Personal Narrative: My Love Of Adirondacks

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Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved the Adirondacks. My family has a house up there, right next to our grandparents, where we spend a number of weeks every summer. For the last five years we have stayed in our house, before that up the hill in the larger one. The houses are right outside of Keene Valley, a town of less than a thousand people, nestled in the heart of the High Peaks, the region so named because it is home to all of the tallest mountains in the park.
The mountains are incredibly beautiful, the views from their tops exceedingly spectacular. They are just waiting to be climbed. Indeed, in the last decade hiking in the High Peaks has doubled, leading to issues with some of the more popular, accessible mountains being over-crowded. Many of the people who climb in the park aspire to be 46ers, a term for someone who has climbed the 46 mountains in the Adirondacks that are over 4,000 feet. For a
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All of my friends have finished their 46. I am stuck on 33, the only ones that I have done since then ones where my friends finished, where I came to support and celebrate with them. I have never looked at hiking the same way. What was once a great joy is now a chore I endure as seldom as possible. Last summer, all of my Keene Valley friends became counselors. I didn’t. 16 had once been the age I was looking forward to the most in life, the first year I could become one of my heros, someone kids like I was could admire and look up to. I no longer have any interest in the job. My only reason to finish my 46 is for an excuse to get my parents to let me throw a party. Occasionally, people have talked to me about that hike, I’ve told them it was totally unrelated to my changing my attitude about hiking, not wanting to concede the truth. It’s still raw. I’ve never had asthma again, but just writing this I began to feel my throat seize up. I know it won’t, but everytime I’m on a mountain I’m scared it will happen

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