Carol peered down the curving lakeside path that disappeared into the dense forest a hundred feet ahead. New to the area, the locals had insisted the five-mile Silver Lake Trail was a “can’t miss hike” that everyone should take, so here she was at the trailhead, ready to start the trek. Gripping her walking stick tightly in one hand and a water bottle in the other, she set off down the trail.
The giant moss-covered hemlocks, the lush overhanging canopy, and the crystal-blue lake that reflected the jagged gray peaks wove together into an otherworldly panorama that took Carol’s breath away. She paused for a moment in awe and basked in the view.
After a few minutes of walking, the worn-out foam lining of her shoes rubbed hard against her heel, causing a blister to form. To her dismay, she looked down to discover she was wearing the wrong shoes! Not the new Puma hiking shoes she bought a couple of days ago for this hike, but her old Pumas that had long seen their better days. With each step, her discomfort increased, and she realized she couldn’t go much further.
Reluctantly, she turned around and headed back. That was dumb, she chided herself. I really need to pay more attention next time and not get distracted.
A week later, Carol was back at the trailhead. A series of thunderstorms had kept her from returning earlier, but it had been dry the last couple of days, and she was ready to tackle Silver Lake Trail again. Walking stick, check; water, check; backpack, check; new shoes, check, and ready to rumble.
She set off quickly down the trail, relishing the surrounding beauty. After walking about twenty minutes, she rounded the bend to see a barricade blocking the trail by a large puddle of water, with a sign that said “Trail Closed.” The water covered the trail; there was no way around the barricade, no way through the water short of swimming, and she was not going to do that! This was the end of her walk for today. She wondered why she hadn’t seen a sign posted at the trailhead that the path was blocked.
She began her slow walk back, kicking the dirt and putting small rocks that lined the way with her walking stick. When she arrived back at the trail entrance, she saw—much to her chagrin—a big yellow sign with bold red letters that said, “Trail Flooded: 1 Mile Ahead.” She stared at the sign in heavy silence and shook her head. You really need to get your head in the game, girl.
A week later, Carol was back at Silver Lake Trail, her game-face on and ready to try again. Like a batter at the plate with the game on the line—she resolved that today’s excursion would be “third time’s the charm,” because “three strikes and you’re out” wasn’t an acceptable option. The flooded sign was gone from the trailhead, and the path looked clear ahead as far as she could see. She carefully double-and triple-checked her list to be sure she had everything she needed.
Her heart raced as she set off down the trail, her pace brisk and steady, and, like the last two times, she entered another world. The verdant forest resonated with life; birds chirped cheerfully in the trees, butterflies fluttered lazily by, wild blue phlox flowers filled the air with sweet perfume, and the shimmering lake glistened like a shining sapphire surrounded by the craggy granite peaks.
The pedometer on her smartphone counted off the miles as she walked along the trail: one mile, two miles, then three. As she neared the five-mile mark, she could see the end of the trail loop in the distance, which brought her full circle back to the trailhead where she had started two hours ago.
When she reached the pavement of the parking lot, she looked back at the trail she had just walked and felt a great sense of accomplishment. Three times the trail had challenged her, and finishing it today was worth every step. “Yay!” she exclaimed, her heart bursting with pride. “Today I didn’t strike out; I hit a home run!”
