Agents are scary.....until you meet them.

Traditional publishing is a competitive business. And when I say competitive, I don't mean the bake off where there's only one "Best Cookie," but you could go home with "Most Original," or "Best presentation," instead. I mean competitive in the sense that the gladiators meant it in Roman times. It's brutal. Representation to negotiate with (or even get your work in front of) publishers is a hot commodity. It takes work. You have to read articles on the agents, read and watch their interviews, pick the ones that might suit you best (or at least accept queries in your genre), query them and then wait week after agonizing week for them to request to see more of your work, or reject you without reading a sentence of it.

 

Imagine my delight when the LDS Storymakers conference I was attending offered meetings or pitch sessions with agents as an optional add-on to your registration. So I signed up. I had never heard of any of the agents, so I read a little on each and selected one that seemed a good fit for me. Victoria Marini. Please check out her website and I dare you not to fall in love with her approach. Also she's a sucker for cat GIF's. Trust me, you'll want to query her. The manuscript consults at the conference were a first-come-first-served kind of deal, so there were no guarantees, but due to a happy coincidence involving a fortune cookie, I got in. I cheered and gushed for a while until I realized I was going to discuss my first chapter face-to-face with someone from the meanest, harshest, most cutthroat group of people on the planet.....Literary Agents.


I was terrified.

Then I got my time slot. 5:00 pm on Friday night. FIVE P.M.?!? After her full day of pitches and consults and my full day of gorging on info from industry professionals, but before DINNER?? That's when we have to meet?? Forget terrified.  I was screwed.

I walked into the tiny room wherein sat Ms. Marini.  We shook hands. And then in a move so professional and respectful I could only sit in awe, she proceeded to give me feedback on my pages. She didn't waste time on small talk, she didn't pretend interest in my personal life, she went to work. I LOVED it. I only had 15 minutes with her, for crying out loud. She praised where she thought praise was due, critiqued where called for, and warned where she felt warning was necessary. Then she requested more pages. This is, I believe, common practice among agents, to request pages from authors with whom you are face to face, and it's brilliant. Tell me what you like to see, and don't like to see, then give me time to revise and submit more to you. Not the move of a cutthroat meanie, by any stretch.

I ran into her later in the hall, and we chatted. She told me about her adorable mother that would follow her to conferences just to have lunch with her on a break. I talked about my kids. She took pictures of the mountains I take for granted everyday. She was real. Ladies and gentleman that is what you should be looking for. When it came to social time, she got personal. When it came time to teach her class, she was animated, energetic and informative. During the consultation she consulted. This woman may never be my agent,  but she really helped me understand the benefits of having one.

I took most of the classes taught by the agents and editors at the conference, and at the end of it all it was pretty clear. These people are just people. Lovely, wise, and HONEST people. They want to help us. They want us to improve and excel. Why? Because they have a vested interest in selling good products. So if you ever get the chance to meet one, or consult with one, or take their classes, don't hesitate. You can't lose.

So, you want to write a book... 5 things to think about before you begin

Yes, this is me dusting off the old blog. I happen to have a very good reason for my hiatus. Don't care? Too bad, I'm going to tell you anyway. Not because I'm narcissistic and believe you need to hear about my struggles to properly appreciate how important I am, but because of one simple phrase I hear ALL.THE.TIME.

 "I've always wanted to write a book."

If you have said this, or any of the other myriad variations, this post is for you. And no, this is not a Scared Straight program. I will not discourage any person from writing a book. Ever. I love books,and I love the people who write them. So, if you have that same little itch that brought me to the excruciating twelve to twenty-four month social absence I've just experienced, I'd like to share some things I learned along the way.

1. Start with a good idea


Think you've got a super original idea for a book? You don't. Sorry. I don't mean that rudely. I just mean, it's 2015. The concept of original thought is basically extinct. Actually, if you think about it, the fact that none of our ideas is original should be quite liberating. It's all been done. So we're free to reinvent to our hearts' content. Just remember to do it in your own unique way. Got a dystopian post-apocalyptic story? Heard it. Got a romance? It's a love triangle, right? Or maybe it's the one where the MC hates the love interest in the beginning, but they end up together in the end. Or maybe you've got an epic fantasy with an MC who has a special gift that will help them save not only the world you've just built,  but also the world as we know it. He or she has a group of plucky sidekicks, and a mentor, and there may or may not be a prophecy involved predicting our hero's success or failure. Predictable. Patterned. There are patterns for a reason. They work. But if you want yours to stand out, figure out how to put a new spin on it.

2. A book is a completely different thing than an idea for a book.
 

I don't just mean the difference between your idea and a published and bound magical form of diversion and entertainment that you and I willingly addict ourselves to daily. I mean the typed and completed manuscript that means you took your New Year's resolution seriously this time. I mean the jacked up back and shoulders, and sore fingers that indicate you committed to said idea, and then let it push you violently down a gajillion rabbit holes until your idea morphed into a semblance of a plot, which then morphed into characters that became your best friends, but sucked the life out of you like enemies, which then morphed into a storyline. There are many differences, but the biggest one is reality. An idea is cheap. You could have a million a day. Don't make the mistake of thinking your idea will sell itself without actually learning to write a book. You want a finished product? Sit your butt in the chair and finish the project. And for the love, do NOT put an ad out looking for someone to write your book idea for you and offer to pay them $50. Offer them no less than all your money, assets, and first-born child, or write the thing yourself.
3. Learn how to write a book.

I hesitate to write this one, because it will sound harsh, which can sometimes translate into discouragement. But it's important. When I told my mother, a very wise and well-read woman, I wanted to write a book, she said, "You should take a class." I failed to take that advice when writing my first book, and it cost me months of extensive and brutal editing, only to end up with a book that was just OK. So when she said it again on the next book, I took a class. Then another. Then bought books on writing. Then followed blogs on writing. Then joined author's groups. Went to conferences. Entered contests with the sole purpose of gaining feedback from professionals. Guess what happened? I learned how to write. And, perhaps more importantly, I learned how not to write. I learned the dangers of cliches, filter words, outdated dialogue, vague pitches, poor outlining, predictable endings, etc.  I've also had the opportunity to read and critique other writers' work. You know the difference between the works I enjoyed and the ones I rolled my eyes at? Understanding of the craft of writing, and, those willing to put in the time to gain it. Want an example? Let me know and I'll show you the difference between my 1st draft and my last draft. It's staggering.

4. Do not let the only eyes on this manuscript be yours and the agent/publisher/audience you want to woo.


The most valuable thing you can do for yourself during the writing process is get feedback. Not from your mother, unless your mother is brutally honest and somewhat skeptical. You need to hand pick your critique group. Call for volunteers, and then select them with extreme prejudice. This subject could become a blog post on its own, but I'll tell you, finding the right beta readers made  my progress from draft to draft possible. Period. So get some. Other authors who also need betas are a great resource, and are frequently willing to trade.


5. Balance your life with ferocity.
 

Writing takes time. So does parenting, your day job, your relationships, and every other blasted thing you have going on in your life. Writing can and will take over your life and leave only dirty dishes, overflowing hampers, and disappointed people in its wake if you let it. Decide what portion of your head space you are going to give it, and protect those boundaries like the border police. Give it the time and effort it requires, but time is your most valuable commodity, so budget for it.

The truth is, that idea you have in your head? No one else can write it like you. So buckle up, and get it out there. We'd all love to read it.

Do you have tips for beginning writers? Please share!

Amazon Launch

It's finally here! Launch day on Amazon. Dear Girls is now available for Purchase. Let me tell you why you might want to buy this book.

Dear Girls is all about body image. It is written for girls age 12 and up. It is about one girl's journey from body hatred and eating disorders to health and healing. It is a message of hope, of health, of forgiveness, of self-care and empowerment. This is a message our daughters (and maybe even we as mothers) need. Dear Girls is written in the form of letters, and though names of people and places were changed to protect privacy, the events described in this work are true.

I wanted to be honest and real with people about the dangers of certain ways we think of ourselves and others. I wanted to talk about competing and comparing, and how damaging that can be. Most of all, I wanted my girls to know that the key to unlocking their power and potential in this world (and they will be powerful) is to look past how they look, and see what they can give. What we look like is barely a part of who we are, and once we realize that and focus on who we are and what we can do, all kinds of opportunities open up for us. I know, because I'm experiencing it now. Please pin this to your "Books" board, please pass this on to neighbors and friends. I believe in this message, and I know you all know people who might need to be reminded of it right now. Thank you so much for your help and support. I'd love your comments!

Rachel

Launch Party!

I am so excited about this party I can hardly stand it. Not only is it at one of the COOLEST venues in Salt Lake City, Beauty Redefined is coming to give one of their life-changing presentations for us! Then there's the food, which I planned so it will be some of my favorite things. Oh, and a crowd of my friends, family, and future friends in one room celebrating the launch of this beautiful book....See why I'm out of control excited??

The party is on Tuesday November 27 from 7-9pm. The Church House (which is not a church anymore, that's just it's name) is located in Salt Lake at 129 North 600 West. Parking is available on both sides of the street as well as in the parking lot to the south of the building. Enter through the main doors. Books will be available for purchase and signing (if you want that kind of thing). Please either RSVP here, or let me know in a comment here if you can attend. The more the merrier, we want plenty of people (especially moms and teens) to experience this party!

A Bouncing Baby Book

Folks, it is finally time to announce the completion of a project I've been working on for the past year. It's a book. It's called Dear Girls, a Mother's Message about True Beauty. It's written for girls age 12-25, and is about body image, and taking healthy steps to discovering our power and potential in this world. It is based on my very own true story.

"If you don't quit worrying about your body, your girls will start worrying about theirs." These chilling words spoken by a true friend have haunted Rachel since the day they were spoken. Worried there might be some truth to that bleak prediction, she decides to write her young girls a story, one that tells her very own tale of forgiveness, health and healing.

The book is due to come out in mid-November, and a launch party will be held at the end of November for any who want to attend. More details will follow, but until then please enjoy this teaser chapter of my beloved project: Dear Girls.

   The Beauty of Boys

November 6, 2011

Dear Girls,

“This, like all other stories worth telling, is all about a girl.” That’s one of the first lines Peter Parker speaks in the 2002 hit movie Spider Man. Sometimes when words like that are spoken by a cute boy on a big screen it sounds romantic. When I was younger, though, and I heard a girl say something like that about a boy and her actual life, it sounded pathetic and desperate.  Why was that? Why did I think that the pursuit of a girl by a boy was romantic, but the pursuit of a boy by a girl was just sad? It’s because in my mind, you only had to pursue a boy if you weren’t good enough. If you were good enough, perfect enough, skinny enough and enough enough, they would come after you. And that was just plain romantic.

I was in sixth grade when I first noticed boys noticing my body, and to my dismay, other girls’ bodies. I was boy crazy for as long as I can remember and I craved their attention. I had at least one dramatic and devastatingly deep crush every school year. I couldn’t name all my teachers, but I sure can tell you who I spent my time thinking about each year. From Brandon Fisher in Kindergarten right on up to Billy Walters in fifth grade I had someone to daydream about.   Sixth grade was when I discovered how exciting it was to actually earn your crush’s attention by flirting.  Back then it was “totally in” to be “going out” which of course did not mean going anywhere at all, but that you were committed to a lasting, meaningful relationship with a particular individual as long as you both shall live, or until he broke your heart at recess, whichever came first.

The boyfriend I was most proud of that year was Shawn McGee. He was the new kid, so his allure apart from his heart palpitation causing dimples was his mystery. He sat next to me in class and was the shy, blushing type. He could kick the ball the farthest in kick ball, run the fastest in all PE activities and was the tallest and most athletic of all my classmates. He was an only child, which was interesting to me since I had four siblings. He lived right by the school.  I got to walk past his house every morning and afternoon in my to-and-from school travels.

At that age, as any self-respecting sixth grade girl can tell you, you have to beat them at something to get their attention. Then be flirtatious and fun for the most part so they’re not insulted, just impressed. Then you have to tease them and pay them lots of attention.  I did my utmost to make sure I was on the opposite team in kick ball and always played the outfield so I’d be in prime position to catch his high flying kicks in my direction. It almost always worked. I flirted shamelessly with him every day. And then it happened. Right around February that year he asked me out! Not on a date, of course, for in sixth grade, the words, “Will you go out with me?” took on a much deeper meaning than a simple possibility of an upcoming date. No, no, those words meant commitment. I of course wrote “yes” on the note he had passed me to submit his request. I can almost feel the butterflies now.

The next week was very important because it was going to be our first (and likely only, but you couldn’t tell me that) Valentine’s Day as a couple. I had to wear the absolute perfect thing, of course, and think of something completely meaningful to give him. I mean, a valentine’s gift isn’t just your average present ladies; this is something you bestow upon each other to symbolize your deep and abiding love! Also it had to be under $5. Tricky.  I planned balloons and candy. I had to get up early and beg my mom to take me to buy the balloon bouquet and heart-shaped chocolates I thought he’d like most. Carrying them to school with me made me feel so special that those multicolored balloons might as well have been carrying me off the ground. He surprised me with a card he stamped himself with a teddy bear stamp and: a rose. A ROSE! Oh man, that’s when you know you’ve made it, girls, when you can proudly tote a rose around to all your classes on Valentine’s Day and even the teachers noticed. I was living the dream, and Shawn and I lasted clear into that spring.

 In early April I secured the envied crossing guard duty. It was always a privilege to be a crossing guard at any crosswalk, but this time I got what I considered the best news of my life up to that point: I was assigned the crosswalk on Ridge Street, right by Shawn’s house! Every morning I would arrive early with my neon orange flag and walk kids across to safety right where he could see me if he so chose. Every afternoon, I later found out, he and his friends really would watch me that whole week. It was then I heard the powerful words he said about me. These words filled my heart with the joy of success and feeling wanted and loved.  Randy Chapman told me that Jason Stock told him that Shawn said, “Rachel has the best body in the whole sixth grade.” Done.  I now knew exactly what I had to have in order for the boys to love and want me around: The best body. Did I need to be funny? Nope. How about fun, easy going, sensitive, a good cook, smart, or rich? Nope, nope, nope.  Beauty had now been defined to me by a boy I liked: The best body. And who determines whether or not I have the best body? The boys do, by the amount of attention I receive from them.

I tucked that golden nugget of what I thought was knowledge away for future romantic pursuits. I imagined I had the key to ensure I was desired, loved, and otherwise doted upon for the rest of my life. Little did I know what a double edged sword that “knowledge” would prove to be.

The summer before seventh grade was a trying one. Shawn and I broke up (no surprise there), and I entered the summer with no strings attached. I went to the pool every day with my friends, had a great tan, and spent many a carefree eve with night games and sleepovers. Also I gained over twenty pounds.  Yes sir, puberty bit me hard, right on my growing gluteus maximus. I didn’t know what to do. I thought puberty came with menstruation and that had happened ages ago back in the fifth grade! I totally thought I’d dodged the weight gain bullet of puberty. But no, that summer I passed the dreaded one-hundred pound barrier, and had one fleeting wistful glance at it as I ran right through it to a hundred and ten. What?? What are these weird white stretch marks on my beautifully tanned and otherwise muscular thighs? How did that unsightly flab appear overnight on my upper arms, and what the?!? Are those LOVE HANDLES? Life? Over. Beauty? Gone. Hopes of ever catching anyone as fabulous as Shawn McGee again? Dashed.  I felt shafted, doomed, and otherwise ill-fated. That my puberty should consist of a period and weight gain seemed outrageously unfair. Plus I got braces and zits. Oh how could it get any worse? It would though, because I was about to enter the deep dark hellish hole we refer to as Middle School.

Hidden Peak Hustle

I love to run, obviously. I would change almost anything in my schedule around to go. Running trails are my therapy. However, I have very strong feelings against races. Why? I'm a cheapskate. I just feel there is something fundamentally wrong with paying to go running. Also, most races are run on pavement. I can't pay to run on the road.  I've been very vocal about this view, so you may find it surprising to hear that in early September I participated in my first ever 10k race.

First of all, it was a trail race set in the beautiful mountains of Snowbird. Secondly, my friend Hilary found a Groupon for it. Win-win.

Hilary Lesh and Andrea Morganegg, two of my favorite running pals

unplanned matching outfits.

Altra loving girls. These shoes seriously rock.

I should mention that while we had all been running regularly, we did not find it necessary to train for this particular race. I didn't think the altitude difference would be that big of a deal. Turns out going from 4,000-ish feet to 8,000-ish feet really changes things!

 It was brutal in the beginning. Steep inclines, coughing like mad in the thin air, and trying to keep up with the group took a toll, but the middle was absolutely gorgeous.We hit our stride at about mile two. It was a lovely time clear until mile four when we all thought we should be done and the nice person at the drink station told us we were just over halfway. What? Then the inclines began again. Who plans a race with hills at the beginning AND the end? Oh well, at least it was pretty!

We all finished within minutes of each other. Over all not a bad first race. They even had really cute T-shirts for us, not just the big old boxy man T-shirts I was expecting. We were greeted with applause, water and stroop wafels at the finish line. Best. Cookies. Ever. Would I do it again? Maybe next year, if stroop wafels are still involved.

At the end.

A moose we saw next to the parking lot as we left.

Rim to Rim. The Grand Adventure.

It's almost three months later.  I'm literally sitting here pep-talking myself into writing this story, it's that exhausting. Oddly enough that just makes me want to go again, almost like I need a do-over. I'll begin by telling you that hiking Rim to Rim in one day is never recommended by the people that work in and around the Grand Canyon. In fact it's strongly discouraged.  It's roughly 25 miles across with sever elevation changes. It is approximately 7000 feet down from the North Rim to the floor, and 6000 feet back up the other side. Many hikers who are ill-prepared attempt it with disastrous results. We were all pretty well prepared, though, and among the eight of us, there were only three first timers. My dad has done this same hike four times now since 2002, Jen three times, Nate and I and Jon Lewis now twice. We had been training for months and were very excited to go. We started at 6 am and planned on a 10-11 hour hike time. When we take people that have never been before, starting at 4 am like most Rim to Rim-ers kind of defeats the purpose of showing someone the canyon. They would miss the whole North Rim and then some. We chose June for the large amount of daylight we would have. Also, we hoped it wouldn't be too hot yet in June. That kind of makes me laugh now. Our group was large, consisting of eight hikers: Jim Curtis (my dad), Jen Curtis (my sister), Derek Baker (Jen's boyfriend), Nate and I, Bob and Brandon Allan (my uncle and cousin from California), and Jon Lewis (our friend).

The hikers at North Rim. 6am, ready to go.
(L-R Derek Baker, Jen Curtis, Nathan and Rachel Larsen, Bob Allan, Brandon Allan, Jon Lewis, and Jim Curtis)

We had a group of four people to shuttle the cars around and meet us at the South Rim. My mother, as well as my mother and father in law, Chuck and Cheryl Larsen, and my aunt Janet were taking that job. They hiked with us for the first mile and a quarter to a lookout point. We began very slowly, since we had the shuttlers with us. They were just on a nature stroll, and had no interest in hiking the thing in its entirety. They just wanted a taste of each rim. By the time we reached the lookout point my legs were shaking with the effort it took to hold myself back on the steep downgrade. I knew I'd be completely exhausted by the time we reached the bottom if we didn't pick up the pace to give my quads a break. Jon Lewis, Nate and I decided to jog a little ahead. Well, Jon wasn't jogging, he was hiking, but his long, quick strides soon left us in the dust.

At the lookout point not far from the top of North Rim

Nate and I at the look out point. You can see the canyon we'll be hiking behind us.

One first stop was roaring springs, approximately 5 miles down. We all stopped for a quick refuel and water break. We met many hikers there, some coming, some going, and it was fun to chatter about each's hike and destination. Jon took off ahead of us again.  Nate and I  again made the decision to jog to save our legs. We knew we'd be hiking with the rest of the group after Phantom Ranch, so we weren't too concerned about staying together as a group at that point. Another two miles and we were at Cottonwood Campground. We were all still feeling fresh and exhilarated.  We then took a mile and half detour to Ribbon falls so anyone who'd never seen it before could behold it's splendor.....

Ribbon Falls in all it's glory.

I kind of wish we hadn't taken that detour, though. Nate and I had both seen it, and we felt like it took the wind out of our sails hiking back to the trail from it. It was with that slight decrease in energy that we began the trek through "The Box".   This is a 4 mile corridor with 1000' rock walls on either side. It tends to trap heat in those walls. The trail heats up like a convection oven. It feels endless. We alternated jogging with walking through it, and drank as much as we could.  My muscles started to feel stiff, and I started wishing for the cool air of the little lodge at Phantom Ranch.

The Box

Still smiling (kind of) in The Box

 When we jogged into Phantom Ranch I was worried. We were roughly two-thirds through our hike, but my muscles were already screaming. We got into the little lodge/store thing and found Jon there guzzling ice cold lemonade and refueling. We ate. Our fuel was simple, and I think that really helped us. We chose peanut butter filled pretzel, nuts and freeze dried fruit. Jon said he'd been there for about a half hour. The first thing I noticed about Jon was that he was covered in dried salt. Seriously, white waving lines were all over his hat, his face, his arms and shirt. I'd never seen anyone visibly lose that much salt in their sweat. I asked about his fuel. He said he still had plenty of salt replacement, electrolyte replacement and the like. He was very chipper. He stayed with us while we waited for the others. When they arrived my sister's boyfriend, Derek came in and laid down on a bench at a table. He just walked in, groaned and laid down. He didn't rush up to the counter like the rest of us for some lemonade, he didn't move. Uh-oh.

Refilling water, checking and bandaging blisters at Phantom Ranch. (L-R: Rachel Larsen, Derek Baker, Jen Curtis, Jim Curtis)

We waited for everyone to feel refreshed for another 45 minutes. We discovered you could buy ice there. ICE! Oh man, we bought three big bags to split among our eight packs. As we sat filling our packs with it, a worker came by to check the AC wall unit that was by our table. He said it was 99 degrees inside the building. It took me a second to think that through. If it was 99 degrees inside and it felt heavenly, what is it outside?  Hell. That's what it was.

Nate and I by the Thermometer outside Phantom Ranch.  it reads 124 degrees. In that bulletin board there is a sign referring to the thermometer that says, "That can't be right, can it? Yes it is."

After everyone felt sufficiently fueled and treated we got back on the trail. Jon once again went on ahead. Just outside of Phantom Ranch there is a thermometer, and it was then our hopes for a cooler day in June were dashed. It read 124 degrees. We still had a long way to go. Derek started having some real dehydration issues. His muscles were cramping, and so it was to the music of his grunting and agonized gasping that we continued on.

The trail heading out of Phantom Ranch

Our next landmark was the bridge across the Colorado river. I dreaded that bridge because I remembered what came after it. The hardest part of the hike, that's what.

On the bridge over the Colorado.

From this point on there are not many pictures. You'll soon read why. We continued on through what is known as the Devil's corkscrew. 200' of winding switchbacks heading steeply up in red hot sand. Sand. Oddly enough, I felt pretty good. We had to stop frequently as poor Derek's entire back would seize and we'd hear his strained Arrrrrrgh!  To this day whenever we mention the Grand Canyon, he looks at me and makes that crazy grunting, gasping yell. I love it. It was just after the corkscrew that I felt the first symptom of heat exhaustion. Nausea. I  tried not to worry. With each step I felt my vision get more and more unfocused and my mind feel more and more panicked. I quickly assessed my situation. I had plenty of ice water, that wouldn't be a problem. I needed to rest but stopping so frequently in the hot sun in the corkscrew was not helping. I told Nate I couldn't stop anymore, and that I felt sick. He told me to go on ahead and find my uncle and cousin. I said, "you'd let your wife wander on alone knowing I'm feeling sick???" He gave me the 'quit-whining-you're-fine' look, and I knew he was right. He could not come with me, he needed to carry Derek's pack and make sure he was OK. I went on alone for maybe 5 minutes before I heard someone calling my name. Bob and Brandon were resting on a rock on the far side of a creek in the shade. Shade. I was so grateful. Bob was cheerful and chatty. Brandon confided that he was worried about altitude sickness. Altitude,  I thought, didn't you train? Oh yeah, they're from California and he trained at sea level. It was around 5 miles from Phantom Ranch to Indian Gardens campground, and a further 4 miles from there to the top. If he was going to get altitude sickness, his symptoms would be about the same as heat exhaustion and there was really no going back at this point. He shrugged it off. We waited for Jen, Derek, Nate and my dad and continued on to Indian Gardens all together. We frequently soaked shirts and chilly pads (Best. Invention. Ever.) in the creek that was near the path and stopped so often I thought we'd never get out.

Trail on the South Rim side looking back toward the green patch of trees in the distance that is Indian Gardens campground

When we finally reached Indian Gardens it was 5 pm. We were at 11 hours and still 4 miles from the top. Groan. We were very surprised there to see a Polish couple on a bench, crying. The woman seemed to be angry at the man. Then there was Jon. Jon? We thought he would have been out of the canyon by now. He was sitting on a bench in the shade with a very weary look on his face.  He said that he got hit with heat exhaustion in the corkscrew and decided to take a nap on the trail for a half hour in the shade. What? Jon, a nap on the trail? Those are the kind of naps you don't always wake up from! The Polish couple, it turns out, had hiked from the South Rim to the River and back that day, roughly 18 miles round trip. Jon found them on the trail and followed them because they didn't seem like they were doing too well, and he wanted to be with them just in case. They were totally unprepared. She was completely sunburned in shorty shorts and a tank top, and they had very little food. We gave them some of ours. They declined. We told them in no uncertain terms that they had to. They accepted. We assessed our situation. I still felt pretty good, and Nate was doing amazing considering he had been carrying two packs since the corkscrew. Jen was in tears, she had some very painful blister issues. My dad was great, Bob and Brandon were ok, and Jon was fading. We split up the troops. Bob and Brandon took off with Jon and the Polish couple, and they went a few minutes ahead of us. I hiked with Jen,  and my dad and Nate traded off carrying Derek's pack. There would be a water station every mile and a half from there on out, and it would be switch backs the whole way.

A snake that crossed our path on the switch backs of the South Rim.

We were within sight of the first water station when I noticed something was really wrong. Bob was standing at Jon's side watching for us. He caught my eye, then took off up the trail leaving Jon sitting on a rock. His eyes were open, but he was not quite lucid. I cautiously said, "Jon, are you ok?" Without blinking or turning his head he said, "I threw up."  His boots and poles were splashed with vomit. He wasn't near the water. I asked if he'd put water in his pack, he said no. We gave him hard candy to suck on, filled his pack and did some shifting. His pack was so heavy! Nate took it. My dad took Derek's.  The trail was still relatively light, but we were going painfully slow. I wondered about Bob, Brandon and the Polish couple. The next mile and a half were agony. Jon was vomiting intermittently,  and at one point Nate had to grab the back of his shirt to keep him from going over the side while puking. Jen was in so much pain it took her breath away. Derek was still cramping and our light was fading. We kept thinking we'd be fine when we got to the water station because they have emergency flash lights there. When we got there, they'd all already been taken. Chuck was there though. What? Chuck what are you doing here? "OH, I just got worried and thought you guys might like some snacks or water. I've been down here once already...." He'd hiked quite a bit that day, and that didn't bode well for his hike out. OH man. At that point my sister and I looked at each other and she made a decision. "I'll go back with the slow pokes," she said, " you run ahead and get flash lights." I started to run. I ran and walked and ran and walked and ran and walked. The sky darkened. Bats swooped my head. I ran and walked. I caught up with Bob and Brandon. They had a light. Would they come on ahead with me? In answer, Brandon vomited. Altitude sickness. Spectacular. I ran on. I emerged to the sound of clapping and congratulations, I was the first one out. I cut them off with my news: We are in trouble. I need lights, like now. I got them, a few juice boxes, and stood at the trail head. I didn't want to go back in there. I called Nate and told him to download a flashlight app, and get Jon's phone out because he already had one. They asked how far from the top they were. I asked for a landmark, and he told me they'd just passed the arch. I asked which one. He groaned. I went back down.

At that point, a man joined me. His name was Eric. He said he was on a flashlight rescue mission as well, and should we go together? I gratefully accepted. About a half a mile down I saw Jon. Alone. Nate had to attend to his father, and Jon couldn't be stopped. He wanted out. I called his name. As he got closer he whispered my name and collapsed on top of me. He's not a small guy. Eric grabbed him and set him on a rock. I gave him juice. I knew he'd puke it up, but he needed it. Then Jen walked up, crying. I gave her some juice and she sobbed, "you read my mind." and kept going. She's so cute. Derek and my dad came next, followed by Nate and his dad, who was also battling altitude sickness. Oh we are a sight, I thought. I took Jon's arm and talked his ear off to get him to put one foot in front of the other.

We made it out. It was 10 pm. The south rim was all but closed. Jon's muscles were seizing and he was still puking. Chuck was too. We drove the Polish couple to their car, listening to them argue and her tell him, "We are not hikers!"  We tried to find the clinic. We even split up on foot to find it. Jon was getting worse by the minute. He kept saying, "Please hurry. Please hurry." I called 911. I told the operator we couldn't find the clinic. She told me the clinic was closed. Then would you mind sending an AMBULANCE, lady? The rangers arrived, chewed us out for going Rim to Rim, did we have any idea how hot it was today? Uh, yeah, I think we have an idea, thanks. Derek was still grunting. "Is he OK?" The rangers asked. "Yeah, he's just cramping."

We split up again. Nate and I followed Jon in the ambulance, and the others headed two hours away to our nice resort hotel in Paige. It was an hour and a half drive for us. We had to wait an hour at the ER, to see if Jon needed to stay over night. He did. He had all the necessary nutrients in his blood, just not water to carry them. We went in search for food. There was only one food place open that we could find, McDonalds. Sick. Those were the best tasting cheeseburgers I have ever had though. We had been up 22 hours, we were sore, and we stank. The last available hotel room in that whole sleepy town was in a disgusting motel 6. We didn't even care. Jon received 3 1/2 liters of fluid and was a whole new man in the morning. Jen said Derek woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed the next morning, he wasn't even sore. Brandon and Chuck likewise. All's well that ends well, I guess. I had nightmares about the trail for a few days. I still feel a little traumatized.

My dusty, dirty legs and feet while waiting in the ER

If you want the mileage rundown of the Rim to Rim trek, check out this link:
http://www.zionnational-park.com/rim-to-rim-grand.htm