Overcoming the Obstacles Within

Growing up with older brothers and always trying to prove I was just as strong and brave as they were, I was a bit of dare devil child. I had this innate need to outdo the boys and show I was not afraid. After some very traumatic life experiences, my boldness disappeared, replaced by anxiety and doubt. Fear began to take over my life, stopping me from doing many things. Instead of being filled with exhilaration, I found myself overwhelmed by trepidation. For every activity from the mundane bike ride to a day on the water, I became a master at identifying all the things that could go wrong. In my 30s I was finally diagnosed with CPTSD. While there was a sense of validation at giving my fear a name, it was also disheartening as it seemed like an insurmountable mountain that would loom above me for the remainder of my life. But with a lot of therapy and support from an amazing tribe of women, in my 40s I began taking my life back and rekindling my love of adventure.

Manitou Incline: Summiting My Fear

In the fall of 2019, a friend of mine took a trip to Colorado and completed the Manitou Incline. It is one of Colorado’s most iconic and challenging hiking trails, gaining 2,000 feet of elevation in less than a mile via 2,768 steep steps. After hearing of her adventure and seeing the pictures, I tucked the incline away in my "someday" files. On June 1st, 2025, "someday" finally came. I took a trip to Colorado where I was supposed to be joined by my sister and brother-in-law a few days after I arrived. I had convinced them we should attempt the incline together. The night before they were set to fly out and meet me, a family emergency resulted in my sister cancelling their flights. Since I was already in Colorado and trying to find a flight home early was cost prohibitive, I stayed to finish out the remainder of the trip solo.

For months prior, I had poured over every bit of information I could find on the incline. How hard was it really? Could it be completed by someone who wasn't a conditioned athlete? Was it safe? I found many opinions on the web. Some of them contradicting each other. The one thing they all had in common was the views at the top were epic and well worth the effort to reach them. All hikers wanting to attempt the incline must register for a free permit through the City of Colorado Springs website. The incline officially opens for hikers from 6 am to 6:30 pm, 7 days a week. I am a sunrise kind of girl, so I chose to start at 6 am.

Having sustained some back injuries about a decade prior, not being in the greatest shape and coming from living at almost below sea level, I anticipated the physical challenges as the hardest things I had to overcome. After all, I had conquered my fear of flying a year prior, so heights shouldn't be an issue, right? As I stood at the base of the stairs looking up, it seemed an impossible feat to make it to the top. Having come all this way though, I owed it to myself to try. Backpack on, trekking poles in hand and a camera around my neck, I snapped a quick selfie and began the ascent.

At the base of the incline, ready to rise.

Almost immediately, I was feeling the increased effort required to breath. I reminded myself that I wasn't shooting for fastest time, just completion. I had all day. I found a good cadence, counting my steps and pausing every so often to catch my breath and find pockets of shade to the sides. I would frequently turn around to assess how far I had come. The further up I got, the greater my resolve was to keep going. My legs ached, my lungs burned, and sweat was pouring down my back. On the incline, you are exposed to the full force of the sun. I retreated to the small trees and shrubs as much as I could along the way, but the higher up you go, the less shade there is.

The incline is a popular place and there were people of all walks of life making their way to the top. The "real" athletes rising past me with what seemed like effortless ease was a bit hard on the ego. More than a few times I questioned my own sanity at being there. But mixed in with those hiking superstars were everyday people like me. The challenge we were facing created a comradery that flowed all the way to the top. As I would stop, step to the side panting and take sips from my water pack, grimacing from the heat and the burning in my muscles, other hikers would offer words of encouragement along with bits of humor such as, "Only 1,000 more steps to go.". Also with me on the steps was my amazing tribe of friends via text. Intermittently, I would check in, sending pictures and they would respond back with their own words of encouragement.

The incline has 3 bailout points where hikers can exit the trail before reaching the summit. I passed the first two with minimal thought. I wasn't ready to quit, yet. The higher I went, the steepness of the climb also increased. At one point I looked back and could not see the bottom of the trail. That was when my old nemesis fear decided to chime in. I pushed it aside as best I could and carried on, one foot in front of the other. It felt like if I leaned back too far, the weight of my pack might tip me over, tumbling me to the bottom. The trekking poles which I hadn't had much use for lower down were now like a security blanket, they gave me a sense of balance. When I came to the third and final bailout point at around step 1,800, there was a wooden bench, railing and an inviting, shady connection to the Barr Trail. Ahead of me, the steps became the steepest yet, with up to a 68% grade. Behind me, I could no longer see much further than 20 or 30 steps where the trail seemed to drop off into oblivion. Suddenly, my fear of heights jumped into hyperdrive.

The view from the final bailout point.

I thought to myself that there was no way I could possibly go on. I sat down on the bench, pulled out a granola bar and seriously contemplated exiting early. At that exact moment, my phone rang. It was one of my best friends returning my call from earlier that morning. I explained to her where I was and the dilemma I faced regarding bailing out. She knew what this hike meant for me as I had been talking about it for months prior to anyone who would listen. She heard my fear and expressed that she believed in my ability to keep going, but also that there was no shame if I decided to exit the incline early. She encouraged me to take a few minutes to pray and meditate on what I should do. We ended the call; I closed my eyes and said a little prayer asking for strength. Unbeknownst to me, a small group of hikers had been stopped on the stairs by the bailout and heard my phone conversation. As I stood up, they chimed in with their own words of inspiration. One of the hikers, a woman, shared how the first time she attempted the incline she had been afraid too. They all agreed that while it was scary, it was doable, if I wanted to. I started to tear up. It felt like God took that moment to speak to me through these strangers on the side of a mountain. I decided I would continue on.

For the remaining 800 or so steps, I hiked alongside that group. We continued taking turns hyping each other up as the physical strain increased. At the steepest parts, I bear crawled as standing did not feel safe on such steep inclines. Those hikers who made it to the top a little before me shouted words of encouragement, cheering me on as I crossed the final steps to the summit. Turning around, I also cheered on those following close behind. The positive energy at the top was palpable. Everyone riding on a high of endorphins. A young woman approached and asked me if I would take her picture. She had climbed alone as well. I snapped a few and she did the same for me. After briefly resting and walking around to survey the site, I proceeded to the head of the Barr Trail which is the official way to get back down the mountain. Although the trail is 3 miles instead of the incline's1, with lots of switchbacks, the decent was easier than the climb. I did somehow manage to get off the trail and go down what must have been a water runoff spot, but it reconnected to the trail further down. I took my time and as runners passed me by, I wondered how they could possible have the energy left to run. Content for the slow and steady exit, my literal mountain already overcome, I enjoyed the views.

Relishing in the amazing views and the feeling of victory over my fear.

With sore feet and aching muscles, I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot as I made my way to the shuttle and then back to my rental car. I had done it. I completed the incline. Another mental badge to add to overcoming my fears. Some people I've talked to don't understand why anyone would want to do something like that, especially on "vacation". And that is ok. I don't need them to understand. What I am learning is that the more things I do that scare me, the less things I have that I am afraid of.