On Saturday morning, for the first time, I visited Stone Mountain Park.
Years ago, my cousin posted his workouts up the mountain, and since then, I’ve wanted to walk up for some exercise.
Finally I went.
Alone.
I’ve been walking up the mountain for a good while now, and scared is the furthest thing from my mind.
Up and up, higher and higher, steeper and steeper.
Heading toward the height of the mountain.
1,683 feet above ground.
And then..
My scared snuck in.
I had gotten to the steepest part of the mountain.
There are guardrails for holding on.
But I felt resistance pulling me backward.
And backward I would have gone.
1,000 feet..
Had I not been leaning forward.
I’m going up this mountain, no longer all alone.
I have my scared with me now. It snuck in.
I’m beginning to wonder what would happen if I slipped and fell?
Would I be able to catch myself?
How far would I actually fall before I stopped?
Has anyone died climbing this thing?
Why would they offer something like this to the public, unmonitored?
The ground is wet.
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.
I stopped myself while on the mountain.
I stopped to acknowledge my scared.
I stopped to remember all the times my scared snuck in, and how I overcame.
I stopped to breathe, to relax, to gather myself, and remind myself of what’s possible.
To remind myself what’s on the other side of my scared.
And then someone said “I promise, this is it, after this, it’s the top”
At that moment I realized how close I was.
I reached the top of the mountain.
And by the looks of it, you would’ve thought my scared snuck out.
It didn’t.
I just knew what to do with it.
After all, it is my scared.