Living in Colorado comes with plenty of perks, but my favorite by far is the endless supply of mountain trails with views that stretch for days. It’s no secret that’s where most of my free time goes.

One of the state’s most notorious hikes is the Manitou Incline, a former cog railway turned vertical bucket-list adventure for masochists. Its stats are downright absurd: 2,768 steps over a single mile, climbing 2,020 feet from 6,530 to 8,550 feet. The average grade is 41–45%, with some sections topping out at a quad-burning 68%. It’s also the only place I’ve ever seen a mountain lion (thankfully while I was still in my car at the trailhead); as if the Incline needed any more reasons to be terrifying.

Despite its fearsome reputation, there was a time when I tackled the Incline weekly. But that was years ago, and it’s been at least 3 years since I’ve attempted another summit. The longer I’ve stayed away, the more my nerves have crept in. Could I still do it? Would it take me twice as long now? Each month that passed made the idea of returning feel a little steeper.

Want an Incline preview? Here’s a quick video.

With October bringing crisp mornings and late sunrises, I knew it was the perfect season to attempt the Incline again. I just needed to rip off the proverbial Band-Aid and go for it. After stalking the weather forecast for a few days, I finally found the ideal morning and pulled into the trailhead at 5:30 a.m., the world still wrapped in darkness.

The first third of the climb is almost meditative. The dark feels like my training partner, preventing me from seeing too far ahead and from worrying about how much remains. It’s just one foot in front of the other, steady breathing, and quiet focus. Around step 800, I pause and glance back. A glowing line of headlamps snakes up the staircase below me, a silent procession of early risers.

By the middle section, the real work begins. At one point the steps are so steep I’m practically climbing hand over foot, like scaling a ladder. I’m not afraid of heights, but I know better than to look down for the view right now. My heart pounds like a drum roll: steady, insistent, alive. A lithe, whippet of a man passes me with a grunted “Good job.” I grunt back, my mutual suffering unspoken, my quads screaming. I do not allow myself to think about the fact that I could be still be asleep right now instead of whatever this feeling is.

Finally, the sky blushes with pink and gold, and the last 100 steps come into view. I summon every ounce of grit I have left, pushing, pushing, pushing until I crest the top. A small crowd is there, waiting for the sunrise, offering cheers and high-fives. I’m exhilarated and beyond grateful to know I can still do this, and, because I can’t get enough of Type 2 fun, already wondering when I’ll do it again.

So if you’ve been putting of a goal that feels a little scary or intimidating, this is your sign: Do it scared. Do it anyway.