My fear of contentment.

I've set a new goal for myself. It's a physical goal, I guess it qualifies as a mid-term goal, and there will be many mini goals to accomplish along the way. I'm training to run my third half marathon. The first time I was happy to finish, the second I was happy to finish without feeling like I might die. This time, for the first time ever, I've set a time goal to achieve. I'd like to run this half marathon in under 2 hours. By the math, that averages just over a 9 minute mile, which is not fast by many standards. Before I set into a full training schedule I went out to see how long I could sustain this pace. I ran 3 miles. And it was hard. And it was one of the best runs I've had in a long time.

The realization I made as I ran was unsettling. I was heaving for breath, my hips were tight and strained with each step, my calves burned, and my smile was huge. I was so uncomfortable. But I was comfortable with the sensation of struggle. The blood pounding in my head with dizziness created a euphoria I'd forgotten I longed for. I had a moment of pure understanding where I knew what has been missing from my life in the past months. I haven't been fighting for anything. I've been content. I've become static. My everyday is white noise.

I have been accused with the fear of commitment so many times, and I disagree every time. I disagree because, beyond a healthy respect, I'm not afraid to commit myself. I commit to lofty goals as regularly as I can conceive them. I've committed to walking 2,000 miles, and then 500 more. To running 26 miles and now running 13, again. To the days and hours it takes to reach these goals. I've committed to doing away with economical transportation in exchange for a years long project to see through my dreams of travel and minimal living. And most difficult of all I commit to my relationships; to being a daughter, and sister, and aunt; to being a friend. I have no fear in throwing myself full force into anything.

What I am afraid of is being comfortable. When I wake up uninspired, I am afraid. When my day ends and I feel like a breeze blew me through, I'm terrified. When there's no challenge to my walk through life, that's where contentment comes from. I've been fooled by the passivity of a contented life before. I've let the ease pretend to be peace, and make me forget what passion is. And what I forgot is that there is no happiness in contentment; I will never be inspired by living as a ghost.

I developed a mantra during my first long distance hike. When I spent day after day soaked, if not by rain then by sweat. When I force fed myself oatmeal every morning because, it's what I had and I couldn't climb a mountain on an empty stomach. When I barely squeezed 4 hours of sleep out of a tent that was too wet, or too cold, or too slanted. "Get comfortable with being uncomfortable." I chanted. I counted steps by these words. I drowned out hunger and pain and fear with this thought. Discomfort is a way of life, one that does not equal misery, but self-satisfaction. When every step is a struggle, the summit is that much sweeter.

As a reminder to myself why I refuse to accept a contented life, I've reflected on the moments of struggle that have kept me living:

Half way point from my first AT hike.

Hiking into CT after finishing the AT, but I couldn't stop hiking!

My first time rock climbing in CO.

My first 14er summit!

My first mountaineering trip!

The day I bought Rus.

My first trip to Zion! When I fell in love with the dessert.

Fantastic Four at the Grand Canyon!

The first day of my first official thru-hike.

My first marathon.

20 Hours in Belize

I admit, I'm a little smug about telling people I took a "day trip" to another country. Most of the responses I get are of disbelief and the vibe is that most people think it's as cool as I do. But, I have been met with comments along the lines of "why?" and "what's the point?"

I get it. How much of another country's culture can I soak in during a few hours? Not much. It's a little taste, just a sip. And when the opportunity comes to immerse myself in the day to day lives of people and a lifestyle I don't know, I will most certainly take it! But here's the point. I've worked really hard to create a freedom in my life that allows me to visit Belize for 20 hours. I've rearranged my career, relationships, and financial security in exchange for the opportunity to say I stood on the coast of another country just to watch sunrise. And like the Belize currency exchange, 50 cents on the dollar is a hard bargain. Sometimes 20 hours just isn't enough. But for every bit of effort I've put into living my life this way, I am doubly blessed with loving support and luck that allows this lifestyle. And because of that I refuse not to take advantage of every chance offered to me to travel and discover this adventurous life.

In the day I was offered to explore Belize we sat by a light house at sunset and watched local children play in the park as their family prepared a picnic feast. We walked by the open doors of churches and were reminded that Sundays are meant for rest and replenishment. Consequently, this also meant only one restaurant was open for dinner; a menu of burgers and beers. The overly polite and timid waitress shed her barely audible voice as she served the locals next to us, but kept a bowed head at our table.

At dark Christmas lights came on, and music and laughter floated from front porches and backyards, fenced in with scraps of metal and wire. Our guest house proprietor apologized for leaving us to wait at the door step, her young employing was late... island time. I thought she had overcharged us for our room until I realized the receipt was written using Belize Dollars. 8 o'clock found us in bed, and 6 AM had us walking down a quiet street to watch sunrise.

 

The world lightened, a man on a bike stopped near us and began tossing a hand line into the ocean, breakfast I imagine. Several couples jogged around an open air market and amphitheater. Eduardo greeted us "Hello, single ladies" just as he had the evening before. "Jerry Louis" called out to us by name reminding us that we had a cab ride arranged and he wouldn't be late. Breakfast was light, but oh man, the coffee was good! The light house was our backrest and the waves eased us into what was about to become the Monday morning hustle.

We dipped in and out of shops, jumping through honking vehicles to cross streets. Uniformed school girls waved and giggled and a slew of homeless men lay on sidewalks. We were given directions based on corners and bridges, the street names on our maps never showed up on signs. The swinging bridge opened to tidy rows of ocean weathered sail boats, and a bay side shop toting the sign "Drums not Guns". A girl at the fruit stand urged us to try several tart fruits I couldn't pronounce and then added a generous scoop of spices and salt to the bag we purchases.

We left Belize the way we came, walking passed the calls of propositions for a "Taxi?" "No? Helicopter?" Most people smiled, many said hello. The cab bumped down noisy roads of construction. Pickups full of fresh coconuts stood by, an aardvark ran through the brush in the corner of my eye. And all of a sudden we were back in an airport, buying stickers that said "Better Belize It" because, part of me, no, could not believe it.

Reflections into December

Stagnant.
The word itself gags me, sticking in my throat like it's mere utterance brings the sounds to life. It's where I am right now. It's a single word wholly encompassing how I'm slugging through my days. Standing still.
Stuck.
Not moving.
Here.
Here, but not present. It's where my mind is, and my body knows it. I feel as if I have no forward movement. I'm not letting go of the past, I'm not keeping my thoughts in these moments. I'm stuck, and true to every piece of life there is a reflection of this mind-set and it's showing itself as disease in my body.
Stagnant.
It's a foul-smelling, decaying sludge of the mind and it's oozing into my blood and body. I can feel it; I can see it, sometimes I even imagine I can smell it. And I'm letting it take over with it's spirit of excess. It's habits of indulgence; too much eating, too much drinking, too much idleness. It's a congestion of sadness and anger that needs swept from my mind and pushed through my veins. It's a bulge that has swelled to the point of demanding to be noticed. Denial, my greatest superpower and biggest weakness has failed.

And I combat it by forcing my body to move more often. By sleeping away from home, by pretending to have moved on. Things that I want, but only think I need. Those are the greatest forms of deceit I know, and they won't heal.

Healing will come from accepting this as my place right now. It will come from deep breaths and gentle reminders. It will come from acceptance without judgement; from tears and smiles. From the knowledge that the fluidity of mind will encourage the fluidity of body and neither will come without the unquestioning surrender to this path. From thankfulness, regardless of circumstance.

So today, with prayers, I accept that this is where I am. That, though I am not currently on a nomadic path, my mind is open to adventures of a new kind. That life has so much to offer me right here as long as my heart remains open to the journey. Trusting that as my mind heals, and I care for myself, so will my body.

As we enter a new month, one that promises to hold many changes of season, I look forward to the future with excitement, but without planning. By setting intentions and mantras to reflect on, I'll turn to these words and mindsets as I struggle with grace and peace:

I believe in myself.
I accept myself, unconditionally, right now.
I trust in this path before me.
I am proud of my capable body.
I am grateful to be here.

I craved a breath.
And the air, deliciously dank,
     called with the sound of leaves.
I drank it in long gulps.
And satiated my lungs.
I walked through sticky heaviness,
and accepted the weight.

The Sun and Breeze struck a deal
     of equal parts shine and polish.

I tingled with warm damp skin-feeling,
and let staleness pull from my pores.
I sank toes into the deep cool earth,
and left that memory
     to fade as the next step pressed in.
I opened arms, eyes, lips.
And exhaled light-ness.

My First Marathon

In recent weeks my Bible and devotional have been permanently residing in my bed. So when the 💪🏃🙌 emoji's of my alarm flashed at me at 5 am Sunday, I had the pages open before my eyes cleared and adjusted against the 60 watts glaring bedside. I don't always roll into my devotional first thing in the morning, but this morning I was scared. The night before had passed in hours of prayers asking for encouragement and peace. My verse that morning: Hebrews 12:1 "... let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." Shut up. Yes, sometimes I speak to God this way, I'm working on it. But the tears and thanks that followed filled my soul against what I knew would be a very taxing day.
 
I choose solitary activities. I take myself away to suffer through the most unreasonable tasks. I pack my bag and I walk for months, holding everyone at arms length when I need their support and encouragement the most. The goals I set for myself are seemingly impossible and I stubbornly take them on, refusing to accept help. As I was running this weekend the reality of my ventures set in; the success of everything I've done has come from who was willing to tag in when I needed to check out. Through all this selfishness my people emerge unfazed by my shoves to the sidelines, so many more people than I imagined are hanging out in my corner.

It was two weeks until my race before I mentioned to anyone that I planned to run 26.2 miles for the first time in my life. Once the words were out, it was like I had yelled for a rally. There were no questions, there were no expectations put on me to ask for help, the sheer number of people who did not hesitate to simply show up was overwhelming. I had running partners and cheerleaders and prayers and they all rained down on me despite my sealed lips and quiet preparations.

 I'm not sure there's a way to describe endurance sports without sugar coating the pain. It hurts. My legs hurt, my feet hurt, my hips hurt. I cramped, I spasm-ed. My head ached and I felt a bit spinny. I battled the physical pain, but the battle I was most fearful of never came. I was prepared to fight off negative thoughts and moments of discouragement. I never had to. I spent nearly 6 hours in motion and for the entire duration I was flooded with encouragement. I had smiling faces waiting for me every several miles. I was running lonely miles, but I was not alone for a single step.

The following words and hugs came from people who have walked with me 100 miles, 500 miles, and more. They've run with me for a mile or ten. They've cried with me, they've held my hand, and they've offered to take the pain from my heart and put it on their own when I couldn't hurt anymore. And these are the people who celebrated with me and for me. These are the people I've been blessed with for no other reason except that the Lord knows I need them.

 "You can do this. It's not like you're going to die. Worst case you walk a lot and you're really sore Monday. Nothing you can't handle"

My Colorado Trail - Part 3

Day 29 - "I'm happy to be doing my favorite thing with great people. One more night in my tent and waking up with the sun."

On day 28 we hiked 28.5 miles, 22 of those miles were waterless. The night before we sat around a campfire and talked strategy - where was the last water source, how many liters should we carry, where should we aim to camp, how early should we start hiking? I watched the flames and scootched as close as I could for warmth, the air got cold as soon as the sun set and I was grateful for my sleeping bag already spread in my tent, waiting. I made myself stop eating cookies so I would have some left tomorrow after our long day.

The first six miles of that long hike took us past several abundant streams, making it hard to believe we wouldn't be seeing more for so long. I took advantage of the water, drinking three liters before 10 am. And then, I stopped to pee every half hour; once looking up to see a marmot couple watching from a ridge above. We crossed the first mountain pass of the day at 11,000 feet, the exposed area allowed us to soak in some morning sun before descending back into the trees and to our last water source. I forced another liter into my body, cameling-up for the dry stretch. My belly felt like a water balloon and the three liters I carried added 6 lbs to my pack, I wanted to ignore the number of miles ahead but started the walk anyway.

The trail that day weaved us in and out of trees, mostly traversing the sides of mountains but still offered views of ridges we'd walked in the last days, now blue and misty from the smoke of distant wild fires. Our views expanded to dark clouds, rain smearing out of them. Thunder does a wonderful thing in the mountain amphitheater, echoing between peaks. 14 miles into our "dry" stretch the rain found us. We dodged drops to roll various foods into tortillas for lunch, but spent most of the afternoon wet, moving just to stay warm. Evidence of bear became abundant, their musty stench mixing with the earthy smell of sloppy, slippery red clay. I watched footprints of those who trekked on ahead, man and animal.

The rain turned colder as we climbed to higher elevations and soon piles of pea-sized hail covered the trail. Tree line was approaching, I wouldn't miss the cold, wet branches brushing against my already clingy wet clothes, but being exposed in this weather didn't seem inviting. As I passed the last scrubby trees the rain stopped falling, but the trail turned to inches of slush. My feet numbed, not helping much in my stumbling steps to keep balanced as I slipped uphill in the snow.  I smelled the fire, but almost slid my way right by, too absorbed in my freezing, miserable battle to hear friends call out to me. We warmed for a moment, joking with the strangers who had invited us to share their primitive warmth. The sun was getting lower, but we were more encouraged by the clearing of clouds than the diminishing of time and so we hiked on.

Three short ascents stood between us and Taylor Lake. Water, camp, rest. The long miles, dreary weather, and extra pack weight cemented my legs. The climbs before me would have been trivial on another day, but today I couldn't keep up. As we peaked the third and final climb I was the last to see the hazy sky reflecting the low sun's red and orange stains as it fell onto the piercing mountain tops beyond our summit.

On day 29 I went to sleep with these memories knowing the next day would bring the end of this journey and usher me to the next adventure already calling.

My Colorado Trail - Part 2

Day 24 - "If what I saw today can exist on Earth, then I can't wait to get to Heaven to see what He has created there."

Part of what I gain in hiking is seeing great beauty, but mostly it's about feeling that beauty in my heart. There's an explicit selfishness in what I do. Leaving family and friends to pursue a journey that is purely self-fulfilling means leaving love behind. And I know that there will always be a missing link in understanding why my heart is split and called away.

The "why" is broad, but if it can be narrowed down, it's about simplicity. The simplicity of traveling solely by the means of my body. There is a happiness in movement that is more satisfying than anything else I've found. To go to sleep every night feeling that my body was designed so specifically for this use makes my heart explode in gratitude. I am capable not only physically, but opportunistically, I have been blessed with time and ability and that is when happiness become simple.

The concept of need is so overwhelming to me, so much so that it can blur my understanding of happiness. When all of my needs are met from the pack on my back, I realize what my true needs are, and they are satisfied wholly with what is surrounding me every day. Less clutter, less mess, less distraction. And when I have less, I appreciate it so much more. Out on the trail there is no constant stimulus, there is no noise, there is nothing unnecessary. Most everything is limited, and so the abundance of time becomes immeasurably meaningful. Suddenly I'm simply happy to have something, where I would otherwise see nothing.

There's a very big non-truth that somehow inches its way into my life in the "real world". I start feeling like I'm being told that I am not strong, and that I will give up, and that it's OK. I accepted this faux reality for a long time before I decided that giving up is not OK. There are days when my pack seems to weigh double, and the water sources are too few, and my food supplies are nearing empty along with my energy levels. And then every climb I thought was the last peak exposes the next even steeper climb ahead. And there is no other option but to keep moving forward. There is no quitting. Those days I spend hours listening to my body scream profanities and my mind degrade my ability. Those are the days I set up camp stronger than I was when I packed up that same morning. After those days I forget the pain and the tears that tried to stop me and all I take with me is the resilience that kept me walking. And the end of those days are the happiest. Those are the days I remember that all I had to do was simply walk.

We live in a world that is over complicated. Everyday has a time limit and we accept those boundaries without question. And we watch everyday as those walls squeeze us in to the point where we believe we can't break out. Limitless happiness is thrown at us every day just in the opportunity to be alive and we are hard-wired to chase it, but we don't. We fight against our most natural impulses. For some reason we choose against what we want most over and over again. It's complicated and scary, but when it comes down to it, happiness is a choice and I choose to simply be happy. So I hike.