My breathing was labored. I worked hard to keep it in check so people near me wouldn’t think I was overheating or, worse, out of shape. I focused on breathing methodically and softly, although in reality I could tell that it was loud. As I climbed, I began to feel unstable and shaky. I took each uneven stair with trepidation, stepping carefully to ensure that my ankle didn’t turn or my balance didn’t falter. Then I took a break. I pressed my hands against a large, strong tree and waited until my heartbeat stopped yelling in my ear. Then I started again.

I was on the Grouse Grind, a 1.8 mile hike with a 2,800 ft elevation gain just outside of Vancouver, BC. I’d done long stair climbs before and didn’t think that this one would be an issue. My husband and I started together and he had already separated from me and barreled on. I’m fairly fit for a 46-year-old woman, but this was getting to me. I made it one-quarter of the way to the top and stopped to read a large sign: Do you feel lightheaded or tired? This is the last point to turn around. Walking downhill after this is forbidden!

I had seen a few people coming down the hill when I started and wondered what they were doing. It was clear in the information online and at the trailhead that this was a one-way only trail and that a gondola would carry you down from the top. Then, just under a half mile in and huffing and puffing, I saw the sign and understood.

I thought through my options. I could push through and keep going because I can definitely do this. I exercise every morning and walk or run every afternoon, so I can definitely do this. I came here with the intention to finish it and I will. Turning around would signal that I’m too out of shape, weak, or old to accomplish something people of all ages are doing right at this moment. And I have to catch up to my husband and see what he sees at the top.

On the other hand, my body is telling me to stop. My heartbeat is loud in my eardrums and almost in my throat. Little fires are lighting and spreading in my thighs. Each step seems more treacherous and if I fall I would land on rocks and my weight would pull me down the trail who knows how far.

So I did it. I listened to my body and began my walk downhill, past people who were just starting and who were likely judging me for going the wrong way, wimping out, or interrupting their upward trajectory. But it wasn’t a walk of shame to me. I walked down that trail proud and confident. Because not only did I have a great workout in a beautiful setting, I also listened to myself first.