Palm Sunday: from low to high at 13,000 something

We weren't even to the trailhead and I could tell that something was going to have to change. It wasn't just that my camera was too big to wear at my waist or that my shoes weren't tied tight enough. It was that I was struggling to keep up with my friends, Rachel, Steven, and John. They just walked so fast. I felt the weight of my camelbak and sipped water, hoping that carrying the water inside of me rather than on my back would make me feel lighter. Each time that the group stopped to rest and take pictures, I had just enough time to catch up, and we were off again.

Stephen decided to walk behind me so that I wouldn't be walking alone. That was really a good feeling, except that now the group was divided into two. "I'm sorry guys, I just can't walk any faster." I panted. "Unless we all slow down, we're going to have to walk in two groups the whole way." My friends let me set the pace. It was a pretty slow pace.

The mountain didn't get any easier. Besides the vision of my fading leather shoes clumping one in front of the other, I don't really remember much of the ascent to Siete Lagunas, our main landmark on the way up. We stopped there to eat oranges. I felt that nauseous feeling that you get when you are trying so hard to hold still while threading a needle that you forget to breath. I sat down with my head in my knees and dreaded the moment when I would have to stand up. I made myself drink. I was realizing how dehydrated I was.

The dreaded moment came, and we started the next stretch of the hike. The other part had been "easy" and this part was going to be hard. Added elevation, added wind, added snowfields and a dramatic decrease in temperature. The wind pounded at the scarf I had wrapped around my head and I longed to scream back at it. I might have if I had had the energy.

I was getting behind again, but my friends never let me walk alone. The peak, the highest point in Spain, Mulhacén, was in site now, but it was so far away. I told Stephen I wasn't sure if I could make it. The next time we caught up with Rachel, I asked, "How are we doing on time? Because I can't go any faster and if I'm not going to make it to the top at this speed, I need to find a rock to hide in while you guys make the ascent."

Rachel looked at me seriously and said six words. "I think you can make it."

And I did. Once Rachel said I could make it, I decided to quit thinking about not making it. I didn't even stop. I walked so slow I didn't have to. We made it to the top of Spain together. We sat in the 100 km wind at the top of Spain, 1.45 miles higher than where we had woke up that morning, under the bright blue sky. We felt triumphant as we read about the triumphal entry of Jesus Christ into Jerusalem.

Hosanna! It means, 'oh save!' and that's what God does.