Week 6: A test of endurance..

John writes:  I am dead. Well, not really. But I might have come as close to death Saturday as I have ever been. Let me tell you my story.
     Once upon a time in a land far, far away from the United States, Old Juan Grande and Young Lisa Maria decided to climb up a volcanic mountain. It would not be a problem, they reasoned, as seven other "oldish" students learning Spanish also signed up for the trip.

     Juan Grande worried a bit, because of his age and some minor afflictions, but he understood the climb was supposed to be "moderate" -- allowing "climbing at your own pace."

     Juan Grande remembered the time he completed a triathlon -- a one mile open-water swim, 25-mile bike ride and 6-mile run; it was in his younger days.  He knew now that he was physically weaker, but over the years, and in his mind, even on this day, he believed he was still athletic.

      The climb was a two-mile assent. And what goes up must come down.

     Juan Grande started up the mountain with a wooden walking stick rented from a young boy for 5 quetzales (less than $1).

     But it didn't take long for Juan Grande to learn this hike was certainly not of the "moderate" variety. It was going to be muy difícil  (difficult).

      At about 7,500 feet, Juan Grande paid for a horse, which had been offered earlier as an option, to carry him the rest of the way. (As context for this story, Juan Grande had only been atop a horse twice in his life, and the last time, at about age 30, he fell off and into the mud).        

     Lisa Maria also got a horse, but her ticket to ride was an obvious gesture to make Juan Grande feel better since all the others in the group hoofed it  up the mountain without any horsepower.

     The view from the final summit, much lower than the actual crater opening, was fantastic (see photos). And the volcano belched a few times and blew a great amount of steam into the sky.

     About an hour later, after snapping photos, enjoying the views, eating a small sandwich and piece of fruit, and drinking a bottle of water, it was time to start down the treacherous trail. 

     "I am Juan Grande" (I told myself). "I don't need no stinking horse to take me down the mountain." I started walking, with my rented walking stick.

     Not quite half way down, after falling twice and stopping numerous times because of the fire and pain in my upper legs, I mentally shouted "no mas." I had forgot about the difficulty in walking down hill, in the mountains, on unstable paths -- with bum legs.

     So, while resting, I asked for Tequila (the name of my horse, not the drink).

     Up came my tried and tested steed with his handler. They took me the rest of the way where my amigos gave me a round of applause as I arrived on horseback.

     The moral of the story is this: Old Juan Grande ain't what he used to be!

     And, as I recover tonight on my bed, with many aches and pains, I am reminded of Philippines 4:13 -- " I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me" ... even if He chooses a horse named Tequila.