When Lorraine and I traveled to Aruba, one of the excursions we did was mountain biking through the desert. We selected the “Easy” option. When we got there, our guide looked at us — young, slim, and thus seemingly fit — and laughingly told us he was switching us to the “Medium” option. We assured him that we were, despite any appearances, very much not in shape. He dismissed it and said we would be fine.

It was the most intense physical trial I have ever had. There is no shade in the desert (and Aruba is a beautiful desert island). We each had one bottle of water. We charged up the paths of dirt, rock, and sand and tried to navigate going down the hills quickly and yet safely as our guide flew far ahead of us, navigating the rocks and ravines in the path with ease.

I am more content to be safe and yet fall far behind. Lorraine tried (too hard) to keep up with him. Going down one hill, she picked up too much speed, hit her brakes, flew over her bike handles, and landed fully on her right shoulder. Very, very luckily, there wasn’t a cactus, a rock, or even the hard-packed dirt there. It was a patch of pristine sand. She popped up, dusty, scratched and bleeding a bit, but thankfully relatively unscathed.

Our trek continued. We had long since finished our water. We didn’t talk. We simply focused on the path head.

We approached the highest point of Aruba — a lighthouse on the coast. We peddled up the road to the top where a vendor was selling coconuts. We quickly bought one, he chopped a hole in it, we inserted a straw, and drank. To this day, it is the most satisfying drink I have ever had. The rest of the trek was relatively easy: mostly coasting down paved roads back into town. We ended back where we started: sweaty, tired, sore, but immensely happy and proud of ourselves for powering through and reaching the goal.

Lorraine and I still reference that mountain biking excursion as one of the best experiences we have ever had together.

That’s the best analogy I have for fatherhood. Hard. Epic even. But providing the most satisfying, gratifying, and memorable experiences I have ever had.

The only thing I actually really don’t like about fatherhood is that, for the first time in my life, I am more afraid of losing something than losing my own life. But that speaks volumes: I love my son more than my own life. That was incomprehensible before I became a father. It is a blessing to have such love, but it comes at the cost of never wanting to lose him.

But I’ll gladly take it, and everything else too. The smiles are worth the cries. The laughs worth the diapers. And the beauty of having him melt in my arms, lay his head on my shoulder, and fall asleep is priceless.