“The year of the mule”. This is how it reads in my mind’s eye on an imaginary Chinese calendar. 

Each year we attempt to Climb Mount Washington via the Auto Road on the first Sunday in August.  We do so in an event that’s the biggest annual fundraiser for the nonprofit organization that provides Sasha with not only year round recreation, but an amazing community of supporters as well. We begin our Ascent at dawn, normally around 4:30 AM, head lamps shining bright with the excited chatter of our team being the only sounds to break through the mountain pines.  Normally when we start out Sasha remains quiet as she gains her bearings.  You can see hints of recognition to the task at hand as she assesses why she’s out so early while surveying the roughly 15 – 20 people around her (some of whom she’s never met before), and adjust to the unseasonably chilly air. 

Around an hour into the climb, the sun starts to rise.  There’s the perfect curve of widening pavement that coincides with where we are located at sunrise each year, and this moment of awe always merges the team into a cohesive unit.  We’ve been so fortunate every year to have a blend of mules who are old friends, coworkers and complete strangers.  Some have never seen the chair Sasha rides in for hikes, others have seen photos of Adaptive Sports adventures, some have done the event almost since its inception 12 years ago.  It keeps for a sense of wonder in me every year and allows for Sasha to reach new people and invite them into her world. 

This year was different for may reason.  Sasha is adjusting to resuming activities in a halfway post pandemic world along with an ever present baby sister (Nika was waiting at the top of the mountain ahead of us in the car).  And since I was on the fence about doing the hike at all this year, there wasn’t the usual happy preparations and chatter at home.   I’d originally informed Adaptive Sports Partners of my decision not to climb, which meant Sasha would not experience the hike.  When I made the decision official at a summer meeting, I could see the look of disappointment on the faces of staff.  In a subsequent email response from Shane, a mule who has been with our team since 2016, I really understood that this year in particular, so many in our Adaptive community wanted Sasha to have this hike.  When I learned that Shane was roughly 6 weeks out from a mountain bike crash that landed him in the ICU with broken ribs and a punctured lung, it filled me with determination.  If Shane was willing to even consider this 7 ½ mile hike with thinning air as we climb above tree line, me being 5 months post-partum was no excuse not to try.  That’s how much others wanted this for Sasha.  Still, as the event got close, I expressed my reservations. “I don’t think I can physically do it this year” I told Roy, another veteran Team Sasha mule.  “You won’t know unless you try” he said. 

For me personally, it was an ugly hike.  My breathing was labored early on, starting at around mile 3.  By mile 5 I got charley horses in the front of my knees (what a phenom!).  I counted steps and set internal goals only to , at one point, have to stop after a mere 20 steps.  This was not looking good.  Yet each time I struggled, someone stepped up.  My dear college friend, Cheryl, joining us for the first time ever, kept reminding me that my baby girl was waiting for me at the top and she will be so proud.  “Chase vehicles”, drivers arranged through Adaptive Sports who sweep the road to check on the safety and wellbeing of each team, would slow down next to me, roll down their windows and tell me a funny story for distraction or white lie about how close we were to the summit.  Both were key to providing much needed second winds, over and over again. 

It was about four hours after our departure that Sasha made it to the top of Mount Washington.  She enjoyed being independent of me for longer stretches of the hike this year, but the team insisted on slowing the pace so we’d experience the final 200  or so feet together.  Those who were pulling the chair ensured Sasha had a winter hat on as the winds picked up.  Shane, the same mule who’d been in the ICU earlier this summer, handed me my winter coat, the same one he’d crammed in his already full pack to lighten my load.  Mark, the same driver of the chase truck who told me funny stories from his previous life as a State Trooper, patted me on the shoulder as he returned to me the backpack that I’d ditched in his flatbed early on.  Nate and his wife Nicole smiled at me from afar, both of us knowing that the mileage gain they told along the way was a generous number, as Roy asked if the protein-caffeine gummy cubes he gave resolved those charley horses.  It takes a village they say.  This was our village, and it shined bright at Sunrise.