Now, in my defense, I had specifically researched a hike that was not supposed to be too difficult.

I had read the descriptions. I had looked at the distance. I had checked the reviews. Everything made it sound completely manageable.

Apparently, however, my definition of “not too difficult” and Sarah’s definition were not exactly the same.

We started up the trail feeling optimistic. The scenery was beautiful, the weather was good, and I was confident that I had chosen a perfectly reasonable hike.

About ten minutes later, Sarah was ready to turn around.

Ten minutes.

We had barely gotten started.

She looked at me like I had personally designed the trail and intentionally left out the part where it went uphill.

“This is supposed to be easy?”

I immediately defended my research.

“I didn’t say easy. I said not too difficult.”

Apparently, those were two very different things.

The problem was that the trail just kept going up. Every time we rounded a corner, I expected things to level out a little.

They did not.

Instead, we would turn another corner and see more hill.

And then more hill.

And then, somehow, even more hill.

Sarah’s enthusiasm disappeared quickly. At various points she suggested that we had already seen enough, that the views from where we were standing were perfectly acceptable, and that there was absolutely no reason we needed to keep climbing simply because there was something called the Basket of Dreams at the top.

At one point, somewhere in the middle of yet another uphill stretch, Sarah turned to me and said:

“You know those people they call weekend warriors? Well, this is how they die.”

She was completely serious.

Apparently, in Sarah’s mind, we were no longer two tourists taking a scenic hike above Queenstown. We were now the opening scene of a cautionary documentary about people who overestimated their physical abilities on vacation.

Not long after that, she came up with a new plan.

She would simply stay right where she was, and I could go on without her.

“You go finish it. I’ll wait here.”

Absolutely not.

I told her she was finishing the hike with me, and if that meant we had to stop every five minutes, then we would stop every five minutes.

This was apparently not the answer she was hoping for.

So we kept going.

And stopping.

And going.

And stopping again.

And somewhere along the way, Sarah officially renamed the trail.

It was no longer the hike to the Basket of Dreams.

It was now “The Mountain of Lies.”

Every time the trail got steeper, every time I said, “We’re almost there,” and every time we rounded another corner only to discover more uphill, I would hear it again.

“The Mountain of Lies.”

Apparently, this was in reference to me telling her that I had researched an easy hike.

For the record, I still maintain that I said not too difficult.

Sarah did not appear interested in that distinction.

There were plenty of breaks along the way, and I kept assuring her that the top could not possibly be much farther.

I had absolutely no evidence to support this.

Every time I said, “We’re almost there,” we would round another corner and discover yet another uphill stretch.

Which, naturally, only gave Sarah more evidence for her case that we were indeed climbing the Mountain of Lies.

Eventually, though, after enough five-minute intervals, enough scenic breaks, one prediction of our deaths as weekend warriors, and countless references to my apparent dishonesty, we finally made it to the top.

And there it was—the Basket of Dreams sculpture overlooking Queenstown.

The views were incredible. Lake Wakatipu stretched out below us and mountains surrounded the town.

I stood there taking it all in, completely convinced that the hike had been worth it.

Sarah stood beside me looking at the view with an expression that suggested she was still deciding.

I said something along the lines of, “See? Aren’t you glad you kept going?”

Her response was not nearly as enthusiastic as mine.

But she had done it.

We took in the view, took our pictures, and enjoyed the satisfaction of reaching the top.

Of course, there was one tiny detail I had conveniently stopped thinking about while celebrating.

We still had to walk all the way back down.

So yes, the hike was technically not too difficult.

I stand by my research.

Sarah, however, still refers to it as The Mountain of Lies.