The rain poured over me and mud splattered up to my knees as I hiked down from the summit; back towards the tree line and deep into the rainforest. 

This summer, I attended Beyond Malibu, a YoungLife camp that pushed me beyond my physical and mental limits. Nestled in the mountains off the Princess Louisa inlet in British Columbia, I set out in early July on a six-day, five-night backpacking trek. 

Backpacking stripped me of many comforts I took for granted in my daily life. Out in the wilderness, I did not get to choose my meals. I was constantly walking at a steep incline, and my bathroom was a hole dug into the ground. 

Climbing this mountain opened my eyes to how fortunate I am: privileged to have an able body that does not need assistance to do basic tasks and move freely, have meals that fuel me each day and a clean, dry bed to sleep in, a flushing toilet, not a dirt pit.

The summit stood over 7,000 feet in vertical elevation from where I started hiking at the sea, high above an ocean inlet. Over my first four days, I hiked through forest, rock wall, waterfall, mud and snow. In the Pacific Northwest, rain is almost a constant and a guarantee, but I was met with dreamy blue and sunny skies.

And as the days went on, my pack got lighter. I ate food that I had once hauled, got better at pacing myself and got used to having weight on my back and pain in my feet. 

After four days on the mountain, I finally climbed to the summit. 

Summiting was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. I felt metaphorically and physically — on top of the world. I could see everything around myself in every direction. Nothing was above me besides the sky.  

In the moment, I knew I could do anything I set my mind to. It was an overwhelming sense of achievement and self-confidence. 

But the next morning we were going to make our  descent. I set up a tent, cooked a big pot of some type of bean or potato backpacking goo for dinner and went to sleep, ready to continue my way down the mountain.

Then, as it often does, the Pacific Northwest brought the worst rainstorm I had ever experienced ––from when we packed up in the morning to  when I arrived at the next campsite in the evening.

What I refer to as the “rain day” was one of the worst days of my life. Cliffs turned into waterfalls, and what was once dirt became thick, slimy mud. The rain soaked through my GORE-TEX raincoat, my rain pants and my backpack.

While I was crying and asking “Why, God, have you done this to me?” I did not understand how other people were able to maintain a positive attitude.

Eventually, I stopped avoiding the puddles and embraced the earthy muck, sometimes submerging my up to two feet in mud. No one cared that my feet stayed clean out there, anyway. 

I was overcome with joy when I reached the trailhead. I was tired of walking, and ready to be clean and dry again. But looking back, I would not change a thing. 

Through this experience, I learned about perseverance, grit and the true limits of my body and mind. If I could hike through a terrible rainstorm, eating mostly trail mix and LUNA bars the whole day, what else could I do?

I think about climbing that mountain every single day, frequently reflecting on the most rewarding and challenging experience of my life. 

Despite my misery at the moment, if you asked me to go back, even if it rained all six days, I would go, in a heartbeat. 

In the end, I was grateful it rained. It showed me I could get through even the toughest days and look back at them fondly. 

I encourage others to seek out the rain, climb a mountain, run a marathon, swim open water, sail the ocean, go packrafting, try trad climbing or cycle across the state. Everyone is able to — and should — push themselves beyond their expectations. Find your own mountain to summit.