Area Life

Beating fears part of life’s journey

It was bad timing when I realized that I was still afraid of heights while standing on an exposed cliff.

After about 10 minutes of panicking, however, I realized that I didn't have much of a choice but to face my fears and finish the Beehive Trail at Acadia National Park, revealing a beautiful view of Maine's coast, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I could barely take in the view without gagging.

For context, my fiance, Josh, and I traveled to Bar Harbor, Maine, last week because I'm enrolled in an intensive summer course for my master's degree in writing at Johns Hopkins University. Classes were held at the College of the Atlantic on the outskirts of town.

In my delegated free time, I decided to blow off some steam with Josh by exploring the trails and sights at Acadia National Park. Josh was particularly excited about the Beehive Trail, which is a 1.4-mile hike featuring exposed cliffs, rungs and ladders and steep staircases.

There were many warning signs that I completely ignored before taking this trail, so it was completely my fault that I ended up in this situation.

Before the hike, I watched one YouTube video about the trail, and I regret that I barely paid attention. But I remembered that the video creator described Beehive Trail as the most difficult in the park, but I guess that didn't mean much to me at the time.

A warning sign also sat at the foot of the trail, discouraging those afraid of heights. Josh asked me if I was sure about taking the trail, but I breezed past his concern and started up the steep, rocky path anyway.

It was a warm summer afternoon, so the trail was packed with travelers of various ages, including young children who could barely scale the rocks themselves without help from their parents. While hikers made their way up the mountain, the trail was congested, and we were forced to stand in uncomfortable spots against large rocks and huge drop-offs.

The route progressively became more difficult until we came across a gap in the trail, so the travelers before me held onto a tree growing on the side of the mountain to get to the other side. My stomach dropped, and I suddenly became dizzy, triggering a panic attack.

I wasn't petrified of heights until about five years ago, when I fell 38 feet through an auditorium ceiling at Saint Francis University after helping the fine arts department switch out the spotlight filters. I was lucky to walk away from the accident, but I still have a few physical injuries I deal with today, along with mental barriers.

In the moment, it was hard for me to separate the edge of a cliff from the auditorium ceiling.

So I tried to travel backwards, profusely apologizing to the hikers behind me who made an escape path until Josh stopped me and told me it was more dangerous to retrace our steps.

Thank God for Josh's patience because he gave me a bottle of Gatorade and a Rice Krispies Treat, which helped me gain some nutrients but zero common sense. I was convinced that I needed an emergency helicopter to get down; who cared about piles of student debt anyway?

Something indescribable came over me, however, and I finished the trail despite my anxiety and despite my previous injuries. It was the most difficult task I've ever accomplished.

I held back my tears as we stood at the top of the mountain, becoming emotional about the difficulty of the climb and the fact that I pushed past my limitations and confronted a hardship in my life.

But I still had trouble looking at the view. I faced my fears, not conquered them.

With emotions bubbling to the surface, Josh and I descended the trail, which (comically) only featured a set of steep stairs. No exposed cliffs or ladders.

We realized then that we could have avoided the theatrics and taken the stairs to the top. But the hike wouldn't have been rewarding, and I wouldn't be writing about it.

Maybe the cliches are right: it's all about the journey. And this hike was definitely a journey that I will always look back on. But for now, I'm good with walking on flat roads.

Mirror Staff Writer Colette Costlow is at 814-946-7414 and can also be found on Instagram and Facebook @colettecostlow.