Chasing Uphill

I tap my fist on the railing’s final timber post and keep moving along. A sightseeing group, wearing an array of Atlanta sports gear, shuffles past in the opposite direction.

Is the hardest part of my life always ahead or behind me? Damn, does that word chase and invade my thoughts if I ever slow down for more than a single pace. Maintain daily structure, my grief counselor once said. Set small goals, she added. Reach out to someone—a person who will listen, care, and be a tangible support in difficult times. Mat’s determined company, saddled with heavy breathing from several strides down the trail, is my main reason to hike today.

“Hey, Trev! Wait…just a sec!”

To obey my burly friend’s request, I pause at the edge of the meandering asphalt path. Within my polyester joggers, my hands warm, safe from the perpetual late October breeze that occupies the Blue Ridge Mountains. ‘Perpetual’ doesn’t bother me so much. But my mind connects to a close synonym instantly. Inevitably.

“Dude…you’re still…too fast.”

We’re past the halfway mark to the observation deck below Anna Ruby Falls. The twin cascades rush in the distance; the crisp air beckons my lungs. A skirmish between irritated and grateful persists within me. Irritated at my thoughts and wondering what the hell I’m doing here—but grateful that I can even have thoughts and that Mat insisted on this modest trek. As sunlight dances through the autumn canopy around us, Mat stiff-arms a nearby tree trunk and grins.

“Wooh. Man, I gotta get on your workout plan or something. This is too much.”

“Wasn’t it your idea to do this trail?” I joke.

“Hey now, cool it with the accusations. Neither of us wanted to be stuck staring at a damn computer screen on a Friday afternoon like this, right?”

I kick at the rugged pavement. Of course, it would’ve been all too easy to blow this off and blame ‘work.’ Hell, Mat could’ve done the same—but he didn’t. My grateful side surges.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s get a move on.” And I step toward the next section of path, conviction in my stride.

“I wasn’t kidding about picking up your workout plan, ya know,” Mat says over my shoulder.

“Oh, really? Man, it’s so much less about the gym than you would think. It’s all in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen, huh? Dude, now all I’m thinking about is a frickin’ double bacon cheeseburger.”

I turn my head to chuckle, and Mat rubs his belly. Years ago, there were only so many positions we could’ve claimed on our high school baseball team. Mat played the hell out of first base, county MVP and all that. I sped around the outfield well enough to make second team all-stars.

“Easily eighty to ninety percent of your body can transform through diet alone,” I say, still striding along the path. “Exercise is only the icing on the cake.”

“Trev, you’re killing me with these food references. Unless there’s a bakery up at the falls, I don’t want to hear anything else about food right now.”

A bakery does sound awesome at the moment. Except my own words and Mat’s harmless quip shift me back toward irritation. All I can think about is White Windmill. Every early Thursday morning trip across town for a large sliced loaf of Milk Toast and two Twist Donuts with the richest cinnamon I’ve ever tasted. And haven’t tasted for nearly two years. I can’t face the storefront without Kendall.

“Nah, no bakeries. We can get you some candy in the gift shop on the way outta here.”

Meanwhile, a pair of yellow leaves flutters down beside me as I stop before the upcoming bridge. Mat joins me, eyeing the mid-thirties couple occupying the crossing with their gleeful family. The brunette wife leads across, a baby boy strapped in a black harness to her front, and she smiles exiting the wooden structure in her sky-blue sneakers. Afterwards, the husband follows, purple leash in hand, as their pepper-gray Husky trots ahead. He smiles too, behind amber sunglasses and an emerald long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Yes, what can I do for ya?” Mat asks the canine greeter sniffing his worn charcoal boots.

“Heh, she means well,” the dog owner says. “Just curious as ever.” He nudges the leash, and the pup’s collar jingles. “C’mon, Misty. Let’s go.”

As the young family departs down the trail, Mat leads ahead for the first time. He heaves onto the bridge, but I’m stun-locked, staring at the bright stream below.

“Trev, ya good?”

Mat’s words trickle into my ears amid the fizz of rushing water. Again, my hands have retreated into my pockets. It’s as if my soul has already diagnosed my current condition, but my mind struggles to recover the ability to act. Those two leaves? The attractive brunette? The innocent boy?

“Hey, man, what’s going on?”

I reach for the back of my neck and let a long exhale break the tension gripping me. My hiking buddy returns to the asphalt beside me and waits, hands on his hips.

“…Blue eyes…That dog…”

“Aww, shit…I’m sorry, Trev.”

More sunshine speckles around us as the whoosh of leaves above echoes Mat’s prompt, yet unnecessary apology.

“Ya know, I wasn’t planning to bring it up today,” Mat says, patting my near shoulder. “I was hoping this hike could distract ya a good bit…I know it’s not the same, but I miss Kendall too, man…for what it’s worth.”

I shake my head and resist turning away. Mat’s doing his best, of course. Everyone is. But blue eyes hurt. Even a random dog’s blues.

Mat scratches his stubbly beard and continues, “I’ve got no clue how you’ve been dealing with all this. But I’m sure it’s been a living hell…Just need ya to know it’s an honor to be standing next to ya today. Man, your perseverance is second to none. Look at me—with zero burden in the world, I can barely walk up a damn point nine mile trail!” He shoots his arms out and slaps them down to his bulky sides.

A pair of gentlemen hikers approach from below us, murmuring about red-tailed hawks. They usher across the bridge, each sporting a slim hydration backpack, and fade out of earshot.

“Listen, everyone loves ya, Trev. You’re a frickin’ inspiration…We all see it—in everything that ya do. Even when ya could be out there winning a marathon or something, it means a lot that you’d choose to bum up this mountain with me. I always enjoy hanging out with ya, no matter what.”

And there it is again. ‘Always.’ For nearly two years, I’ve tried to accept that I’ll always hate the word ‘always.’ That same counselor also told me to be kind to myself. Show grace. That’s the least I owe Mat at this moment. None of this is his fault. Or anyone’s, really.

“I’m sorry, ya know, we can head back down if ya want,” Mat offers. “…Whatever feels right.”

To have sat one room away and felt the monitor flatline absolutely shattered me. And here I stand, defeated by a pair of canine eyes. Each time I’ve declared that the hardest part of my life truly is behind me, a new challenge appears. At once, the mountain air envelopes me, reminding me of what else is true: the often-forsaken gift of breath. I’ve been guilty of trying to ‘move on’ from Kendall and the life we shared. ‘Move forward’ with her spirit has proven a better process.

“I once read an article, think it was in a Sports Illustrated.” My words provoke Mat to inch closer, breaking the recent standstill. “…It was about this older guy…who went through all kinds of illness and depression…But before he died, he wanted to run a marathon…They asked him what advice he’d give to other runners…anybody looking for inspiration.”

Mat raises his brow as I pan through the surrounding forest.

“And he said: Never decide to quit while you’re chasing uphill…That it’s too easy to do so and you’ll miss the ease of going downhill later.”

I shift gently between each of my feet, letting jitters escape through the solid ground below. Every day without Kendall has sent me farther uphill. I’m holding on to an uplifting stranger’s quote, still waiting for the easy part.

“I figure life’s felt heavier than it ought to for the last couple of years, man,” Mat says. “…But you’re doing it. I still see Kendall through it all…Isn’t that worth something?”

As songbirds chirp overhead, an older solo hiker treads past us. His boots clop along the wooden planks to the bridge’s far side before Mat and I revisit the moment.

“Yeah…I guess so,” I utter. “…I’ve been wondering if this uphill ever ends.”

“Well, as much as my body hates me right now, there’s a scenic view ahead that I’d enjoy sharing with ya…if ya still want to?”

I offer Mat a meager grin, and he wraps his arm behind my opposite shoulder, much like when we walked off the baseball field for the last time together as seniors. First round of the state playoffs.

My company turns, stepping onto the bridge with a huff. With a sharp exhale, I follow. The stream ripples below from left to right, inviting us toward the falls. As we strike the next section of pavement, Mat pivots back.

“Hey, so if I started a new diet and all, do ya think there’s a way I could still eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast everyday?”