This is a story all about how my life got flipped, turned, upside down. And I’d like to take a moment, just sit right there…. while I tell you how I had a panic attack on my first hiking trip.
It all began in Sapri, Italy. We were on a trip sponsored by John Cabot University in Rome, where I’m currently studying abroad.
When I signed up for a snorkeling and hiking adventure, I should’ve put more of an emphasis on HIKING. Or ADVENTURE. I also should’ve been more self-aware of the fact that I’ve never been hiking.
In the summer, the opportune hiking weather, you can fry an egg on a sidewalk in the Texas heat. Because of this if you asked me, “Do you want to go on a walk on a nature trail with no destination?” I would’ve laughed you out of my air-conditioned house and continued to play the latest Black Ops game.
Our first day in Sapri consisted of a boat ride through beautiful waters, and ended with rock-climbing lessons on a short, vertical wall harnessed and protected by ropes and a helmet. I chickened out. (Oh, the irony.)
When we began our hike on the second day in what has to be one of the most beautiful cities in Italy, I wasn’t worried. We had an amazing group of people, scenery that most only see on Pinterest, and the beginning of our day was spent being followed by a film crew for an Italian Documentary. (I’m fairly sure they needed the most stereotypical group of American tourists as possible.) What could go wrong?
The hike began with the history of the original trail.
Hundreds of years prior to our day, merchants from Sapri and surrounding cities would bring their donkeys and meet on this trail. They would value the goods, determine the strength and quality of the donkey, and make their trades.
The problem? There was no room to turn around, and the donkeys could not walk backwards from where they came from.
I think you’re getting the picture, but if you aren’t… (PETA, calm down. It was hundreds of years ago.)
They would place the goods on the strongest donkey, and the other would be disposed of off the side of the cliff.
This story was given as we walked up a paved road, which my brain took as the normal hiking path. I scoffed at those who did this as a hobby.
When the REAL trail began, I started to worry. Loose rocks and dirt replaced paved paths as I could look to my right and see down the cliff to the rocks and trees below.
Let me preface this by saying I was not prepared with the proper shoes or previous hiking experience. Should you try to snorkel for the first time without having been in water or owning a pair of flippers? Probably not. Unfortunately, that’s a pretty accurate comparison of this day. This was my fault, and the trip was perfect. You should go. Back to the action.
After struggling through the first 3 miles, it happened. My ankle rolled, my foot slipped off the edge, and I caught myself with my hands. When I got up, I couldn’t stop shaking as adrenaline filled my veins. Not only was this exerting extra energy, but none of my steps moving forward were sure-footed, and I became clumsy.
To make up for my feet, I was grabbing any sturdy thing I could find on the cliff side as I walked: grasses, sharp rocks, semi-poisonous plants and…. cactus.
Not only was I holding up half of the group behind me, but I was slightly bleeding, still shaking from adrenaline, getting on my hands and knees to slide down steeper slopes, and more frustrated with myself and my abilities than ever before.
With obvious failure on the horizon, I did what any rational person would do.
I cried. A lot.
But not a sobbing cry. You see, we were still on donkey trail. With no end in sight (i.e., no escape), and no sign of slowing down, skinny tears continuously streamed down my face as I pressed on. Laughter and joy filled the air around me from experienced hikers as my voice cracked to answer them, thankful that we were in a single-file line and nobody could see my face.
At one point I thought, “I am the weakest donkey.”
We finally reached the end… or so I thought, on this large space of flat rock. Relief flooded me as my body started to relax. My sobs increased, having been suppressed for so long, as I sat down on the rock. Then I heard it…
“We’re a little over halfway there.”
My sob caught in my throat as I realized I was drawing more attention to myself. As everyone’s giggles and inside stories turned to stares at my face, my aviators no longer hid my obvious distress and all of my emotions turned to embarrassment.
Our tour guide, who sensed my discomfort and frustration, became my little Italian mountain goat, sure-footed and steady.
The trail that we were hiking on began with donkeys, but the most modern walking portion was HAND-CREATED by our tour guide over a span of 8 months with his wife and friends.
I can think of several eight-month spans that I did not create anything significant or beautiful. What a shock of reality in my life.
Although he didn’t speak a lick of English (For my Italian friends, that means he didn’t speak ANY English at all), he held my hand and guided me through the rest of the path. He’d point to rocks and nooks for my foot to go in, and wave his hand over areas to avoid.
My confidence started growing, allowing me to occasionally glance over the stunning landscape of Sapri. The water looked painted on, and the outline of the mountains peeked through the fog.
The trail was still tough. My legs shook, I sweated (a lot), and the hour of shaking that I had done previously had drained any energy that I had stored for the surprise second portion of the trail.
As tired, weak, or out of breath as I got, I realized the group would remain steady and I had to work through these problems mentally to continue on my way.
I could go into a motivational plot here – explaining euphemisms, metaphors, and how this trip is symbolic of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…
But that would cut into my gelato time.
After several hours, miles, and tears later, we reached the end of the trail. I had never been more grateful for paved asphalt in my life, and considered kissing the dusty black road as I saw in the movies. (I didn’t, mom. I know it’s unsanitary.)
Our group patted my back and told me how well I did, and I was shocked at the support that came from people that were strangers two days prior. Their words meant so much.
As I looked across the ocean from the top, unable to even see our starting point in the distance, a sense of empowerment filled me. I knew that situations like this would rise again in my life, but the realization hit me…
I might be the weakest donkey, but MAN am I stubborn.
Until next time, arrivederci.
I’m looking forward to sharing more adventures this summer. Stay tuned on my blog, or my sassy Snapchat/Twitter @fannah_hord
Hannah Ford
Texas Tech University – agricultural communications major
TurnRow Media 