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Topic: Endurance (03/22/04)
TITLE: Avery Peak By William Bateman 03/22/04 |
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I quickly inventoried my campsite to make sure I was leaving nothing behind and set out to conquer Mt. Avery. One might ask why this mountain was so important to me? Mt. Avery represented my second attempt at climbing above 4,000 feet. Out of fear, I quit at that same altitude on Mt. Katahdin having never reached the top. Fear of the unknown does that. Today had to be different for me.
Slowly and steadily I began my ascent upwards toward Avery’s summit. The climb itself was not too eventful, except for those irritating little black flies trying to find rest on either of my eyebrows. Funny thing how every goal we set out to undertake has its own version of little black flies. I ignored them and pressed onward.
Suddenly, almost without warning, I was above the tree line and could see the summit itself for the first time! My heart began to race as I realized that I was within reach of the top! And, now that I could actually see my goal- I lost what little fear was left over from my failed summit attempt at Mt. Katahdin. Picking up my pace, I hiked with renewed spring in each step. Closer and closer the summit came. Higher and higher each step brought me upward. And then, I touched it! A wooden sign and post proclaiming these words to each hiker making it to its summit identified the mountain’s top: “Avery Peak- Altitude 4,090 ft.”
Climbing on top of one of the small granite boulders that supported the summit sign, I began hopping up and down, thrusting my hiking poles skyward in victory! If anyone had been watching me at that moment they might have confused me with a Native American Indian doing a rain dance on the Bigelow Range! And then, I remembered the feeling… alone at the most important time in my life.
Suddenly dropping my hiking poles to my side, I stopped dancing. Unbuckling my backpack, I gently laid it beside the same small granite boulder that just moments before I was dancing upon. Slumping into a sitting position- my mind raced backward in time and the images suddenly became very clear to me. I was the little boy who sat on the bench as the bigger and more athletic guys got in the ballgame. The coach always told me that I had talent to compete but was too small. Funny how I could never understand why I would sit on the bench no matter how badly our team played. “Hey, kid! Get a bat!” the coach yelled to me…
The bat seemed so big, my uniform was too baggy and I could hear the subtle chuckling of parents who felt more than a little sorry for me. But, I stood up to that big pitcher and steeled myself for the inevitable- another strike out. Swinging as hard as I could, I heard a strange sound. It was crisp, hard and resonated in my ears. In utter amazement and to the equally stunned amazement of the pitcher, teams and crowd, I watched that little ball rocket off my bat and disappear over the fence several hundred feet away.
Thrusting my bat into the air, I stood on home plate and hopped up and down like that Native American Indian I watched in the “Westerns” performing their rain dance each Saturday morning. “Go! Go! Go!” I heard the crowd shout. My heart was in my throat as I quickly gathered my composure and began circling the bases. I never stopped hopping though- until I rounded third base and looked over the left shoulder past the disgusted catcher, into the crowd and right to the very spot usually occupied by a loving father. He was not there.
Crossing home plate, I withdrew to my little hiding place. I no longer heard the cheers or felt the congratulatory pats on the back for a job well done. I walked into the dugout and slumped into a sitting position on bench…
As my mind returned to the top of Avery Peak, I felt the years of abandonment creeping up through my soul, salted by those vile words no kid wanted to hear: "You will never amount to anything- I wish you had never been born!” I was a mistake to those who said they loved me. I wept.
Looking up, I surveyed my surroundings. The sky was a perfect blue hue with beautiful wispy white clouds hanging like ornaments suspended on a Christmas tree, a gentle breeze brushing up against my cheeks soaked with the tears of a bad child hood memory. I was so alone again and there was no one to share my monumental victory. Didn’t anyone care?
I heard it. It was very faint but I heard it. It was distinct yet lovingly soft. I gathered myself and tried to hear it again. Wiping away the tears from my cheeks I sat up a little and this time, the voice, even clearer than the first time said these words to my soul:
“… Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.”