Green Mountain was the first mountain ascent I had made in almost two years. It wasn’t an expedition, just a weekend hike with my roommate and the dog. We got to the trailhead about ten in the morning, and it was hot—especially for February—but 2026 has been weird for weather.

The first stretch of the hike was difficult. I had trouble breathing, my legs burned, and I felt beads of sweat forming and sliding down every inch of my body. We moved slowly, one step at a time, climbing higher and higher up the mountain. The first crest we broke revealed an incredible view of the Great Plains and the Denver skyline to the east. I stopped and took that in.

I thought I would have to go through a series of intensive conditioning exercises over the course of several months in order to return to the former level of athleticism I had been used to for years prior to the car accident. But in that moment I felt a shift. My lungs loosened and my breathing smoothed. My heartbeat found a steady rhythm. When we started moving again, the burning in my legs became a comforting pulse that moved with me up the mountain. It was an incredible moment of clarity.

I started that hike expecting it to show me how far I still had to go. Instead, the whole experience made me realize my body still remembered. That it would always remember. That the thrill of adventure, the desire to push past limits, and the very human need to explore and wonder and feel are things the body never forgets.

And when your body remembers that, your soul aligns and your mind finds this quiet sense of relief—even if it’s only for a moment. This summit wasn’t just another to be bagged. It was the moment I came back to myself.