1. 108 spokanecda.com • SEPTEMBER • 2015 spokanecda.com • SEPTEMBER • 2015 109
HEALTH BEAT109 My Healthy Move 114 Back to School Fitness 116 Arthritis
T
hroughout the majority of my college career, I exercised
once a month, on average. I hated exercise, every bit of it.
Between school, work, studying, church, community group
and piano lessons, I didn’t have time to work out. Sweating
was disgusting to me, I was not interested in soreness and pain and I
was in such bad shape that every increased intake of breath burned my
lungs badly enough to make me quit. But, when I received an email
about an opportunity to climb Mt. Baker with other students from
Whitworth, I registered for the class and hit the gym within the hour.
Thus began my three months of training. Ever the organizer and
scheduler, I talked with my mountain-biking father and marathon-
running mother to devise a strict training program. I started riding
the stationary bike at the gym Tuesday and Thursday mornings,
and enlisted two friends to go with me and keep me accountable.
On Wednesdays, I went rock-climbing, which familiarized me with
harnesses and with trusting the rope that held me. I progressed
from the easiest route at the climbing wall to one three levels up. On
Saturdays, I tried to go on two-or three-mile hikes. For several weeks,
this was all I could manage. Having increased my exercise from once
per month to three times per week, I would fall into bed each night,
exhausted.
Knowing this pitiful increase would not be enough to
get up the side of a mountain, I started running, which
I am convinced is the most God-awful activity on earth.
One brisk morning in March I set out with my pepper
spray, and made it exactly 500 yards from my front door
before nearly throwing up and collapsing in my neighbor’s
front yard. I walked the rest of the one-mile loop, gasping
for air and clutching my left side, where an invisible knife
was stuck between my top two ribs. It took me almost
30 minutes to get home. Still breathless and still in pain,
I looked in the mirror of my bathroom. Sweaty and with
bright red cheeks, the flyaway hairs around my face stuck
up at every angle in a chaotic disarray that matched my
panicked thoughts. I can’t even run a quarter of a mile; how
am I supposed to climb a mountain?
Being able to run a full mile without stopping became
the bane of my existence. I needed more endurance than
strength at this point in my training. I bought ultra-light
running shoes, believing like the boys in The Sandlot
that cool shoes could make me run as fast as a jet. I even
bought lighter socks, trying desperately to make running
as easy as possible. I created a running playlist that
consisted of songs with titles like Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop,
for motivation. Perhaps most important, I slowed my pace
way down, having started too aggressively on my first
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story and photos by Hanna Martin
My Healthy Move
Mt. Hood
viewed from the
Lunch Counter.
How a non-sweater became a mountain climber

2. 110 spokanecda.com • SEPTEMBER • 2015 spokanecda.com • SEPTEMBER • 2015 111
Health Beat
knots on a bight, and belayed each other as we climbed. The following days included lessons on
prusiks, burying crevasse-rescue anchors, self-arrest, walking on a rope team, and avalanche rescue.
We learned how to wind and store rope, use avi-transceivers and probes, load locking-carabiners,
and pack our backpacks with weight nearer our hips than shoulders. We sized crampons, tied clove
hitches, and glissaded. We read a staggering number of pages from Freedom of the Hills, chock-full
of diagrams and gear lists. My entire life revolved around class; I exercised in the mornings, had
lectures and technical training in the afternoon, and read all evening. I even dreamt about the
various knots and terms we had learned during the day.
Finally, this past June, the date of the climb arrived – and I was ready. The hike to basecamp on
Mt. Baker was brutally muggy and long. Despite my 40-pound pack and five-pound mountaineering
boots, my legs did not complain during the three-and-a-half hour hike. I felt confident that I would
be strong enough to summit the next day; however, as night fell on our circle of tents, a wave of
nausea overcame me. I became ill, unable to keep down anything but water for almost two days. Too
sick to hike any farther, my dream of summiting Mt. Baker was dead.
disastrous run. After a week
of trying every day, I made
it exactly one mile without
stopping, even sprinting the
last eighth of a mile in my
excitement.
Having led climbs on
Mt. Adams in past years,
my dad had devised a four-
mile loop that he used as
the ultimate training for his
expeditions. It went through
our neighborhood, up
Browns Mountain, past my
elementary school and back
to our house. He called it the
Mt. Adams Loop. Strapping
on a pack, he would simply
walk the loop in preparation.
I asked him to map it out for
me. I filled a backpack with a
several gallons of water and a
four-person tent for weight,
grabbed my iPod and started
walking. To my surprise and
immense pleasure, I was
home again in 47 minutes,
able to catch my breath and
with minimal pain in my legs
and back.
The following day, I
ditched the pack and ran the
loop, almost quadrupling my
original mileage. It seemed
as if I had broken through
both a physical and mental
barrier that had previously
obstructed my progress.
Running came easier, and
lunges no longer left me
sore. I finally felt strong
enough and physically
capable to climb a mountain.
Never mind the fact that
I still knew nothing about
mountaineering.
When class began, it was
evident that we were all
beginners in this field. On
our first day we met Brad,
our guide, at the gym and
attempted to climb the wall.
We sized harnesses, learned
how to tie figure-eight
Mt. Adams in its
entirety, from just
below our campsite.
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105 W. Eighth Ave, Ste. 6020 & 6025
Spokane WA 99204

3. 112 spokanecda.com • SEPTEMBER • 2015 spokanecda.com • SEPTEMBER • 2015 113
Health Beat
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Three days after our return from
the mountain, I started a new training
program. I lunged across my front yard,
my legs burning but manageable – 300
lunges followed by 50 squats, a new
personal record. The following day I went
on a quick run in an attempt to decrease
my mile time. I continued to train every
day to prepare for my next climb, and
I placed more emphasis on endurance
this time around. I hiked 10 miles to the
top of San Jacinto Peak in California.
I did another 10-mile hike out on the
Palouse. I hoped by being in better overall
shape, and by having longer endurance
and greater mental fortitude, I would be
better able to combat altitude sickness
or whatever it was that had ruined my
chances of summiting the previous
month.
In late July, my dad and I drove to
Coldsprings Campground in central
Washington. We pitched our tent, ate
a high-carb meal, and settled into our
sleeping bags at 9 p.m. An alarm set
for 2:30 a.m. signaled the beginning of
our climb. We rose, donned headlamps
and packs, and started walking up the
side of the 12,280-foot-tall Mt. Adams.
The sun rose at 5:30 a.m., three
hours into our hike. We’d already
walked through forest, up a ridge
and over a river, but we were barely
above tree line. We were sweaty and
covered in ashes from the fire that had
burned up the side of the peak several
years before. We dutifully stopped
to apply sunscreen, drink water and
eat a granola bar before strapping on
crampons and beginning our snow
ascent.
We trudged along for six more
hours. In some places the angle of
the slope on which we walked was
45 degrees. It was like walking up an
endless staircase. We gained 6,700
feet of elevation. I did not get sick; I
was tired, but I felt great!
From the summit, we could see
eight other Cascade peaks. It was
gloriously sunny and warm. We ate
pastrami and cheese on Ritz crackers,
and chatted with the other climbers
who sat perched on the roof of an
old sulfur mine. We took photos and
stretched luxuriously before starting
our descent.
Through a combination of
glissading, plunge stepping and heavy
trudging, we arrived back at our
campsite in a mere three and a half
hours. I grabbed a Coke for me and a
beer for my dad from the cooler, and
we collapsed into camp chairs. We
gazed silently at the monstrous snow-
capped peak that rose before us. We
really did it!
What followed was a week of
Ibuprofen and eating anything in
sight. I had six cheeseburgers in the
three days immediately following
the climb – my body craved salt and
fat after expending 10,000 calories
during the hike. Every single part of
me was in pain – my legs were sore,
my joints creaked, my back hurt from
the pack, my arms quivered after
braking with an ice ax, my tongue
was sunburned from breathing with
my mouth open. Yet every step was
worth the pain it caused. I learned
there is joy and triumph in suffering.
Here is what I learned from this
experience:
1. Training feels good; there is no
better sense of accomplishment.
2. God’s grandeur is best seen from
elevation.
3. Mountaineering is contagious:
I have plans to climb both Mt.
Hood and Mt. Rainier next
summer.
4. Hard work and motivation will
always get you somewhere, and
will always be rewarded.
I logged our climb in the geocache
notebook located on the summit.
The old sulfur mine entrance
stands out against the snow.
My dad,
Scott, and I
stand on the
summit of
Mt. Adams
with Mt.
Rainier in the
background.