OUT OF BREATH, IN AND OUT OF MT. ULAP

By Mariella Ortega

I thought hiking would finally help me breathe.

After months of deadlines, academic exhaustion, and the constant pressure to catch up, saying yes to a hike at Mt. Ulap felt like saying yes to a pause. But five minutes into the trail, with a fast heartbeat and hearing my breath in my ears, I realized I was still out of breath even in the place I thought would save me from it.

When my friend invited me for a bonding hike, I immediately agreed. Not only because I wanted a break from academics, but also because it felt like proof that I was starting to live physically what I put on my first-ever vision board.

Chasing deadlines before my long-awaited hike, I had no time to prepare for it. None to purchase the right clothing and gear. None to physically prepare for the hike. None to assess if my current shape was fit for the mountain we climbed. None to check the weather and trail conditions.

Or maybe I just didn’t bother making time for these. For me, finishing my pending schoolwork before the hike felt more important because I thought it would make the trip more worthwhile.

I only relied on what I watched online early in the morning on D-Day. Mt. Ulap was beginner-friendly, they said, for someone physically active. I was not, and it was too late to back down.

Still, I thought walking uphill and downhill in Baguio City every day would make up for it. It did not.

The higher I climbed, the stronger my self-hesitation grew. Can I really conquer this mountain? Although this feeling was nothing new, I never became used to it. It was the same hesitation I feel when doubts surface after opportunities come or before I achieve goals. At least, those doubts remind me that there were still opportunities and goals ahead of me.

But as my 32oz AquaFlask ran out of water and my three jelly ace cups became empty, we were nowhere near the summit. With the blazing sun shaking my remaining determination, a thing that kept me going was that I couldn’t afford the P5000 rescue fee.

Quitting, for me, is not an option. Not when I had my water bottle empty. Not when my stomach growled with hunger. Not when I could hear my breathing loudly in my ears. Not when my face turned red from heat and exhaustion.

Soon after, I found myself at the back of the group, asking for a break every few seconds during ascents to catch my breath. “Can we stop for a bit? Can I take a sip of your water? Can I eat the Snickers you brought?,” I asked them in Filipino.

There, I began to see more clearly what kind of person I am. For me, exhaustion is rarely enough reason to stop. The feeling of being behind may be present sometimes, but I always realize that I am my own competition. And asking for help doesn’t demean me, especially when I really need it.

At one point, I genuinely thought it was already noon because of the heat burning against my skin. But when I checked the time, it was only 9:30 in the morning. Time moved slowly in the mountains. Surprisingly similar to but slower than hell week, or months, that feel endless when burnout had already settled in.

The thought of giving up, of course, crossed my mind several times, especially when I looked at certain parts of the trail and wondered if I would survive if I slipped from the edge. But another thing that kept me going was that my mom didn’t know I was hiking. So, I must come home safe and sound.

Then, a point came when I stopped fully appreciating the view. As I reached Gungal Rock and saw how steep the cliff was, I was terrified of falling. I was reminded that I love my life.

At least, I was having self-realizations.

As I continued climbing, the summit slowly became visible from a distance. Witnessing a wedding proposal there felt nothing like romance. Instead, I questioned why someone would propose in the middle of a hell of a hike. Still, I opened my camera, captured a moment, and took the chance to catch my breath, again.

Seeing the summit failed to remind me why I agreed to the hike in the first place. Another monologue entered my mind: Ano bang pinapatunayan ko? [What am I proving?] Along the way, the hike stopped being about bonding or adventure. It started feeling like another thing I needed to endure just to prove to myself that I could.

Even when I could already see the large signage at the peak, the achievement of reaching it no longer appealed to me. I just wanted to reach it, so I am a few steps closer to going home.

I was happiest when I saw the trail going downhill.

I slipped and stumbled several times. But instead of complaining about the pain, I just giggled it off. Instead of asking for breaks, unlike earlier, I just kept going. I knew I was going home.

On my way back, my knees ached from the descent, and my body begged for rest. I kept asking myself whether the hike was worth it, if hiking was even for me at all, or if I simply started at the wrong mountain.

Yet after all that, Mt. Ulap became my mother mountain, the first mountain I ever climbed.

From this adventure, I realized I was not only out of breath from Mt. Ulap. Before I began climbing it, I was already breathless from balancing studies and living alone in a cold city.

Mt. Ulap took my breath away, but long before the hike, life certainly did too.

If there is a next mountain to climb, I will choose a trail that matches my physical shape. Mt. Ulap was enough to teach me that nothing is wrong with being gentle to oneself after all.