The constant snapping of my camera as I peer over the edge of the Grand Canyon only gives me a glimpse of the natural wonder. Beads of sweat fall down my forehead and onto my shoulders. The smell of freshwater turns my mouth into a pool of saliva. I constantly reach for my water attached to my hip, encouraging my body to keep going. The salty smell of limestone surrounds the canyon as we trek through the rocky paths. The entire place is stunning and overwhelming--something out of a magazine.

We hike down into the canyon, the scenery getting more beautiful with each step. As I look up, thousands of feet of rock surround the path; each unique in its own form. Suddenly, I feel a crunch in my ankle. I quickly jump up and clutch it tightly. My brother, laughing hysterically, tells me to “suck it up and keep going.” 

So we continue into the canyon. Dust caked to our bodies, like dried mud after the rain. 

I yelled, “Mom we need to turn back!”

She replied, “Just a little farther, I want to go down there,” pointing at the path 200 feet below us. 

I look over at my dad, panting for any air he could get. My brothers, both athletic and strong, march on with my mom deeper into the canyon. I attempt to keep up until I feel a crunch in my other ankle. I yelp and hobble through the rocky dirt, pain throbbing down my leg. 

Finally, we reach as far down as we can physically go, and then realize that we have to walk the entire way up. With my ankles nearly broken and my dad panting for relief, it was a recipe for disaster.

It takes us a lengthy period of time to get back up, one hour to be exact. My ankles screech in pain, yelling at me to stop. My dad’s shirt had become see-through with sweat, and my brothers and mom admitted that we shouldn’t have gone down so far.

My eyes fill with tears when I reach the top, grateful to have made it out. The trip was beautiful however it quickly turned into a disaster. My entire family, besides my mom, agrees that we will never go back there again.