Walk a mile in my shoes...or 2...or 24....Or hiking the Grand Canyon, North Rim to South Rim in four days. Did I mention I'm afraid of heights?

At the beginning of 2012, a number kept floating around in my mind. 57. Not the Heinz variety 57, but the age I would turn in six months. It was also the age my father was when he died. And the age my mother was when a heart attack irrevocably altered the rest of her life.

Thankfully, my sister, Bonnie, sailed through that year of her life. Probably, I will, too, but the epic symbolism of that number stayed fixed in my head. I had no idea what Fate had in store for me in my 57^th year but, if I had any say in it, I wanted it to be a year of living fully in a way that neither of my parents could at 57. A year of positive challenges for me. A year of pushing past boundaries.

I had no clue where to begin. Just those percolating thoughts. And so, as it has often happened when I put a message out to the universe, the answer came in an unexpected way---this time a Facebook posting.

This past spring, Pete’s friend, Ken, wrote that he and his wife, Diana, and their daughter, Sarah, were signing up for a four day, 24-mile, autumn backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon, North Rim to South Rim.

You guys always plan the best trips! I shouted out to Ken. I received a surprising response.

Join us.

Huh? Me?

I wasn’t a hiker. I’ve camped, but never backpacked. I have a deep love of nature, but the wilderness terrifies me. I live in the burbs now, but I grew up in a city apartment. The only grass my feet touched back then was in the park. Oh, and did I mention I’m afraid of heights? The knee-trembling, stomach-churning, heart-pounding kind of paralyzing fear of heights. There are no guardrails in the Grand Canyon. No fences to keep one from falling. Just Grand Canyon-sized drop-offs.

Fingers poised above the keyboard, I was about to type, Thanks, but no way! Something stopped me. I thought how it would be a dream trip for Pete---the kind of adventure he’s always longed for. But this wasn’t only about him. I’m not exactly a risk taker, but I’ve always kind of, sort of, wanted to be….

Could I do this?

Pete and I talked about it for weeks. We’d have to train all summer, committing one day almost every weekend to hiking. And while Pete was in great shape, I’d have to step up my exercising.

I studied the link Ken sent for Just Roughin’ It Adventure Company, the outfit he’d signed up with. To this inexperienced backpacker, the trip sounded daunting. Spread out over four days, it was a 8000 ft hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and a 7000 ft hike up and out. A 7-mile descent the first day. Another 7-mile descent the second day, bringing us to the canyon floor. While we’re down there, a side hike or two thrown in just for fun. Then, a 5-mile ascent the third day. And a steeper 4.5 mile ascent the last day—when we’d be the most tired. Tents. Sleeping bags. No showers. Limited access to water. Limited access to composting toilets. The whole backcountry camping nine yards.

We’d have a guide to cook for us, lead us on our merry way, and make sure we didn’t collapse from heat, dehydration, or exhaustion. He or she would be trained in first aid and be able to arrange a helicopter rescue if one of us fell and broke a bone or worse. Even with a fearless leader, this was serious hiking. In addition to doing the miles, we’d have to carry 35 or more pounds of equipment and supplies in our backpacks. I didn’t want to think about scorpions or snakes. Or that desert mice can transmit Hantavirus. And their fleas can spread the Bubonic Plague. For real. But hey, no bears!

It will be a view of the Grand Canyon few people get to see, Ken coaxed. He was right. Of the millions of tourists who visit each year, most only peek over the edge and gaze in wonder at the vast and dizzying expanse. I did it myself a few years back. Many do day hikes up and down Bright Angel Trail on the South Rim. Only a relatively small number actually walk through the Grand Canyon or gaze up in the middle of the night at a sea of stars. And then there’d be the bragging rights that came with the Been There, Done That, and Bought the “Rim to Rim” T-shirt.

Could we do it? Should we? Ken and Diana booked their trip while we were still deciding. When Ken sent us the itinerary, I saw that the first day of hiking---the beginning of this risk-taking adventure of a lifetime---was October 3^rd. What would have been my father’s 90^th birthday.

My mother had been the cautious one. The “you could get hurt!” kind of parent. My father was the risk-taker. A natural athlete. A laugh-in-the-face-of-danger kind of guy. You can do this, a voice inside of me laughed. His voice. His laugh.

“We’re going,” I told Pete.

From June to September, we hiked nearly every weekend, breaking in new trail shoes while getting used to hiking poles and the ever increasing weight in our packs. I live in coastal New Jersey. Not a hill or mountain in sight. So we drove to them. Closest to home, about 45 minutes away, was Hartshorn Park, perched high above the Navasink River, overlooking Sandy Hook and the Atlantic Ocean.

An hour away was the agonizingly steep road up to the Revolutionary War’s Bowman’s Tower Monument near the Delaware River in Washington Crossing, PA.

To our surprise, the adjacent Bowman’s Wildflower Preserve had some small but interesting hiking trails that took the monotony—and pain—out of walking up and down the paved monument road.

Sticking close to the Delaware River, we traveled two hours north to the Appalachian Trail for our longer and more rigorous hikes. Seven mile hike total to Mount Tammany and back.

9.5 total to Sunfish Pond (the southern most glacial lake in the U.S., and Pete’s hippie campground) and back.

The steepness of the Appalachian Trail was nothing compared to the unrelenting rocky terrain that made our feet ache.

For most of the summer, the weather was hideously hot and muggy. High 90s with high humidity. Soaking, sweat-filled days of hiking. Still, we felt lucky to reach the heights and be rewarded with incredible views.

When we couldn’t get to the steeps, we took long walks on our local beaches or around the cities we visited. I squeezed in 2.5 mile walks during lunch breaks around the hilly neighborhood where I work. Or I’d walk up and down the four flights of stairs in my office building, 11 times. One weekend, when we got rained out, Pete and I trudged up and down the stairs to our bedroom and basement for 45 minutes, with our packs on! In Chicago, Ken and Diana were flat-land hiking, too----climbing 57 flights in high rise buildings. Out in L.A., Sarah was finding or creating her own mountains to climb.

It was the summer of walking. Of increasing endurance. Of gaining strength. We went from 10 pounds in our packs to 37 for me, and 50 for Pete. I learned just how strong I am. Bone pain and sore feet aside, I learned how amazingly resilient my body can be.

And, as if that weren’t enough, I peed in the woods for the first time! EVER. I have a bladder a camel would be proud of but, after hiking 9.5 miles in five hours, drinking liters of water to stay hydrated on a 95+ degree day, and no bathroom in sight, a girl’s gotta go.

This summer of hiking brought a renewed pleasure in the act of walking. On vacations, Pete and I have been known to cover 10 miles in one day meandering around a city.  But now there’s a new purpose to every step I take wherever I am. I've become intrigued by the idea of covering real distances on foot, as our ancient ancestors did. It feels like what our bodies were meant to do. Not sit at desks or drive cars. Not running for running’s sake. Walking to get from point A to point B while moving at a pace that allows us to see what’s in between. Putting one foot in front of the other as we propel ourselves to wherever destiny takes us.

And now, we are a week away from the Big Hike. When possible, I’ll be blogging until we make our descent. No cell service in the Grand Canyon. No WiFi. No texting. No internet. For a few days there will be no outside world. Just the Canyon. The rocks. The river. The beating of my heart. The rushing of air in and out of my lungs (in other words, gasping for breath). The laughter as Pete and I, Kenny, Diana and Sarah push and pull each other along. I’ll post pictures and stories once we are back to civilization. And so I say to anyone who is interested in following the journey: Join us. I know my dad’s spirit will be right there beside me.