Usually I love a good AMR trucker on my adventures, but I deviated for Half Dome.

About a week ago, my Uncle Wally passed away. In his mid-eighties with ailing health, he was ready to go. Of course, that doesn’t hurt the sting. Wally was the oldest and last of my dad’s two brothers, and with his death also went the live reminders of how loud the McDowell boys could laugh, how they shuffled more than they walked, and how their larger-than-life presence could soothe me.

When I was packing for Yosemite to climb Half Dome, I found a hat from a family reunion a few years ago. Wally was the family historian. He could cite a great aunt twice-removed (first name/maiden name) without missing a beat, and then rattle off a story about his great grandfather with such detail, I was pretty sure he had to be making it up. (And then, ten years later, he’d tell the story again the exact same way, and I realized his nickname of Wally Wikipedia was accurate.)

The hat features our family crest: Buaidh no bas, which translates to Victory or Death. I thought the motto to be a little harsh—victory or death? only two options?—but wore it gamely during the reunion before stashing it in a closet. When I happened upon it, I decided it would be a perfect hat for the Half Dome hike, a 17-ish mile round-trip, 4,800 foot hike to the iconic orb in the middle of Yosemite. I hoped wearing it would hike would tip towards victory, but really, I thought that seeing the crest hanging out on Half Dome would give Wally a laugh in heaven.

The stones and steps on the John Muir trail are remarkable; I can’t imagine how long it took to build it.

To be clear: The J-Team—Jo and Jess, the team from St. Paul who were my adventure buddies for the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim hike—and I didn’t have Victory or Die attitude as we headed out around 4:45. We just wanted to give ourselves every advantage to have a great day. I taped my whiny knees. We overpacked our snacks. We got up before 4 am to get an early start to beat both the heat and the crowds.

We clicked on our headlights and enjoyed the cool air around and the fat moon above as we traveled quietly. Sipping regularly on our water bladders—we also each carried the recommended four liters of water per person, which is about 9 pounds of hydration—we watched the sky brighten about 2 hours later, giving us fresh perspective on the stone steps that seemed nearly endless. We passed powerful waterfalls and majestic sequoias, got sand in our shoes, and chatted with the handful of people we encountered who were also heading up.

Our overall goal, as it is every time we gather, is to be somebody on whom nothing is lost. (And also, on this particular trip, to not get sunburn, dehydrated, hurt, or weary of Uncrustables, a main source of carbs on our hike.) We traded the lead regularly, letting the front person set her desired pace. Acclimated to altitude, I felt a little antsy at times in the back, but reminded myself that we were anywhere close to a victory-or-die situation. Chill and breathe, Dimity.

Jo (in pink shorts) and Jess (right above her) descending the Half Dome cables as others are headed up.

The last 400 feet of Half Dome feature two cables to help you up the 60% slope. Like most things in life, they were less intimidating once you just got going and found your groove. Jo took the lead, and paced us beautifully, taking steady steps between the 2 x 4s, where she’d rest for a bit. Our biceps worked harder than we expected, but our calves got a nice stretch along the way. The slope at the end of the cables flattens out quite a bit, and then you’re on the top of what feels like the world. Everywhere you turn, another spectacular view is ready to be digested. I gotta say, it’s challenging to stay present when you’re surrounded full-circle all day long by beauty.

Gloves after descending. Jo and Jess gave their pairs away to two hikers who didn’t have them; they are KEY for getting up and down without ripping up your hands.

The ranger who checked our permit at the bottom of the Dome reminded us coming down is more challenging than going up. So after another Uncrustable—and roughly 1,000 pictures—we headed back to the edge and each did our own style of descending; I side stepped, allowing my hands in leather work gloves to slide along the cable like a tow rope, while the J-Team both went backwards and used their grippy gloves to stay secure on the cables. Passing people ascending required a little chatter and creative maneuvering.

Relief and elation flooded our physiology knowing we were down. Back on relatively flat rock, we were the instantly the Half Dome experts + cheerleaders for anybody who looked nervous going up. “Pace yourself. Take it slow. It’s SOOOO worth it. You don’t notice the height when you’re climbing. Do you have gloves? Good. You’ll need them!” Anything to help people get to personal victory at the top of the Dome.

Descending the 8 miles on the John Muir trail, we retraced our footsteps of the morning. Our hiking poles, clacking against the rocks, kept our joints from becoming too thrashed, and we stopped copiously for pictures, pee breaks, stripping to soak our shirts in cool river water, and pretty much anything else. About 12 hours later, we entered Curry Village for two medium pizzas, three massive beers, and plenty of reliving the day.

We spent our post-hike day hanging out at Tenaya Lake, where I (almost) perfected my aquatic handstand and joked that Simone Biles better watch out.

On our drive to the Fresno airport yesterday, Jess was scrolling the news and read us a story about Simone Biles. Obviously, only Simone Biles knows what is going through her head, but my oversimplified guess is this: She’s had enough of Victory or Die. She’s had enough of being plowed over by USA Gymnastics. (From the Washington Post: As Biles told NBC’s Hoda Kotb in a recent interview, one of the main reasons she came back for another Olympics at age 24 was to try to ensure some accountability . “If there weren’t a remaining survivor in the sport, they would’ve just brushed it to the side,” she said.)

She inherently knows she’s more than a vessel for a legendary vault; more than the scores she can contribute toward a gold medal; more than what can tangibly be judged, recorded, tallied. Her victories—again, oversimplification—are worth more than the death of her spirit and mental health.

For the rest of the drive, I had a pit in my stomach. I worried about what we, as a sports-crazed culture, did to Simone—and will do to many more young athletes to come. (And I immediately did a gut-check on my expectations for my DI athlete, on whom I *might* occasionally put too much pressure.)

While the Olympics are pure black-and-white—you stand on the podium or you don’t—there are so many more everyday situations on which we instinctively slap a Victory/Die label. As much as it pains me to admit, it was long my default mode. Is her kid faster than mine on the soccer field? Am I in the top 20% of ___________? [fill in any blank] Is my partner earning less than somebody else in the same position? Did she look cuter in that outfit than I did? Is their half marathon time faster than mine?

Living that way, as you might know, is utterly exhausting and unfulfilling. There’s always, always another victory to chase.

Thankfully, my comparison instinct is naturally eroding with time and life experience. Meanwhile, powerful, public examples like Simone Biles prioritizing her current inner state over other’s outer expectations can only help all of us realize that the Victory/Die perspective inherently swallows up anything that makes us beautifully human. In fact, it defeats us all in the end.

Post-hike sunset and smiles. And space.

Standing on Half Dome, I said a prayer for Uncle Wally, closed my eyes, and felt the wind blowing on my face. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was reminding myself there so much valuable space between Victory and Death—and spending time soaking it all up is actually the best victory one could ask for.