"Describe an experience or event that has had a significant impact on your life"

Summer is supposed to be for leisure. I should have been on the beach wearing merely a bathing suit, not sitting in the guide shack in Mt. Rainier National Park with the hail beating down on the tin roof, and wondering if the soaking wet capiline underwear on my back and synchilla fleeces in my backpack were going to be enough for the long, steep trek ahead. Suddenly, I wanted to be with my friends back home, prancing into the ocean every so often at the hot, sandy Jersey shore in order to cool off from the unbearable July sun. Instead I was 3,500 miles away from home in the middle of a snow storm.

Despite the weather, we had made it to our "10,000 foot high resting place", Camp Muir. It was at Muir that we cooked up and forced down the rubbery, overcooked globs of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. "It will give you the energy you need to get to the summit," the guides assured us numerous times. Although it looked nothing like Mom’s mac and cheese, I forced it down. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon but we were told to try and rest. We would be awakened at midnight to start the trek to the top.

It was cold and I was getting anxious as I lay zipped into my sleeping bag, in drenched socks and underwear trying to get to sleep and stay warm amid the chatter and snoring that filled the small bunk. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so well. I sat up debating whether or not I should try in the darkness to make my way outside to the "hole in the ground" bathroom. Yes, I had to get up. As I stumbled out of my bag, trying not to wake anyone up, I felt that hardened ball of macaroni that had earlier fallen to the pit of my stomach slowly making its way up my esophagus. This wasn’t the right time or place to be getting sick.

I battled the door open against the fifty mile an hour winds just in time to vomit all over the fresh blanket of white snow. With each step toward the outhouse I grew sicker, leaving small trails of throw up behind me. I leaned my head over what I thought was the hole, and instead threw up all over the floor and seat cover of the outhouse. It seemed as if my retching would never end. My hands were trembling. A tear trickled down my face. My heart filled with sorrow. I figured there was no chance of me reaching the summit. I had barely enough energy to get back to the cabin.

I was awakened at midnight. As the group scurried around to find all their belongings, I lay there wondering what to do. I had never felt sicker, but reaching the summit was the event of the summer I had been waiting for most. I had to at least give it a try. Perhaps the fresh air and excitement would revive me. The worst had to be over.

Unfortunately, the worst was not over. I exhausted myself just getting to the first rest stop. The winds were getting higher and the temperatures had hit the negative numbers. As I decided to turn back, wishing the group bound for the summit a "Good luck", I realized my journey was still only half over.

Unable to concentrate, my head spinning, I kept tripping over the rocks and my own feet. Time after time I fell down, pulling the people tied to my rope close to danger. We were almost back to Muir when in the depth of my sickness, frustration and embarrassment, I saw the sun rise among the clouds over Mt. Baker’s snow capped peak hundreds of miles away. The overwhelming misery of that night’s fiasco was transformed. The beauty of the scenery around me left nothing for me to complain about and I realized how lucky I was for even getting the opportunity to be doing what I loved best.

Although I didn’t make it to the summit of Mt. Rainier that sunrise, near the top of the world, gave me a new perspective on life. I realized the importance of challenging one’s own limits and ingenuity even if you are not able to achieve a goal. That sunrise placed into me a sense of wonder that had nothing to do with whether or not I made it to the summit. It is not always necessary to achieve an ultimate goal, because the reward of self satisfaction was enough from within.