“It was worth it”, was the resounding thought that bounced around in my mind, as every cell of my weary and sore body cussed and cursed my impulsive expedition up Lions Head. Don’t mistake these words for egotistical bravado, I had delayed, and even denounced the very thought of this mountain hike for years. But what had eluded me for all this time, seemingly pounced on me like a lioness taking down an unsuspecting gazelle. As I stood at the foot of the mountain, right at the beginning of the hiking trail, I looked up and tried to recall all the tales and fantastical memories I had heard over the years from those who had dared to challenge this formidable lion before me. Their adventures were often romanticized as they shared about Full Moon Hikes, breathtaking views, and ultra-spiritual epiphanies. None of them inspired me at that moment, in fact I would suppress any thought of what lay ahead of me. I was about as prepared for this hike as an old circus lion released into the wild to hunt and fend for himself. My only companion was a dear friend of mine, herself a veteran of adventure and avid fitness enthusiast, one with her own redemptive story of transformation and challenges. I would soon discover that any pretense of misguided masculinity would falter under the sheer demand of what lay ahead of me, and she would see the inevitable vulnerable side more akin to an overly-dramatic spoilt brat that had to endure any measure of discomfort and inconvenience. Admittedly not my proudest moment. As I braved this new adventure literally one step at a time, I was both confident and cautious. Believe me, I was under no illusion of my level of fitness, and yet seeing older people and even young children ascending and descending this mountain with smiles and glee, for briefs moments I felt waves of anticipation and assurance that I too would scale this majestic mountain and have my summit experience. Needless to say, this phase did not last long. It was a conflicting experience, as my mind wrestled with thoughts of self-depreciation and confusion as to why people I presumed less capable than myself seemingly scaled this monstrosity with such finesse and composure. I wanted to justify to myself my willingness to quit and turn around. As I reached one of the benches along the path, I sat there contemplating my life choices that lead me to this point, on this mountain, trying to prove something, anything. I could quit here now, or continue. I wouldn’t be the first and I’ll certainly not be the last. But continue I did, albeit begrudgingly. I recall how in the beginning we would stop and take in some of the views of Camps Bay, the Twelve Apostles, and pretty much all we could see from where we happened to be at the time. I would take photos and occasionally describe in detail what I saw, be it the variation of colours in the ocean, the people on the beach, or the beauty of the surrounding mountains, all of which she could clearly see with her own eyes, but hey, I was caught up in the moment and she was going to an unwilling participant of my narration and commentary of my epic adventure. That was in the beginning. As I would later discover as I went through my photos in the comfort of my home, the photos became less as we ascended the mountain, and these occasional stops along the way became less about taking in the views and more about not collapsing into a sobbing pile of drama. The trail appeared shorter than it really was, deceptively so, with every winding corner giving the illusion that you were making significant progress. This deception was not limited to the trail itself, but it also extended to fellow hikers who would occasionally proclaim out what has now become the four most despised and distrusted words in my vocabulary, “YOU ARE NEARLY THERE”. Said with such confidence and smiles, opportunities never failed to arise for someone to utter these lies all the way to the top. As if I was not cynical and skeptical enough, I would disregard their optimism with dismissive grunts and looks that could kill as I progressively became immune to their friendly demeanor. Eventually I reached the summit, and I remember kissing the ground that was scorching hot under the midday summer sun, as I scuttled around looking aimlessly for some shade so that I could just rest my tired body. As I sat there, and life returned to my body and mind, I realized that this had never been about the mountain, the views, or even reaching the top. All those stories never inspired me because it wasn’t my story, one you only get by living it yourself. And that made it worth it…