Here is the trail register at the official start of Mount Jo. It is vital to sign the book in case of an emergency. (News photo — Oliver Reil)

The end of Adirondack Loj Road is a wonderland of possibility, standing as one of the most centralized gateways into the heart of the Adirondack High Peaks. I went, however, for my second Lake Placid 9’er on Monday, Feb. 26 — Mount Jo — my first being Cobble Hill in Lake Placid.

After parking in the lots near the High Peaks Information Center, run by the Adirondack Mountain Club (ADK), I slung on my pack and shed a layer. The sun was out, and the temperature read in the mid-30s. I knew I was out of shape, so a cold start was a must.

I hiked through the woods near the parking lot toward Heart Lake. The trail brought me through the usual dark Adirondack timber, where I found junctions that led me to Mount Jo.

After signing the trail register at the start, I headed up the rocky path, microspikes strapped tight. There are two ways up Mount Jo, the junction of which I found after a short climb. The “Short Trail” was to my right, the “Long Trail” on my left. In preparation for the hike, I read that the Short Trail is far steeper than the Long Trail, with barely any reprieve from a brutal gradient. Being out of shape and mentally bogged, I opted for the Short Trail.

Waking up that morning, I felt exhausted. Things in my personal life were less than wonderful, and the woes that ailed me had been taking control over the last few weeks. The Short Trail was exactly what I needed: A challenge.

Looking up the Short Trail on Mount Jo (News photo — Oliver Reil)

Never is my mind clearer than in the grip of a physical challenge. I was a wrestler through middle and high school, wrestling all year round in school and off-season clubs. I was never a champion, never a star. What wrestling did was ground me. It’s just you on the mat with another athlete, and both of you are trying with every ounce of strength in your body to overcome the other with raw power, strategy and technical skill. It is not for the faint-hearted.

I realize now that the lessons I learned in the sport have become part of my core nature. I do a lot alone, be it living, traveling or hiking. I carry my burdens alone, and I don’t always do it well. But I know, when faced with one I feel I can no longer bear, I can turn to physicality to heal my mind.

On my way up the 700-foot gain, the trail did not disappoint. Classic in these mountains, the trail was nothing but steep inclines and boulders big and small. My breath labored as I clambered my way up, thankful there was still some wind in my sails. I stopped often. My stomach lurched angrily, as I had not fed it much over the last few days. At one point, stopping yet again for a breath, I thought back to what was the greatest challenge of my life, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually: traveling alone to Morocco.

On my last day there, I hiked into the Rif mountains. I got a late start, again with a stomach empty from several days of not eating. The sun bore down on me like a flame thrower. I hung a shirt over my head and kept going. I had 10 miles to do, where I would find a village and spend the night.

Those mountains broke me down to nothing and stripped me bare. They showed me all that I was not, despite my best efforts. It revealed to me how far I had to go in my own growth. Along my route, I stopped often to sit in the shade and weep.

Trail ladder near the summit of Mount Jo (News photo — Oliver Reil)

At the 5-mile mark, at the top of a monumental Rif valley, I looked down and saw my village 5 miles away. It was late afternoon, and I was slowing down. Almost out of water, my toenails surely on their way out in the ends of my boots, I sat on the road and thought on my options. I sat there, pondering what to do, ashamed that I was thinking about giving up. But I knew, deep down in my gut, that if I persisted something bad would happen. I waited for a truck to rumble by, and hitched a ride.

On Mount Jo, there were no roads, no trucks of Moroccan strangers to give me a lift. I had water, a snack and plenty of daylight. And this time, I wanted to struggle. I needed it.

About halfway up Jo, the trail winds into a chute of boulders along the side of a huge rock face covered in brilliantly blue ice. I continued on, laughing every time I looked up at the ever-steeper trail in front of me. I felt good. Behind me, I could start to make out through the trees several High Peaks.

Eventually, I reached a flat stretch near the summit. I got that feeling you can only get in the mountains, that mixed relief and excitement when you know how close you are to the view.

I passed another intersection of the Short and Long Trails; I intended to take the latter down. Just beneath the summit, I crept up iced-over wooden stairs. I probably looked ridiculous as I scrambled, but better safe than sorry, especially alone. Finally, I reached the summit.

On a clear day from the summit of Mount Jo, the view includes High Peaks such as Marcy, Colden, Wright and Algonquin. (News photo — Oliver Reil)

The wind was whipping at the top, but it felt good on my face. The sun was out above me; to the southwest, Wright, Algonquin and Iroquois were partially socked in. Toward Avalanche Pass, rays of light filtered through the clouds. I sat on the rock and watched the scene for about 10 minutes, grateful to have the moment to myself. At 2,876 feet, Jo may not be a high peak, but it satisfied my needs tenfold.

After going backward down those icy steps, I made my way contentedly down the Long Trail, which is really just .2 miles longer than the 1.1-mile Short Trail. This trail had a much gentler pitch, which my knees appreciated. I walked over boot and dog prints, red squirrel and fox tracks. This side of the mountain felt greener, it not being a chute of boulders. About halfway down, I came to an opening on a massive rock slab, which the trail skirted. I paused here to soak up some vitamin D and take in the view one more time before heading back down into the timber.

As I finished up, arriving once more to the forest around the parking lot, I felt rejuvenated. It took an hour and 45 minutes to undo weeks of internal struggle.

People ask me occasionally if I practice any sort of faith. I do not, I tell them. I do, however, find faith in the mountains. Not in a deity, nor in a belief. In the mountains, I find faith in myself.

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For more about ADK and the Heart Lake property, visit adk.org. For more information about the Lake Placid 9’er hiking challenge, visit lakeplacid9er.com.