Mt. Whitney May Be a Little Too High

The photo was taken by w:user:geographer and originally uploaded to the English Wikipedia as Image:01520008.jpg on 06:28, 14 May 2005.

    For most of my life I have thought about hiking up Mt. Whitney.  I actually made a half-baked attempt with a bunch of Boy Scouts one time, but never really got close.  It's one of those dreams that kind of sits quietly in the little back room of the brain, going pretty much unnoticed except for the occasional trip to the kitchen for a snack.  A couple of years ago that dream moved into the front room of my consciousness where I had to walk past it quite often.  So, last year I made a reservation (there's a lottery system to get permission to be on the trail), but then got sick and was unable to make the trip. 
    This year I was able to get a two-day lottery pick for two people.  I made a reservation at a nearby campground for my little pop-up tent trailer, and I began getting in shape.  Coincidentally (if you believe in coincidences), I put in for retirement about the same time.  In order to maximize my health insurance that would end upon my retirement, I went to see lots of doctors about every ailment I had been living with for years.  One of those involved some pain and increasing discomfort in my knee.  After the MRI I was told that I had injury-caused arthritis, probably from a bicycle crash when I was twelve, that would necessitate some sort of knee surgery in the future.  Of course, the first question out of my mouth was, "Can I still go up Mt. Whitney?"  The silent stare warned me of upcoming information I didn't really want to hear.  I left the office with this concession from a doctor who had expressed great concern about the trip, "Promise me you'll come get a prescription for Vicodin before you go so you won't be stranded on the trail."
    What do doctors really know, anyway?
    A couple of days ago I went on a practice hike from Caples Lake to Emigrant Lake; a 4-mile hike each way with a total ascent of less than 1,000 feet.  By the time I was limping my way through the last mile to my truck I knew that Mt. Whitney, an 11-mile hike each way with an ascent of about 6,000 feet, was not going to be possible.  What really hurt was the next part of that realization: It may never be possible.
    It's a funny thing about dreams; even when the head confirms the opposite, the heart still doesn't want to believe it.  So, while the dream has been relegated to that back room again for this year, I'm still thinking about how it might be possible to bring it out to the front room again next year.
    Lesson for all you young people: Don't put off implementation of your dreams for too long.  Circumstances change, so take advantage of opportunities when they are most achievable.