The muscles in my thighs cramped as doubt plagued me. Every step, every breath I took was a small victory on the war raging inside of my body.

Eight months of preparations had come to this.

I looked up from my spot on the trail. The summit of Mount Whitney loomed ahead, taunting me like a bullfighter with a red cape. I wanted to charge forward, take the summit in a heap of glory, but my body wouldn't let me. After a week and a half of hiking, I was tired. Exhausted, really.

I massaged my neck. The ache radiated from my head to my shoulders. I tried to shift my twenty-five pound backpack a little higher, but it was fastened too tightly around my hips and chest.

"You okay?" my mentor asked.

No, I was definitely not okay.

It wasn't just the physical pain either. Mentally, I was an empty tank running on fumes.

"Push through the pain, Lindsey. You got this."

"I don't." Why had I thought hiking a fourteen thousand five hundred and five-foot tall mountain was a good idea? My brain screamed at me to turn back.

Just give up like you always do.

Maybe I should. Maybe this was as far as I'd ever get to the top. After all, I'd decided to join the program on a whim. I'd been feeling restless—stagnant—and then this hiking program came into my life.

Reach for the Top was a program where prominent women in the community mentored high school girls and helped us become leaders in our own right, while training to hike Mount Whitney.

I never thought I'd be accepted into the program, but here I was, three miles from my goal, and about to give up.

I'd always been good at sports—soccer, volleyball, swimming, track—but every time I reached the level where people started expecting something out of me, I quit. I said it was because I wasn't competitive, which for the record, I'm not, but deep down, I wondered if there was another reason.

Was I afraid of succeeding?

I shook my head. That didn't make any sense. Why be afraid of something good for me?

My stomach churned as I thought about it. If I succeeded in one thing, more would be expected out me. And what if I couldn't meet those expectations?

Perhaps it wasn't success I was afraid of, but failure.

I glanced at the summit again, but it didn't taunt me this time.

Join us, the peak seemed to say, flashing like a beacon welcoming me home. Don't let anything stop you—not even yourself.

I inhaled deeply, letting fresh air fill my lungs. I could do this. I could reach the top.

I took a step.

Then another.

And another.

Three miles passed slowly.

But when I reached the summit, I opened my arms and greeted the mountain, not as a fearful little girl, but as a friend.