Remember I said Julia was a badass?

On our recent trip to Colorado - which she'd planned - I kept asking her what we would do.

"You know, just some hiking."

So when I packed, I laid out all my stuff and showed her.

The pile included a jacket, boots, thermals, and pants, all of which were lightweight.

"OK," she said.

Upon our arrival, she declared that we needed to stop at Estes Park Mountain Shop to rent snow spikes, which are like tire chains for boots and keep you from slipping in snow and ice.

"Umm, what kind of hiking are we doing again?"

I found out the next day when we did a relatively short hike. Lots of snow and ice, but the spikes made it no problem.

"We'll need snowshoes for tomorrow, so let's stop and rent them now," she said on our way back to the Airbnb.

"Whaaaaaaat?"

"Yeah, you know, snowshoes. We're going up to Sky Pond tomorrow."

Y'all, Sky Pond sits at almost 11,000 feet.

At 11,000 feet in the Rocky Mountains, May 4th is still very much wintertime - not exactly lightweight clothing territory.

I was skeptical.

Two winters ago, fully prepared with the right gear, Julia insisted on hiring a guide for a much shorter trail just because we needed snowshoes. I didn't see the point of the guide on a popular, well-marked trail in peak season when there would be a ton of other people, but she was too anxious about it for us to go alone.

Now we're going on a longer, steeper trail - just the two of us - late in the season when we might not see anyone else?

I mean, I'm good with it, but who is this woman?

The next day, she was on me as soon as the sun was up.

"Let's go, let's go!"

It was 29 degrees when we stepped out.

At the parking lot, she packed her gear up like a boss.

And lit out.

I usually take the lead when we hike, but not that day.

We needed our spikes right off the bat.

We crossed frozen creeks.

Slipped and slid along narrow traverses.

Huffed and puffed up steep, slick inclines.

We strapped on the snowshoes at a lake called The Loch to avoid sinking into the three- and four-foot drifts.

By this point, we were off the marked trail - something that just a few years ago would have stopped Julia in her tracks - but not that day.

On the other side of the lake, we ran into a local coming back down. He confirmed what we'd read and expected: Without crampons and ice axes, we could not make it to Sky Pond.

Julia did not turn around.

In another half mile, we reached where the local's tracks stopped.

"Let's keep going," she said.

We broke new tracks through deep snow and emerged from the forest into a clearing about a half-mile from Sky Pond.

The local was right - we couldn't make it that day.

But we did make it further than anyone else.

Because my wife, Julia, is a badass.