Grit. This word prompts much self-reflection. Do I give up much too easily? When I approach a task, do I have a preconceived notion about my abilities? In a situation of survival would I tough it out or give up?
I had clawed over boulders bigger than my house. My eyes remained straight ahead. I didn’t have the guts to glance over my shoulder to view the depth of the valley below. Earlier in the day, my friend asked, “Do you want to go for a walk?” I tied my tennis shoes and we were off. I envisioned meandering through Acadia National Park's carriage paths-wide, suitable for bikes and horses. A walk. Instead I dug my fingers into crevices in the rocks or anything that might provide a strong hold to move my body up the mountain. It had rained the night before and the trail was wet and slippery in spots. Some transitions on the mountain provided iron rungs drilled into the face of the mountain-a vertical solid stone wall. One of the problems was that the engineers placed the first rung at my five foot-two chest level. I had difficulty leveraging my foot in order to hoist my body onto the ladder. It was only through grit and sheer determination that I was able to accomplish this feat. The alternative was to proceed down the same way. I had fought my way up the sheer face of the Precipice. Unfamiliar with this trail, I did not know if there was another way down. My goal was to reach the top. There was no giving up.