Most people meet the Grand Canyon at the rim. They are surprised by the vastness, take pictures, and carry the view home. Fewer still step into it—down to the river and back in a single day. In the summer of 2023, my husband Jay and twelve friends from our community took the more uncommon route. We went from Rim to River to Rim. About 18 miles, roughly 5,000 feet down and then back up, and summer heat that doesn’t negotiate. At the starting point it was written bold and bright – “Going down is optional; coming up is mandatory,” . We took that to heart. We prepared for months. We trained our legs and lungs. We gathered water and gear. We built the mental muscle and started our journey.
The Experience:
On June 3, 2023, we clicked our headlamps on at 4:30 AM and stepped onto South Kaibab. The canyon looked eternal and brand-new at the same time, shadows folding back to reveal layers older than our imaginations. The trail dropped in clean switchbacks. With each step, we watched the world widen below us. We saw terraces of red and rust and felt the long hush of space. We moved as one, checking in, trading water and snacks.
After seven miles, the Colorado River rushed into view. It was green and powerful. The river was like a ribbon that carved patience into stone for millions of years. We crossed and walked to Phantom Ranch, that tucked-away place where hikers turn into storytellers. We sent postcards to family and friends, the old-school kind with a stamp and a promise. We ate and rested. We tasted the most expensive lemonade. It felt like it knew exactly what day we were having.
Then we turned uphill. The sun had found us; the rock held heat and gave it back. The canyon slipped into triple digits, and the trail’s truths sharpened. Hydration became math. Elevation became a conversation with our bodies: steady, steady.By now group of 12 together was a group of 5 based on the pace. Some of our friends wanted to race to reach the top quickly. It was on their bucket list. For few of us we wanted to finish it together, irrespective of the time it would take.
The Unexpected:
Halfway up, a friend’s legs went heavy and her pace stalled. The heat was real, the climb relentless. Giving up wasn’t a choice, but neither was leaving her behind on her own. I wasn’t there to finish fast. I wanted to finish together, with everyone reaching the top safely. So I made a pact with her and changed the rhythm. twenty steps, pause. Twenty steps, breathe. Sip water. We lightened her pack and traded jokes to cut the fear. We counted wins in small numbers. One more corner. One more ledge. One more stretch of trail where the breeze felt like a blessing. Every day is unique for everyone. Some days you can conquer a mountain. Other days moving from one place to another become a task.
There was a moment—there always is—when the climb asked for more than we planned to give. That’s where the canyon teaches gently and firmly at once. Don’t argue with the sun. Respect your pace. Notice the view even when your legs complain. Teach your mind to count the next step instead of the miles left. Slowly, the rim inched closer. 3 miles more felt like a lifetime.
What we learned:
The canyon is unforgiving, and it humbled us. But it also gave us a joy that only arrives when you do something you weren’t sure you can. The joy comes when you refuse to leave anyone behind. Races ask for speed. Hikes ask for care. The win is bringing everyone home. That day reminded me that most limits live in the mind. Kindness—to yourself and your people—moves mountains one small, shared step at a time.
After all, it’s all in the mind-As the mind decides, feet follow and reveal what we can do together.
Video of our Journey:
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