Despite the difficulty in walking up 240 feet of sand at a 25-degree incline when you’re 11, I climbed all the way to the top. I climbed it slowly, but I made it. I regard it as one of the greatest achievements of my young life, right behind earning the Eagle Scout award and appearing on the Brain Game. Near the top, I played around with extended family, and I got buried in the sand along with my brother and cousin.
After nine years I took another family trip up there, this time with my mom, dad, and brother. It was three days after I had returned from London, and it was the last leg of my Michigan vacation before I had to return to my stateside job. We drove to the park in the typical family minivan (Chrysler Town & Country, first bought when I was in seventh grade, full of picnic food, lawn chairs, and a Frisbee), and I saw the beach first. I said to myself, “That’s weird. I know I’ve been here, but I don’t remember any of—aha! There we go,” as I turned to see my old nemesis, Tower Hill. It (He? For indeed, I had personified it) was different than I remembered. Yes, there was still a lot of trees at the top, which gave the impression of a mountain capped with green snow, but two essential things were different:
1) The weather was brilliant! No overcast or drizzle today; the sun shone brighter, the clouds were puffier, and the sky burned bluer than any other time I’d been to a beach.
2) Tower Hill was... smaller. Of course, it wasn’t really smaller, at least not significantly. (When something’s made of sand, it’s bound to lose a few particles at the top.) However, I had grown significantly taller. It was like the feeling that the drinking fountains at your old elementary school had shrunk since you were last there. Once a seventh of its height seemed chopped off due to my own growth, it didn’t seem so intimidating.
After parking the car, we got out and set up the lawn chairs. Mom & Dad sat on the beach while my brother & I threw the Frisbee around. Eventually we got tired of that and decided to ::dramatic head turn & close-up:: climb Tower Hill. ::ba-ba-BUUUUUUUUUM::
[runninghistory]My brother runs cross-country in college. He’s been in organized running since fourth grade and knows how to run up hills. I haven’t “run for fun” since the fall semester of my senior year of high school. The last hill I climbed was on a bike three months ago.[/runninghistory]
When we got to the foot of Tower Hill, I looked up and thought, “This won’t be too hard.” With camera in hand to take killer panoramas at the top, I started to run up the hill. My brother started to walk.
About a quarter of the way up I looked back and saw that I had climbed up double what my brother had climbed. I felt pretty good about myself: [madden]”Here’s a guy who doesn’t let his tendinitis get in the way of beating his brother in something!”[/madden]. I kept climbing without stopping...
...until I felt the tendinitis. And the heat. And the heavy breathing. I started running more slowly
to make sure I could reach the top without stopping. Eventually the slow running turned into walking, which turned into stepping, which turned into just a small break, I’ll start back up in two seconds, okay here we go for another fifteen-second climb, oh hey Kenny go ahead and pass me, now for another two-second break, OH GOD let’s just stand here and enjoy the scenery from two-thirds of the way up.In my decision to run up the dune, I forgot that it was a DUNE. It’s made of sand. Sand gives way when you step on it. When you push off it to make the next step, your foot slides back a little and you lose some of the progress you made. Your feet also get buried a little bit, which only adds to the redundant work you have to do. I swear, taking two steps up Tower Hill is like taking five steps on land or three steps in water. To me, at least. You might figure that differently.
But I made it to the top again. Dead tired, but on top. And probably faster than last time.
Part 3 on Tuesday.
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