace or slow down, and silence would return.

Halfway up, I sat down to take a break and was glad for it. While the amount of steps I saw below me did not compare to the amount I thought I had walked up, it was still an incredible feat. That didn't even compare to the view of the town below and the mountains in the distance. I was happy to be there, even if my rapidly beating heart wasn't.

About 2,200 steps in, a deer slowly made its way across the stairs, giving me an excuse to take another break. 2,400 steps in, I wondered if I should just turn around, but then realized my brain wasn't thinking clearly because that would make no sense--I was almost there.

Those last 344 steps were a lot. Extremely steep, and extremely tiring. There were some times when I almost fell backwards because it was so steep. I had to use my hands to climb at one point. Every muscle in my body was screaming, so I took multiple breaks because I'm a firm believer in not creating a preventable dire emergency situation.

Near the top. (Personal image, October 2018)

Then, at last, after about two hours total, I was there. I had pushed through all the aches and pains, and I could now enjoy the view from 2,000 feet up. A few chipmunks were running around, looking at all the sweaty and exhausted people. I didn't really know what to do with myself at that point, so I just sat down and appreciated what I had accomplished. I ate some trail mix, made some friends, took some pictures, and watched Colorado be beautiful.

View from the top. (Personal image, October 2018)

Then, with stiff muscles, I began my descent.

I'm hoping someday I can live near the area and learn to hike it in an hour like the locals, but for now I'm proud enough that I finished. I definitely got lost on the way down (you have to take a different route back), and then proceeded to get trapped in my hotel elevator for 45 minutes and had to have firefighters help me out, but those are stories for a different time.

A chipmunk(?) friend I made at the top of the Incline. (Personal image, October 2018)

A picture I took on the way down. (Personal image, October 2018)

________

Author's Note: In trying to decide what to write about, I realized a story could be told about my hiking adventures. I might write about my Grand Canyon and Hawaii hikes in the future, but for now I started with this one that is extremely important to me. I'm not sure why, but it holds a special place in my heart. Ever since I visited Manitou Springs and saw people walking up those stairs, I knew I wanted to trek up it, too. It's such a simple hike but it makes you feel like you've accomplished so much. While writing this story, I had trouble deciding what to include and what to take out. I didn't want to make it too long, but there are some details that are just too significant to leave out. I'm pretty happy with the length I decided on and the way I told the story.

Biography: Okinawa

As my grandma and I walked out of the plane into the Japan airport, I was overwhelmed. Signs all around us were only written in Japanese characters. I did not know nearly enough of the language to figure out where to go. I glanced at my grandma, concerned that we wouldn't be able to get to our next plane, but I had never seen her more confident in my life. She steered us to the exact right place, weaving in and out of crowds, down long hallways, and through baggage claim. She had not been here in years, but muscle memory took over. She was home.

In Okinawa, we met family, stopped by my grandma's favorite childhood spots, and visited ancient castles. My grandma saw Okinawa from a touristy perspective for the first time (for my sake) and was shocked by the growth of the island as a vacation destination. As for me, I learned to live off the few Japanese words I knew, as well as the kindness of my relatives. They did whatever they could to communicate their love without words (when my grandma couldn't translate). One day I told my great-aunt that I loved the sata andagi (Okinawan donuts) she had given me. The next day, she handed me two bags full of them to take home. The language barrier felt very minimal at times like that.

Visiting a non-English speaking place changed my perspective on the world. It was extremely humbling to have to depend on someone else to translate everything for me. I had to learn to let go of being in control because I couldn't. Language barriers are tough, but allowing that to stop you from exploring places with one will cause you to lose out on a lot of incredible experiences. The day we left Okinawa, I felt a sadness in my stomach that I had never felt for any other place. I know I will go back someday, and until then, I'll keep brushing up on my Japanese.

(Personal image of Okinawa from the top of an abandoned castle.)

Author's Note:

For my post, I used this prompt: Have you traveled or lived in a place where you did not speak the language spoken around you? Write a story prompted by that experience. I was going to make it a 100 word microfiction, but I ended up wanting to tell a longer story. Japan (and Okinawa specifically) means a lot to me, and I wanted to write a bit more of an emotional story than the one I wrote for my favorite place post.

Biography: The Story of Yumi

This is my dog, Yumi.

If you've been on my blog before, you've probably seen her. I'm kind of obsessed with her. She's the love of my life and has made the hard things in life a tiny bit easier for me to deal with. Yet, if you would've seen me a few weeks after getting her, you wouldn't have thought any of that could be true. So here's the story of the stupidest, best, most impulsive, and positively life-changing decision I ever made.

(Yumi at around 5 months attempting to eat a small branch for whatever reason.)

I'm not a decisive person. I don't just do things--I need days, weeks, years to make a decision. But in June of 2018, all of that somehow went out the window. I was casually watching a YouTube video (the first bad decision--never listen to social media influencers) of a girl who had recently adopted a dog. She said it was the best thing she had ever done, despite the terrors that come with being a dog owner. For some reason, that was it for me. I had been wanting a dog for a long time, but I figured I was too young to get one (I was and still am). I couldn't be tied down by an animal that would depend on me every second of the day. I needed to study, work, and socialize.

And yet, I immediately scoured the Internet and quickly found a dog that stole my heart. My mom half-heartedly tried to stop me, but I convinced her. Nobody in my life stopped me (I'm still not sure why--they definitely should have), so I figured everything would be fine. By the end of the week, she was mine.

(The day I got her. Her haircut made her look like a hedgehog.)

In the first week, she had fleas and worms. Lots of them. I think this is where her hatred of baths stems from. I probably used half a bottle of Dawn dish soap to get rid of as many fleas as I could see underneath her extremely thick and curly hair. I was hysterical. (My sister says all she remembers from that day is me screaming and crying an unreasonable amount.) She also loved attention and was attached to me immediately. I couldn't get anything done, and my only moments of quiet were when my mom would watch her for me so I could sleep or shower. I could not believe what I had gotten myself into. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't a bad dog--she was house-trained in under two weeks, she only ever chewed up one thing (my phone charger wire), and she was a fluffy ball of happiness. Still, the crate training (she hated the crate with a passion), her stubborn attitude, and the realization that I no longer could be selfish with my time were the two things that really hit me hard.

(She'll eat anything. Here she found a "wite-out" bottle at the dog park and definitely tried to eat it. She never grew out of that puppy phase... I'm still constantly trying to stop her from swallowing random objects.)

It took almost a year for me to accept that she was mine and this was my new life. Things got easier after that, and my heart started swelling with love every time she would cuddle up against me or when she learned a new trick. Now we are the best of friends and even though she drives me crazy sometimes, I love her with my whole heart. Our favorite things to do are taking trips to Lowe's to practice training and going to the dog park so she can sniff everything. She's smart when she wants to be, silly constantly, and is sometimes the only thing that can make me smile. She is also obsessed with my little brother and has helped teach him how to be gentle and kind to animals.

Should I have gotten a dog at the age of 21? Definitely not. I don't recommend it. In fact, I strongly discourage it. But Yumi has helped me realize that I need to take responsibility for my actions and decisions and make the most of them. She's helped me focus on the positive and not take life too seriously. She reminds me not to worry so much about the bad parts of life. Even if she limits my life socially quite often, and even if I lose sleep sometimes because she gets sick or refuses to sleep herself, I love her and I've finally figured out how to allow the good to outweigh the bad. I only hope I am returning the favor often enough by giving her the dog equivalent of this--lots of treats and attention.

_________

Author's Note: I saw some pet prompts on the biographical writing prompts page and I knew I wanted to write about Yumi. She's basically all I talk about anyways, so why not write her origin story? It turned into something more than just a story about her and made me realize how much she really means to me. The length is longer than I expected, but still counts as a microfiction. I think any longer would have been too much and any shorter would have been lacking in necessary emotion and detail. 

Image information: All images are personal images of Yumi, taken by me from 2018-2020. 

Biography: The Abandoned Mobile Home

As a child, I was extremely interested in any kind of adventure. Pair that with having two very curious siblings and you get a recipe for disaster. Well, maybe not disaster, but definitely danger. Seriously, I don't know how we didn't get severely injured or kidnapped.

One of my earliest childhood memories is when I would venture into my neighborhood's woods with my siblings. We would trudge up the hill and were blissfully ignorant of the ominous signs around us that definitely indicated kids should not be alone in that area. In those woods, though, sat an abandoned mobile home. Plants had grown around and inside it, peaking through gaps in the flooring. Broken plates, book pages, and miscellaneous objects were strewn across the floor. We had to be extremely careful about where we stepped to avoid shards of glass and sticky residue from who-knows-what. We figured the place was haunted, but my older brother would always act brave and promised to protect us if anything happened. Looking back, I can't believe I thought a 10-year-old would be able to keep us safe from strangers and hazards... But at the time it gave me the courage I needed to explore freely.

After years of exploring the woods and the mobile home, one day we went back for another adventure and the mobile home was gone. We can only assume it was removed from our neighborhood because hooligan kids (a.k.a. me and my siblings) would stupidly explore the extremely dangerous, decrepit, and hazardous trailer. While it was probably for the best, it still makes me sad that it's no longer there. It almost makes the memory feel like a dream since I have no proof. Still, this childhood memory will remain as one of my favorites for life.

(This isn't the mobile home, but it is eerily similar. Source: Mobile Home from Pixabay.)

_____

Author's Note: I chose this topic because it was nice to be able to reminisce on my childhood before life was too serious. It's a good reminder that life can be as fun as you make it, no matter where you are. You just have to seek out adventure sometimes, or make your own. I chose to write it the way I did because it needed to have a nostalgic feeling while also being informative. I want the reader to know how important this memory is to me, and I want them to feel like they were there with us. The length just came naturally--it was as short/long as it needed to be to get my point across. I didn't want it to be boring and excessive, but I also didn't want it to be so short that I wouldn't be able to be descriptive.