Confronting my fear(S)

Hog Back Ridge. The trailhead begins 3 blocks from my house, traces the edge of the open space for a bit, and then turns up, quickly Y-ing into a loop along the eastern slope, and then the top, of the foothills. Both sides climb, one more gradually than the other, but both in full sun. After trying repeatedly this summer, turned back by my own weak legs, my lungs inadequate to the 5300', and the intolerable heat, I conquered the hill early on a cloudy morning.
Today I did it again--same conditions but for the heat. Aided by the cool Fall air, I managed my climb-generated heat by stopping to catch the cool breeze frequently as my pounding heart calmed.
These were my fears: rattlesnakes, mountain lines, coyotes. Once we moved into the neighborhood, I began to read about the trail: http://www.protrails.com/trail.php?trailID=154
Catch the bit about the rattlesnakes lounging about on the top? So, I keep my eyes on the path and rocks ahead, noisily planting my hiking poles with every step, wondering about the survival rate of snakebites.
Except when I'm looking over my shoulder for the mountain lion that might be bearing down on me. With every gurgle of my water bottles, with every swish of my thighs, I'm sure something is coming from behind. Mike has seen cougar scat on the trail, and signs announce their possibility, and I recall all too clearly the reports of joggers attacked from behind. So what if no one in Boulder has seen one here? There are abundant rock ledges and, near the top, brush and trees where one, no doubt, languorously waits.
Then the coyotes: Mike tells me about a team of coyotes who closed in on a woman hiker, nipping at her jeans, until her dog came charging back along the trail to scatter them. But not here. I peer at the tall grasses and the bushes, looking for them. No dogs allowed on this trail.
I overthink. I worry worry worry with every step, wondering if the steps in fear are worth whatever the reward will be. But they are. Once the crest is breached, the slope turns down, and my heart lightens. Not with the joy the view might instill, but with the satisfaction of hitting my stride, overcoming a struggle, both physical and within my very core.

Bliss

As I drove through a meadow, gold and red with late season grasses, sun shining with mountain intensity, sky a stunning Colorado blue, U2 on the radio, windows down to invite caressing breezes in, beginning the ascent to the treeline and the tundra beyond, with Bill by my side--breath held--I felt bliss. Much rarer than happiness or even joy, my bliss transcends. Time stopped that moment, held us gently, before a soft exhale.

Lucy's chutney

Lucy lived to be nearly 100. She was a woman of intense reserved passion--for her long-departed husband, art, the Adirondacks, Shakespeare's sonnets, learning, work (she retired at 82). Brightly intelligent, she had a photographic memory, and I learned early in our relationship that it was futile to argue history, or dates, or events--I was always wrong. In her 90's, her memory evaporated along with her mobility, and it must have been a very lonely existence for her.
I like to remember her making this chutney, stretching her full 4'10" to see over the lip of the large pot she used in order to check on its progress. This is the recipe she used the day I documented it; I'm sure there were variations over time. It tastes delicious, complex, great on sandwiches and everything else.

6-8 pounds of hard green pears, peeled and diced
1 quart of cider vinegar (add 1/2 quart more as it cooks down)
2 pounds of brown sugar
1 pound of white raisins
1 T mustard seeds
1 tsp salt
1 head garlic, chopped fine
6-8 chili peppers
ginger (candied, dried, or fresh)

Throw together and cook forever, stirring frequently, until it's a thick rich brown.