It was a Thursday, one of my days off. My 84-year old grandmother was watching Cecelia and Isabelle, "Nana Day," as she likes to call it. It's a day she sets aside to have any of her great-grandchildren who aren't old enough for school to come over and make memories with her. Usually my sister, Tina, a few of my cousins and myself drop off a total of around 7 or 8 kids. It's a day I get alone to enjoy such luxuries as grocery shopping by myself or taking a nap.
This day, however, I was catching up on the 'never-ending story' I call laundry. In the midst of the doldrums of folding shirt after shirt, my dad walks into my living room and tells me I got something from the Department of the Interior in the mail. To be quite honest, I had no idea what the DOI was and for no reason at all a feeling of guilt ran through me as I figured the government wanted something from me. MUCH to my relief it was a letter regarding my request for a back country permit. It stated my itinerary was approved and my permit would be ready for me the day before or the day of my hike. I was ecstatic! Finally, all the preparations were not for naught, it was going to happen.
I let my brother and sisters know immediately and the excitement built all around. From this point on my main goal would be to make sure I had all the equipment I needed and to train well enough to trust that my body could perform the task that I was about to ask of it.
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