In the past year or so, I have noticed a new anxiety within me when it comes to hiking– specifically, when going down steep hills. Physically, my heart beats a million miles a minute and I tense up my shoulders. Mentally, I think of catastrophic scenarios. My boyfriend Petr, who often accompanies me on these hikes, is the opposite. He can practically sprint down these hills, and he views the sliding rocks as a feature, not a bug, of our adventurous hobby.

The slides scare me. What if I slip and fall and I’m never able to hike again? Or worse, what if I need to ask other hikers for help getting back to my car because I can’t walk anymore and I ruin their day?

Sometimes, I think my fears may be healthy. After all, if any hike could be my last, then I can savor it more than I would if I knew I had a lifetime of hikes ahead of me. And it’s true, isn’t it? One day, one hike actually will be my last.

While there may be some positive qualities to my fears, for the most part I find them to be limiting.

Yesterday, Petr and I went hiking. We rented a car and selected a five hour out-and-back hike rated “Hard” on AllTrails.

The first section of the hike is a difficult, thigh-burning climb right out of the parking lot. As I hiked, I felt anxious with the anticipation of the descent later on. The trail was full of small pebbles and stones, the kind that might lead to nasty ankle twists.

We pressed on. For 20 to 30 minutes, we kept climbing, until we arrived at the ridge. Spread out before us was a beautiful panorama: a ski resort to the right, Barrier Lake behind us, and majestic mountains all around. It was a beautiful day.

Our journey continued across five peaks, each offering better views than the last. There were several uphill sections, a few scrambles, but for the most part, the trail ran as a flat line along the ridge. It became clear to me that descending that initial climb would be the main obstacle for me. We conquered the last peak at around 2500 feet and began our journey back.

As we approached The Steep Part, my pace slowed. Those same thoughts started running through my mind. When did I start getting so scared of going downhill? I racked my brain, trying to pinpoint a specific event, but there were no answers.

Meanwhile, other hikers breezed past. A father and his two sons raced down the hill together. A woman, accompanied by her Belgian Shepherd, thanked me as I stepped aside to let them pass. They went downhill so quickly that before long, she was out of sight. How come everyone was so much faster than me?

I continued inching my way down, trying my best to limit the negativity in my thoughts. A few times, I did slip – but each time, I caught my balance. Petr offered his hand to help me on the trickier parts, and he patiently waited with me when I needed to take breaks to regain my composure. He reminded me to tighten my shoelaces. I told myself over and over, “This is difficult, but I am doing it.”

When we finally got to the parking lot, I felt so relieved. We made it! The ground is flat again!

Later that evening, back in the comfort of our living room, I thought back to the hike. I remembered the ‘Hard’ difficulty level of our trail. I realized something new — maybe it wasn’t that I was a shitty hiker. Perhaps, I was struggling because I was doing more challenging and ambitious hikes than before. I simply don’t have experience going down steep hills.

Growing up, I was not much of an athlete. I took tennis lessons because my dad wanted me to, and I participated in P.E. class because I wanted to maintain a good GPA for college applications. Hiking for pleasure was a foreign concept for me. It wasn’t until recently that I have come to enjoy exercise and physical activity for its own sake, rather than for approval or aesthetics.

It is comforting to realize that I’m struggling not because I suck at hiking, but because there is an inherent learning curve to doing rewarding things. I love having these experiences, and a significant part of that enjoyment comes from getting better at things I’m not good at yet.

And then there was Petr, whose patience and encouragement reminded me that I don’t need to face my fears alone.

So, as I reflect on those downhill trails and the little rocks that tripped me up along the way, I take solace in the fact that I am learning. Hiking gives me a chance to enjoy nature and face my fears. Each step and slip can be a reminder to me then that growth is not easy and that it’s okay to reach out for help.