Part II — My Zion National Park Adventure. Read Part I here.
What a day!
We had just completed one of the most memorable experiences of our trip to Zion National Park: hiking The Narrows, one of the park’s most iconic hikes. Unlike most hikes, where you follow a trail through the mountains or along a canyon, much of this hike takes place in the Virgin River itself, surrounded by towering canyon walls. The full out-and-back hike to Big Springs is approximately 14.3 miles. We weren’t planning to complete the entire distance, but we were excited to see how far we could go.
After enjoying our e-bike ride through Zion the previous day, we decided to rent the same bikes again. We picked up all our hiking gear the night before so we could get an early start, before the first shuttle buses began running at 7 a.m.
We had special neoprene socks, similar to scuba booties, water-friendly hiking boots, and wooden walking sticks. We packed extra socks, dry clothes, plenty of snacks, and water. With our gear loaded, we rode our bikes approximately nine miles into the park to the Temple of Sinawava, where the Riverside Walk begins.
We locked up our bikes, changed into our water boots, grabbed our walking sticks, and headed down the one-mile paved trail to the entrance of The Narrows.
And then the real adventure began.
Finding My Footing
Initially, I was concerned about the temperature of the water. Little did I know that would be the least of my worries!
Navigating through the water, sand, pebbles, rocks, and rushing current was something entirely new to me. I quickly realized that I couldn’t always see where my next step would land. I had to learn to feel my way along with my feet.
Some people seemed to walk through the river with sheer confidence. Others moved with a bit more trepidation.
I was definitely in the latter group.
My right foot, in particular, was giving me trouble. This environment was exposing weaknesses I hadn’t fully appreciated. And looking down didn’t always help. Watching the water rush in one direction while my body moved in another sometimes created a strange sense of disorientation.
This was a whole new workout, both mentally and physically.
We walked along one side of the river, crossed through the water to the other side, and then crossed back again. Over and over and over.
It reminded me of Pilates.
We practice Footwork, the Hundred, and so many other exercises repeatedly. Why? Because repetition gives us the opportunity to improve. We develop awareness, strength, coordination, and confidence through practice.
But standing in that river, I wasn’t feeling particularly confident.
In fact, early on, I remember thinking, If this is what The Narrows is going to be like, I’ll be lucky to make it one mile.
After all, every step we took into the canyon meant another step we would have to take to get back out.
Not exactly the best mindset, but that’s where my head was.
The Canyon Was Beautiful. And Terrifying.
As we continued, the crowds began to thin. I noticed fewer older hikers the farther we went, and I remember thinking this might be one of those adventures better suited to younger people.
But we kept going.
And gradually, I began to find a rhythm.
The views certainly helped.
The canyon walls towered above us, sometimes blocking much of the sunlight. Water rushed around our legs, occasionally reaching all the way up to my shorts. The depth could change dramatically within just a foot or two.
We watched the hikers ahead of us, hoping their chosen paths might reveal the easiest way through. Sometimes a route meant deeper water but fewer rocks. Other times, we traded the deeper water for shallower sections filled with slippery, uneven stones.
And those rocks!
Stepping onto a rock that suddenly tipped beneath my foot was quite the balance challenge.
I held my wooden walking stick in one hand and often reached for the canyon wall with the other. I noticed that many areas of the canyon walls had been worn smooth by the countless hands that had reached for support before mine. Even some tree branches had smooth spots where hikers had grabbed hold.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one asking the canyon for a little help!
One Bite at a Time
As we traveled deeper into the canyon, we began passing more people heading back toward the entrance.
Thomas wanted to continue, and I trusted him, so I followed his route.
At times, we found ourselves nearly alone, surrounded by these magnificent canyon walls. Just the two of us, the sound of rushing water, and the incredible beauty of Zion.
It was breathtaking.
My legs were working hard. My arms were working, too. But I think my brain was getting the biggest workout of all.
I had looked forward to this hike and genuinely wanted to enjoy every moment. And I was enjoying it.
But I was also terrified at times.
The rushing current didn’t stop or slow down while I figured out how to cross. It reminded me of snow skiing down a mountain. If I focused on the entire descent, or in this case the entire river crossing, it became overwhelming.
So I had to break it down into smaller pieces.
I often remind my Pilates clients of the old saying:
“How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.”
That’s exactly how I had to approach The Narrows.
Take a breath.
Find my footing.
Move one foot.
Then the other.
Don’t worry about the entire canyon. Just concentrate on the next step.
Of course, not every step went as planned!
At one point, I tipped forward, and both forearms landed in the cold water. Part of my jacket and my gloves were soaked, but thankfully, the rest of me stayed dry.
Whew! That was close!
I had already watched a couple of other hikers go completely into the water, and I was hoping not to join them.
I was a little chilly, but I kept moving.
Knowing When You’ve Gone Far Enough
We eventually made it approximately four miles into the canyon.
At that point, continuing meant negotiating another difficult section, either climbing up and back down or going through water that appeared chest-deep.
We decided we had gone far enough.
We stopped, ate some snacks, rested, and adjusted my wet gear.
It felt good to sit, refuel, and take in what we had accomplished.
But there was still one small detail.
We had to hike all the way back out!
By this time, my legs were tired, and I was feeling a little more wobbly navigating the rocks beneath the water.
I used the canyon walls whenever I could, and I wasn’t too proud to reach for Thomas’s hand when I needed help crossing a particularly challenging section.
And you know what?
Some of it actually felt easier on the way back.
Not because the rocks had moved or the current had slowed, but because I had changed.
I had gained experience.
I was beginning to understand how to move through this unfamiliar environment. I was learning to trust my feet, use my walking stick, and make decisions about where to step.
What had seemed nearly impossible at the beginning was becoming a little more manageable.
Isn’t that so much like Pilates?
An exercise that initially seems awkward, uncomfortable, or even impossible can become more accessible with practice. Your body begins to understand what you’re asking it to do. You develop strength, coordination, and confidence.
It doesn’t necessarily mean the exercise becomes easy.
It means you become more capable of doing it.
The Journey Back
As we made our way out of the canyon, the sun finally began to reach us, providing some welcome warmth and illuminating the canyon walls in ways we hadn’t seen earlier that morning.
The views were spectacular, and we captured some breathtaking photographs.
From the time we entered the river until we exited, we had spent approximately five and a half hours in The Narrows.
Five and a half hours of navigating rocks, rushing water, unpredictable footing, and my own thoughts.
It was physically demanding, mentally exhausting, and absolutely unforgettable.
I would compare its difficulty to hiking the Na Pali Coast in Kauai, another adventure that challenged me in ways I hadn’t expected.
But I wouldn’t trade either experience.
What The Narrows Taught Me
I’ve spent years teaching Pilates and reminding clients that progress comes through consistent practice, patience, and learning to work with the body they have.
Yet there I was, standing in the middle of the Virgin River, needing to remind myself of those very same lessons.
I had to slow down.
I had to concentrate.
I had to trust myself.
I had to accept help when I needed it.
And most importantly, I had to keep moving forward, one step at a time.
There were moments when I questioned whether I could continue. Moments when my balance wasn’t what I wanted it to be. Moments when I was uncomfortable, tired, or afraid.
But there were also moments of incredible beauty, accomplishment, and gratitude.
The goal wasn’t to be the fastest hiker, the strongest hiker, or the most confident person in the river. The goal was to challenge myself, enjoy the experience, and do the best I could.
I think back to the people I described in Part I of this story. The 81-year-old woman with her walking stick. The gentleman carefully navigating the trail with his walker. The hikers with physical challenges who were still out there doing their best.
And now I had my own experience of being challenged in an unfamiliar environment.
Different circumstances, same lesson.
We don’t all move at the same pace. We don’t all have the same abilities. And some days, what seems easy for someone else may be incredibly difficult for us.
But there is value in continuing to move, adapting when necessary, and recognizing what our bodies are capable of.
I returned from Zion with tired legs, a few wet clothes, beautiful photographs, and an even greater appreciation for the connection between physical strength and mental determination.
The Narrows was definitely one for the books!
And if there’s one thing I’ll remember the next time I face something that seems overwhelming, it’s this:
Take a breath. Find your footing. And take the next step.
