I come from a family of hikers. My father has summited many local mountains in our area, and this was before Instagram, so apparently, he genuinely enjoyed it. My sisters and brothers-in-law have books solely dedicated to local hikes in the Pacific Northwest.

I, on the other hand, try to take the elevator wherever I go. There has also not been a picture I’ve ever taken on a hike where I thought it looked better than the National Geographic version. Rather than wax on poetically about some mortal elevation conquest at family functions, I depict in great detail the glossy 7.125 by 10.25 some other hero took who worked for National Geographic.

My favorite part of hiking overnight as a child was the food. There is something fun about pretending to be an astronaut and turning something that looked like dehydrated sponges into something that tastes like hydrated sponges. The goal was always to get hungry enough so as not to be concerned with one of the great joys in life, eating food that tastes like food.

There is also this sick little joke people who really like to hike play on people who don’t necessarily see the joy in it. In my case, it started out by a friend saying, "I’m going on a little hike in the Cascade Mountains to scout for bears" as hunting season was fast approaching. I was feeling particularly chubby and, not remembering the last National Geographic, I agreed to take on this little challenge. To be honest, I was excited at the opportunity to post something on Instagram with hashtags like #hiker #motivated #nevergiveup #liveyourbestlife.

There were red flags I should have recognized earlier: It was a little hike, we were looking for bears, there weren’t any trails, I brought a machete, I brought a map of the tri-state region so we wouldn’t get lost.

We had a 6 a.m. start time. After four hours of hiking, my feet had blisters the size of quarters in a newly purchased set of hiking boots. I donated enough blood to mosquitoes that I would have gotten a congratulatory pin. With all of the trials and travails, I had nearly forgotten why I had such an adversarial relationship with the outside, and that was because the outside hated me. My allergies left me in a wheezing, sneezing, red-eyed mess. It was at this moment that the realization crept in that the definition of a “little hike” may have some variation between myself – who hikes in between National Geographic subscriptions – and someone training to hike in snow-capped peaks.

It was 3 p.m. when my “friend” realized we were on the wrong mountain and we needed to climb down one and up the other.

At 8 p.m., we finally made it to a beautiful lake to set up camp; a lake I hadn’t yet seen in National Geographic. We sat down to make our astronaut food under the brightest, starriest sky I had ever seen. As we were getting settled into sleep, there was the loudest, bloodcurdlingest, mournful scream just outside our tent. My friend’s response was, “Don’t worry, that’s just a mountain lion.” I’m not sure the word “just” should ever be the descriptor for an animal that could separate my torso from my cranium with several vicious shakes.

The other issue my dear friend failed to mention was the fact that since we were so high up, it would be freezing. I did not pack a sleeping bag sold for its ability to keep people from turning into human popsicles. So, for seven hours I stared at a tent ceiling contemplating life, wondering what life would be like without most of my extremities and then resigning myself to the realization it wouldn’t be a concern if I was turned into mountain lion poop.

Our final trek back consisted of blood donation, hacking through the jungle, dodging mountain lions and nearly falling off two cliffs. We never saw a bear.

It’s easy to turn hiking into an analogy for life. There are certainly ups and downs, there are moments when you can only proceed by putting one foot slowly in front of the other. There are times when we feel like quitting. But some of my best memories are the times in life when things were difficult. There are times when in the moment we don’t know how we can go on, and yet, when we get through it, we realize that those are the times when we have grown the most. These moments also may provide us the opportunity to tell slightly exaggerated stories.

So, while you shouldn’t cancel your National Geographic subscription, go out, look for hard things to do and do them.