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.

My Colorado Trail - Part 1

Day 1 - "I feel like I've been closed off to letting myself mentally prepare for this trail."

This is recorded on the first page of my trail journal, and with this thought in my head I took the first steps of a 500 mile walk. Before leaving for the Colorado Trail I had no idea if I was actually going to take my hike. I had so much calling me to stay home that every day I considered just not going, even fantasized about being home that month instead of in the mountains. If you are a long distance hiker, or know of any, almost all will say that this is a terrible mind set if you have a goal to complete a trail.

I'm either too much of a chicken to have chickened out, or there is a very large drive inside me to chase the miles. On August 12th, my hiking soul-mate, Hiccup, and I walked the first 16 miles on the CT through Waterton Canyon. And it kinda sucked. Probably the most gentle trail we would encounter over the next 30 days and by our first break my hips were tightening, my arches burned through my feet, and the bones on my hips and shoulders were bruised from being squeezed by my pack straps, and we still had ten miles to hike before camp.

If you need time to think, walking eight hours a day is a good opportunity to do it. In those hours I realized that over the last months I had prepped resupplies, tested new gear, and gathered everything I would need with such a lack-luster that it was almost mechanical. Then I realized why. I had completely shut myself down from any excitement, because I was so torn on the decision to even come. That cap on my emotions transferred to the life and home I was so hesitant to leave. I had let myself miss feeling so many positive emotions of excitement, anxiety, adventure, and love, because I didn't know if I could split myself between here and there without also feeling nervousness, uncertainty, loss, and selfishness. I missed the good because I was afraid of the bad, and I didn't want to do the same during my time adventuring, even if my heart was more there than here this time.

All of a sudden I had a mission to prove that I COULD finish a thru hike, even if it wasn't the most important part of my life anymore.


Day 5 - "I am constantly reminded what a cleanse hiking is for me, sometimes not the easiest part of being out here."

The first time we climbed over 10,000 feet it was a tall, steep climb. We moved slowly, stopped often, and sucked a lot of air. Everyone says that eating well and drinking a ton of water will help while acclimating to the high elevations. Gatorade and Jolly Ranchers are life savers! But nothing changes the fact that there is less oxygen up there. When you employ the organs of respiration, especially strenuously and in high volume, you activate one of the body's powerful methods of detoxing. There is even belief that these same organs facilitate the emotional action of "letting go". Interesting things happen when you take a walk, your lungs get stronger and you breathe heavier, taking in more air and releasing more air. Your skin opens and also releases sweat and oils to balance your body temperature, which has kicked up with and increase in metabolism. Your whole body is focused on moving and so your mind begins to move on.

Sometimes the only way to move on is to step back to the build up of the past and release it one thing at a time. This hiking side-effect isn't always enjoyable, but one thing the trail more than accommodates for is the opportunity to dig deep and quietly experience your thoughts. This day I walked in a cloud of negative emotion and even though there were tears and screams one by one I sorted through what I needed let go and release what I didn't know was even still residing. With these steps I finally started to adjust to the weight I was carrying.


Day 10 - "Today I'm really missing home, and it got into my head enough to bring down my whole day."

Our bodies were tired and we were craving breakfast from a grill, not a shaker cup. And hot coffee, not instant mixed with cold water. So sometimes you walk 20 miles to camp close to a road to get a hitch early enough for breakfast in town. And after breakfast you stop at the hostel "just to see" if they have a bunk for tonight. And then you take four hitches to get to and from the trail and slack pack so you can get back to town in time for BBQ and beers. And a dry, warm bed to sleep in. And when you wake up in the morning you seriously consider going home.

Despite our "restful" day hike we woke up unmotivated. Chores and breakfast came and went and our mood changed from unmotivated to miserable. Hiccup received bad news and I had touched base back home and instead of feeling satisfied I was the most lonely and homesick I'd been. I'm still learning the meaning of "hike it out", I used to think it was the urge to cover emotional hurts with physical ones, or even just the distraction of movement, but I think now I'm getting closer to grasping that phrase.

We didn't so much hike this day as we shuffled along the trail. We spent hours sprawled on rocks and logs instead of hiking. Every short climb felt like miles, rocks jumped beneath our feet and roots reached out to grab and trip us. As we approached camp dark clouds rolled between mountain peaks and dropped cold rain.

Our whole day had been spent in the trees, the elevation wasn't high enough to reward our climbs with a vista. There was finally a very short stretch atop a ridge were the rain turned to mist and the trees had fallen away. We looked out across a range of mountains blued by the mist framed in rainbow stacked upon rainbow.

A mile later I soaked half my leg by stepping into an ice cold creek and walked the rest of the day with a soaked foot. I just "hiked it out".