Hiking (crawling) the Flatirons

May 7, 2021

“I think I’m having a panic attack.” That’s what I squeaked to my husband 3 years ago on our first trip to Boulder, Colorado. We were hiking the Flatirons, the striking rock formations that lie on the foothills at the western part of town. It’s important to note, that when I say we were “hiking the Flatirons”, I mean we asked the very helpful tour guide at the base of the mountain for the easiest, beginner-friendly route. To my defense, I’d later find out that he was over confident in my abilities and led us to a “moderate” trail. 

The first leg of the hike was easy enough. It was a wide open trail winding through a meadow as we made our way toward the monolith of doom. But it was very, very steep. I had to stop a few times to catch my breath, complain, drink water, and complain some more.

Once we made it to the actual mountain, I started gaining some confidence. We were still rising in elevation but the path had evened out a bit. There were lots of rocks and tree roots on the ground to navigate, and I felt pretty cool that I was “in the wilderness” as they say. I thought This isn’t so hard! Maybe one day, I’ll become one of those super cool girls on Instagram who go on solo backpacking trips with only their wits and survival skills as companions!  But I snapped back to reality as soon as I nearly sprained my ankle on a glorified pebble. 

After a few more water breaks and whining sessions, we came upon a section of the path that can’t actually be defined as a “path”. It was a steep landslide of large boulders.  Threatening, terrifying, and probably loose boulders towered over us. Below us, thousands of boulders had, at some point in time, slid down the face of the mountain and settled precariously on slope. In front of us?

More fucking boulders.

They were about a foot or two wide each. And we had to walk across them… No hand-railings. No safety nets. No where to land if you slipped, except the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff. No problem. After all, I was going to be the next adventurous-cool-hiking-instagram-girl. 

I squared my shoulders and set off scrambling along the rocks. I didn’t take my eyes off my feet as I navigated my way forward, but after a few seconds, I felt a bit dizzy. So I perched myself on a relatively flat rock as I reached for my water bottle. My eyes glided over the scenery… and that was a grave mistake. All the ways I could die flashed through my mind quicker than Adrien could ask “are you ok?” No, I was not ok. 

I suddenly felt extremely lightheaded. My breath came in shallow wheezes and I could literally feel the blood drain from my face. “I think I’m having a panic attack” I squeaked half a second before I was DEFINITELY having a panic attack. I could barely breathe. I had officially lost my shit, and I needed to get off that damn rock. Adrien, sensing that I looked unwell enough that I might accidentally pitch myself off the mountain in a spasm of fear, took my hand and carefully led me back the way we came. We passed a few concerned (amused?) fellow hikers, and stumbled off the rockslide back onto the dirt path. As I squatted down in the shade to catch my breath I realized I was crying. Tears were streaming down my face and I couldn’t tell if I was having trouble breathing from the intense fear or because it was impossible to take a breath between my over dramatic sobs. So much for becoming a travel influencer…

I could tell Adrien was upset (this wasn’t the first time I had cried on a hike, but that’s a story for another day). I was embarrassed to say the least. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t stop crying; people were starting to stare. But most of all I was embarrassed with myself. I had just watched a woman who must have been in her 80s saunter over the boulders like it was no big deal. I watched dogs cross easily. Hell, I saw a dad with his few-month-old baby cross without a second though. 

After about 5 minutes I asked Adrien if we could turn back around (we were beginning our decent to head home). I wanted to try one more time. He obliged and, before I could gather my wits, we were back at the edge of the rockslide. This time, I looked no where but at my own two feet. I crossed extremely slowly. Painfully slowly. It took me literally 10 minutes to cross about a hundred feet. But eventually, I looked up, and I had made it to the other side! I felt like I had slayed Goliath. I was so damn proud of myself. The rest of the hike was a breeze. 

And now we call Boulder our home. We just moved here a few weeks ago. And guess what the first hike on my list was?

There are two things I noticed on this second attempt to hike the Flatirons Loop. First, I’m in even worse shape than I was in three years ago. I don’t remember my heart feeling like it was on the verge of bursting just on the walk from the car to the base of the mountain. Let’s blame it on my aging body and not my absolute lack of exercise, shall we?

Second, I am still a terrified little shit. I didn’t cry this time, but I came damn close. I think this crossing might have actually been worse? I waited at the edge for every single hiker within my line of sight to cross. I was NOT about to feel rushed.

Eventually, there were no more hikers in sight. I shuffled carefully towards the rocks. This time, I chose to go on all fours. Using my hands and knees, I literally crawled inch by inch along the path. I crawled and crawled, even when the ground beneath me became completely level. Even when I reached the safety of the dirt path on the other side. I could tell Adrien was unamused after I heard him yell “STAND UP! THE FLOOR IS LITERALLY FLAT” for the fourth time. But I did it. And it still felt great! I was a warrior! I am a damn strong woman who faces her fears, hear me roar! Then I watched as a mom lead her five year old along the path without a care in the world. Umm ma’am, your child can literally fall to his death.

I guess crossing a path of mostly flat, stable boulders isn’t all that impressive. But for me, it was a big deal. I’m actually really looking forward to re-doing this hike for the third time. Maybe by the seventh, I’ll be able to cross confidently. Maybe I’ll become the Queen of England.