In that final stretch up the mountain, with two backpacks strapped onto either side of me, all talking stopped; I needed to conserve breath. What have I gotten myself into? My cute hoodie was drenched in sweat; my makeup, smeared, looked more like warpaint. I didn’t know the path or its length, and there was certainly no wine bar at the top. There was not much I could control other than my attitude. I focused on the small act of putting one foot in front of the other.