The Great Awakening

by Dr. David Funk

9:00 am EST

"What should I do at the gym today?" I shamefully asked myself since I had no plan of attack for the day.  It’s true, I have a workout routine over the last few months that is as shameful as it has been in at least 10 years.  This unplanned schedule is a breeding ground for future paunch, self-loathing and unachieved goals.  I realized this as I sat in my living room, fatly watching ESPN2 cover the three stories of the week.  In that moment I felt a surge in my belly, not in my ample adipose tissue hanging over the taut elastic of my pajamas, but deep inside where a man’s spirit lies.  I was compelled; I walked outside into the unusually warm December weather and looked out from my second story balcony to the highest point of my surroundings.  The surge said to me, "Today you will climb." It was not up for debate, it was a command issued from the depths of my soul.

The Trail

I set out toward my mountain along a trail that I was very familiar with, the sights and sounds of soccer moms and their puffball dogs were commonplace on this path.  I had never ventured off of this trail before.  It was well marked, it was level, it was safe.

When I arrived at the base of the mountain where I planned to begin my assault on the summit I discovered, much to my chagrin, that its base was completely surrounded by houses.  To continue on my journey I would have to trespass, in broad daylight, in a community that lands on the extreme right of political issues.  The risk was not a small one but it was one I was willing to take.  I daringly broke trail and stepped into a yard boasting a truck whose lift kit surely cost more than the machine.  I strode through the residential back yard dodging dog dumplings like landmines the whole way.  I gazed at the house all the while picturing a man, with more first names than teeth, bursting from it waving his second amendment rights in my general direction.  At the end of the yard I clambered over the stone wall that marked its end and began my accent.

The Ascent

I looked out into the terrain that I would soon be traveling on.  The ground was still wet with droplets from the morning dew.  A thin refreshing layer of fog hung low on the dead trees and rocks that formed the mountains floor.  The lay of the land was not intimidating, in fact the mountain itself seemed at first glance no more than a large hill.  As I began to walk up the gradual incline I could feel my heart starting to beat a little more quickly, I could feel the cool December air satisfyingly stroking my face as I pushed through the woods.  Something primal was stirred inside of me, a thought that this would be what the world looked like if humans had never left their grotesque mark on the planet.  I remained enamored with this thought, hardly able to comprehend it in my own mind, or why it weighed so heavily on it in the first place.  I thought about the fact that I could have easily passed this time by sitting on my couch barely moving except to gorge my face with salty foods, a practice I am no stranger to.  But I had made the right choice.  This, I decided, was where I belonged.  My pace quickened, even breaking into a childlike run at times, the kind of run where you just move your body through space and time out of pure excitement.  It was a kind of run, I thought, that is not commonplace in the morose land of adult decorum.  I wove my way in and out of the heavily wooded mountainside, walking on logs, climbing on top of large rocks. I could start to see the mountain rising at a greater slope and all at once the trees cleared and I saw what remained of my climb.

Summit

I peered through the remainder of the trees trying to get a good look at the climb ahead.  I had anticipated a gentle grade that would lead me to a relatively easy summit.  Gentle grade this was not; this was a sharply inclining grade that culminated in a 90 degree wall of intimidating rock as craggy as a cancerous prostate.  I began to climb the steepening mountainside, each step harder than the last.  My lungs burned white hot and pleaded for a rest, I could feel my legs filling with lactic acid as they begged for reprieve.  I had gone into a trance; I could feel the summit beckoning me.  I finally paused, out of breath, when I arrived at the rock face that guarded the summit.

The stone rose beastly from the ground without warning like some sort of sinister push pop.  The wall was 12 feet high if it was a foot, and I had to form a plan of attack.  There were several somewhat easy routs over the wall but I was maddened by the climb.  If I may borrow from the great alpinist and author Jon “5 star” Krakauer,

“Climbing was a magnificent activity, I firmly believed, not in spite of the inherent perils, but precisely because of them.”

With those words in mind I took the most difficult rout I could handle.  I started up the face of the rock wall, the rocks were cold and much more slippery than I anticipated.  They were moss covered and it occurred to me that I may be the only person in a very long time to have been here.  I neared the top clumsily and my foot slipped from its hold.  I could feel my heart drop as I lost my balance.  Luckily I regained my footing, but not before I sent a dead stump hurtling down the mountain falling meters to a rocky demise that reduced it to unsanitized toothpicks.  My mind did not hesitate to make the connection that this could very well have been my fate.  I climbed to the top and expected to be standing triumphant over citizens of Shavertown.  To my surprise there was another climb that culminated in yet another wall of earth that was taller and more intimidating than the first.
 
I began to climb the second rock wall, the craggy moss laden demon that stood in my way toward the summit.  Midway up the wall I grabbed a small branch to hoist myself when - SNAP - the tree gave way.  My feet slid down the mossy slope of rock they were perched on toward the nothingness that marked the rocks end.  I was going down.  I reached blindly in the area of the broken branch and caught a root with my left hand saving me from tumbling down the mountain.  I stood there badly shaken.  My mind felt clouded, perhaps the beginning of hypoxia.  I had, after all, climbed hundreds of feet above sea level to perch myself on this precarious ledge. I was woefully underprepared for this moment. I was wearing a long t-shirt, jeans and boots. I had no carabiners, no ropes, and I was smack dab in the middle of a 12 hour fast.  The brashness of my preparation, or lack thereof was staggering to me in that moment.  I had never climbed anything before, and I was attempting to solo climb this rocky whore of a mountain without safety gear, without food, or water, and not enough clothing to make a bivouac until I regained my strength.  The climb back down the mountain was too treacherous, the rock wall I was on was too slippery and I would have to descend a second rock wall after it.  The thought of slipping on the wet leaves, as I approached the ledge of the lower rock wall, and hurtling over it was sickening to me.  I would have to climb up the mountain and find an easier way down. In that moment I thought of my wife, the beautiful first First Lady of the KeyPAP.  What would she think if I lost my footing?  The only people who knew I was out here at all were hundreds if not thousands of miles away from here and would not know where to look in the first place.  I could not place that burden upon her shoulders.  No, it is in her that I found the strength and determination to move on.  I struggled mightily to the top of the second wall battling my own limbs which trembled with fear.
 

 

On the top, the mountain smiled mockingly at me with a third rock wall.  There were trees twisting from the side of the wall, reaching towards the heavens, as if they were daring me to continue.  I realized that it was not up to me - in the end, the mountain would decide my fate.  I thought then that it might not be so bad to be seated on my couch vegitizing in front of the TV.  I shook the thought off and stormed toward the third rock wall, my blood boiling at the mockery of the mountain.  If the mountain wanted me, it was going to have to fucking take me.  I tore at the third wall tossing loose rocks by the wayside, climbing with great fervor and strength.  I was moving but it was as if my body was moving for me, I was just along for the ride.  In minutes I stood atop the nameless mountain.  The mountain, fittingly, did not reward me with a spectacular view, those heaven bound trees did all that they could to obscure it.

Descent

I was able to find an easy way down the mountain.  Once my descent began I noticed that I was absolutely drenched in sweat.  At several hundred feet above sea level this could have proven treacherous if the weather turned.  Luckily I was graced with clear skies the whole way down.  I stepped out of the woods on a road labeled Carverton.  I knew where I was, back to safety, and decided that I would stay there for a long while.  As I began the walk back to my apartment I looked ahead of me, away from the mountain that had spared me.  I walked around the bend of the road and saw through the clearing another mountain appear, dominating the horizon, looming over me something sinister, and I felt my spirit stir once again.