I'd been awake for roughly 40 hours at that point, leaving Antioch, California sometime Sunday Evening. It was Monday night now, and it was getting cold. I had no food, little water, and only my own stupidity as a companion. To spend the night at the bottom without shelter would probably mean a frozen death.

I wanted to go down further, to dip my toes in the river, but it was not to be. I'd started the hike in an hour before sunset, and now faced a hike that would take three times that long to get out. The Grand Canyon was not a hike for the weary, but I was.

I wanted to live, despite the fact that I deserved to die for my idiocy. I pushed myself to my feet, took out my pathetically useless windbreaker, shouldered my pack; a nearly empty water bottle, spare socks, and a shirt. At least it was light. It did, however, carry one thing that would prove my salvation...my home brew survival kit's flashlight.

Bidding farewell to my brief resting spot, I took one calculated swig of water and started back up. It was not easy going, steep, rocky, the path threatened me with every footstep. Light was fading fast and my nausea was growing to take it's place. I hadn't eaten for about seven hours, the meal before that about eight hours.

After about two hundred steps I had to stop. My head hurt, my stomach grumbled, and I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. What little water my body held was being sweated out. I couldn't rest for long. A body at rest tends to stay at rest.

I forced myself back up the trail...fifty steps here, fifty steps there. It was taking more and more effort to keep myself moving. My legs were lead, my head pounded, and I just wanted to stop and sleep. Every time I stopped to rest, my eyes closed and I caught myself drifting off frequently. Each time the bell began to ring and by sheer will and determination to live I swallowed my bile and pushed on. The straps on my "light" backpack were now rubbing my shoulders raw.

I was maybe a third of the way back when I began to stagger. With a nice little drop off to my left, I was terrified of a mis placed foot. I stopped once more, noted how neon yellow my urine was, and swallowed the rest of my water.

I hugged the rock face to my right and nearly fell asleep again. It was deathly cold. Five minutes later I found myself hugging the rock, having nearly fallen to my death yet again. I hurt like never before in my entire life. Each step took an eternity. My mouth was a desert. My stomach acid threatened to eat through my skin. Luckily I did not vomit.

Another five minutes later I wished the last of the dusk twilight away and rummaged in my survival kit for that flashlight. Focusing the beam ahead of me, I forced my body onward. By this point, it was just a tool to the top. I purged my mind of everything but survival. Fixing the word "Life" in my mind, I pushed myself past the breaking point...way past the breaking point. If I'd been a smoker then, I would have died for sure. My lungs heaved with every breath.

I nearly tripped, vomited, and died with every step. Worse yet, my batteries were dying. Therir death meant my death. Somewhere, past the pain, past the nausea, somewhere I found some long unused reserve of strength beyond that which I held onto already. Somehow I quickened my steps.

About half an hour later, sure I was going to die the entire time, I found other stragglers in the canyon. Together we forced our way to the top. They shared food and water with me. I savored it, bite by bite, swallow by swallow, sure these ppl were just a dream and that I was already dead...

I reached the top, somehow, and slept that night on asphalt like it was silk. I had no right to be alive, but I was. I was stupid, and should have paid the price.

The hike in took just over an hour. The hike out took more than five.