I went on the Inca Trail expecting to see ancient ruins and found much more in the courage and strength of a Peruvian mountain man.

They say there are no atheists in foxholes, and the same is true for those who hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. The majestic beauty of the rugged Andes Mountains, the delicate fairyland forest, the wild flowers that glow with neon-bright color and the eerie shrouds of mist that drift like ghosts of the decimated Incan empire lead one to believe a Creator must have made this masterpiece. But for me, the 25-mile walk over incredibly steep climbs and descents, all at a dizzying altitude where oxygen is in short supply, inspired prayers for deliverance as I found myself on one of the most challenging treks on the planet.

The walk to Machu Picchu, four days of hiking and three nights of camping in tents, was the first leg of my 14-day trip with ACTIVE South America, which specializes in “action-packed” multi-activity guided tours. I considered myself to have the “good level of fitness” as recommended in the trip itinerary. I go to the gym four times a week, I hike and bike on the weekend — but I soon found there’s a big difference between the kind of workout required to look good in your jeans and the strength and stamina you need to hike to this ancient sacred city.

Picture the equivalent of 5,000 lunges and squats a day, with 5 to 10 pounds of weight in a backpack, accomplished over a period of eight hours. Add to that the fact that you’re climbing up and down steep grades on uneven stone steps that range from 6 inches to 2 feet in height, often slippery from the rain, at an altitude of over 10,000 feet — and you’ll have a better idea of what “a good level of fitness” really means.

I was the oldest one in our group of six, which included Aydin, a triathlete; Kat, an experienced trekker; Melissa, a young attorney from Washington D.C.; Brandon, who recently left the Navy but still had that boot-camp level of fitness; and SingularCity member BT, who, like me, is on the north side of 40. Our guides, Leo and Yohn, were natives of Cusco and long acclimated to a part of the world where, despite being close to the equator, the temperature can sink close to freezing from the extreme altitude.

I’d already discovered that human knees come with a limited-mile warranty, so I was armed with Naproxen, a cheerful outlook and the realization that although I might not be the first to make it to the campsite each evening, I would be like the proverbial turtle and eventually arrive in Machu Picchu.

During our first two days in Cusco, some initial hikes to the Sacsayhuamán fortress and to the Inca terraces of Pisac left BT and me gasping for breath. I expressed my concerns to Yohn, our lead guide, about taking on the Inca Trail, and he assured me we would be fine.

Indeed, the first day was fine. We took a two-hour shuttle-bus ride to Piscacucho and met our porters, also known as runners. Most of these runners are local farmers who earn extra money by toting tourists’ camping gear and personal items to each campsite. Despite being short in stature, these runners have incredible strength. With their big, broad feet in sandals or sneakers, they carry up to 70 pounds of equipment on their backs, the packs often poking high above their heads, and literally run the Inca Trail. They trotted past us as we trudged along, arriving at our campsite long before we did to pitch our tents and make us a delicious, hot gourmet-style meal.

On that first day, we passed farmhouses with friendly, happy dogs, fat burros and round-cheeked children. Yohn walked with me, behind the others, and we had fascinating conversations about life as we took in one magical view after another. My impression was that Peruvians in the Andes live a simple existence in a pristine environment, locked in a timeless place where the world outside doesn’t matter.

On our first night, we slept in tents at the Wayllabamba campsite. I’m not a camper type, but this was bearable and even fun. I was grateful I hadn’t come down with diarrhea like some of the others had, since the toilets were located down a muddy path and required bracing yourself precariously over a hole in the ground.

I awoke the next morning to the sound of roosters crowing. Juan, the chef’s assistant, went from tent to tent, handing out cups of coca-leaf tea. The itinerary claimed this would be the most challenging day, with a hike to Warmiwañusqu, or “Dead Woman’s Pass,” reaching an altitude of 13,800 feet. I looked for my altitude sickness pills, and then realized I left them behind at our hotel in Cusco. I was hoping that by my fifth day in Peru, my body would have acclimated to the low level of oxygen. The others seemed to sail up the trail. BT was recovering from an upset stomach, so he stayed with me and Yohn, but after lunch, he found his strength and caught up to the others as they made their ascent to the top of the pass.

I, the turtle, plodded onward with trusty guide Yohn at my side. It had been raining intermittently during our hike, and the higher we climbed, the colder it got. Despite wearing a plastic poncho, my head was wet and water seemed to run up my forearms, leaving my sleeves soaked. Finally, I could see the others waiting at the top of the pass. Things got fuzzy as the lack of oxygen took its toll. BT said that when I reached the top, my pupils were vibrating and my eye sockets looked bruised. I remember feeling nauseous but relieved to know we would be climbing down to the campsite on what the itinerary described as “cobbled steps paved by the Incas 500 years ago.”

What I found, however, were the same kind of very steep rocks I’d been climbing up most of the day — only now it required carefully placing each foot on the next rock and taking a huge step down while trying to balance my body weight with my walking stick. The rain clouds had cleared, the downhill side of the mountain was gorgeous, but my eyes had to stay focused on where I would place my next step.

I noticed the sun was getting low on the horizon and felt a wave of fear. Yohn stayed calm as I asked him how we would find our way to the campsite in the dark. BT, who had reached the campsite, told Leo, the other guide, that I had altitude sickness. Leo ordered two runners to find us. It was almost dark when we saw them. Leo came too, holding a small canister of oxygen. I sat down on a rock and breathed in oxygen like a parched man gulps water. In a state of semi-delirium, I asked if we could sleep right there on the rocks. The runners got me to my feet and, supporting me on either side, helped me to the campsite, where I went directly into my tent and crawled into my sleeping bag, exhausted — but not before asking BT if this was some kind of game of Survivor. Would we get out alive?

During the night, both BT and I had to creep out of the tent to go to the bathroom. It was pitch black. The next morning, on top of everything else, I too had the runs. We were out in the middle of the Peruvian wilderness, and unlike in America, there were no park rangers, no rescue helicopters — the only choice was to trudge onward, and trudge onward we did. Up and up we climbed, reaching the top of a ridge only to find that the climb continued.

Yohn urged us forward. We passed ancient pre-Incan fortresses and a lake that Yohn said was haunted. We occasionally heard the sound of runners coming up behind us and moved to the side until they passed, grateful to have the excuse to stop and catch our breath. After three hours of hiking, my knees started to tremble and my dizziness worsened. Yohn told BT to push ahead to the lunch campsite. Yohn would stay with me.

We continued to make slow progress. It started to rain and the fog thickened. We crossed slippery log bridges over swelling streams, moving forward because there were no other options. I saw tents ahead and breathed a huge sigh of relief — then Yohn told me it wasn’t our campsite. Ours was still two hours ahead. At that point, I hit a wall. If our lunch campsite was still two hours ahead, how far away was the evening camp and how could I possibly make it there before nightfall?

Yohn asked the campers if I could have a bowl of their soup. I didn’t feel like eating, but I forced myself. I looked at Yohn and asked him if I was going to die. It may seem silly in retrospect, but at the time, I was without hope. I prayed that God would save me – a sincere prayer. I knew it would take a miracle to get me out of this mess. We started walking again, on through the rain, up and over the rock steps and sloshing through the mud. Yohn stopped to try his radio again, then turned to me and said that runners were coming to carry me to the campsite. Carry me? Whoa! I might’ve been on the verge of collapsing, but I didn’t want my cause of death to be embarrassment!

Within minutes they came. Two of the runners, who had already run to the lunch campsite, had run back down to rescue me. The two men were shorter than I was; I didn’t see how they could carry a 125-pound woman up the rocky hill. They slung a big scarf around my behind, and one carried me piggyback for as far as he could — then traded positions with the other runner so he could rest. After a few relays, a tall young man appeared on the path. He was dressed in a nice rain jacket and wore a San Francisco Giants baseball cap. I assumed he was a hiker or some kind of forest ranger. Words were exchanged in Spanish, and he took off his coat.

“He’s going to carry you,” Yohn told me.

“Who is he?” I asked, wondering how this man materialized out of nowhere.

“His name is Ruben. He’s one of our guys.”

Ruben — who, besides being a runner, was in training to be a camp chef — took me up on his back, showed me how to wrap my arms around his neck then off he went, literally running up the incredibly steep hill with me hanging on for dear life. It wasn’t easy for him. Sweat was pouring off his body. I feared I would break him or damage him permanently, but he kept telling me, “No preoccupi, no preoccupi” (Don’t worry, don’t worry). I expected him to trade me off with the other runners, but he just kept going and going, leaping up the huge steps and down the steep descents, barely touching the earth as he glided forward from one rock to the next.

If Ruben had slipped, we would have tumbled over the cliff to our deaths or cracked our heads open on the rocks, but he seemed to fly on wings as he carried me to safety. When I prayed for a miracle earlier that day, I couldn’t imagine how one could really happen — but here it was.

We passed by hikers who stared in amazement as we seemed to float by. At times, I couldn’t look because the path ahead was almost a vertical descent of slippery rock, but Ruben never missed a beat. Every so often, I felt the impact on his knees vibrate all the way to the top of my head, but he kept flying forward with me tightly wrapped around him, feeling his breath, feeling his heartbeat, feeling like we were one.

He delivered me to the door of my tent, hours before the others arrived. I thanked him profusely and sank into my tent, astounded by the miracle I had just experienced. Ruben took off his angel wings and resumed his job with the fellow runners, preparing the tents and helping to make dinner. The next day, we said farewell to our runners. We would take a 3-mile walk to Machu Picchu from the Wiñay Wayna campsite. The runners would take a shortcut down to the train station in Aguas Calientes. When I thanked Ruben in front of the others, telling him he appeared like an angel from heaven to help me, I started to cry (not a frequent occurrence).

I told Ruben and the others, with Yohn translating, how I would come back to the United States and tell people about the amazing strength and courage of the men from the Andes they call the “runners.” I came expecting to see the beauty of the Andes and the ancient Incan ruins — I found that, but I also found a miracle in the strength and courage of a Peruvian mountain man.

NEXT WEEK:  Our next destination is the Tambopata Game Reserve deep in the Amazon where we stay at a beautiful eco-lodge deep in the Peruvian jungle.

Getting There: LAN is one of the largest airlines in Latin America with non-stop flights from LAX to Lima. Excellent food and excellent service. Network of domestic flights to Cusco and other Peruvian cities. Perks include early checking of luggage. Voted 3rd best airline in the world, and first airline in South America. Experience a level of service that is rare in U.S.-owned airlines.

Ready to Experience Your Own Peruvian Adventure? ACTIVE SOUTH AMERICA offers guided adventure tours including hiking, biking and kayaking around Costa Rica, Peru, the Galapagos Islands, Ecuador and Patagonia. Their South America trips offer a blend of physical activities, friendly guides and legendary service in some of the most awe inspiring South American destinations. If you want to experience the REAL South America, choose ACTIVE. Call 1-800-661-9073 for more information.