True Challenges; a lesson from the mountain

I went on a very strenuous and rewarding 9 mile hike today. It was an intense uphill climb, followed by an obstacle course-like rock scramble across the top of the ridge, and finally a long, winding down slope.

I went with Boy, who is considerably more physically fit than I. Now, I can bend myself into a yogic pretzel with much more ease than he, but I have to admit that he is just plain stronger and faster. Knowing this before going in, my competitive gene reared its ugly head, and I was determined to keep up with him all the way up the hill. I huffed and I puffed and I prayed to the gods of the quadriceps, and I dragged myself up that damn mountain. Of course he would have stopped any time I asked, but I wouldn't admit that I needed a break until he did.

When we got to the top, there was at least a half mile of pure rock scramble. We had to hop from boulder to boulder over deep crevices, shimmy between tight passages, and even lie on our stomachs in some places just to pull ourselves up some of those large rock faces. By that point, I was really getting into it. I was no longer being driven by competition, but by pure, endorphin-boosting, adrenaline-racing, blood-flowing energy. I loved each new rock and the challenges that it presented. I placed my foot and pushed with all my might to hurl myself over difficult peaks. I took running jumps over gorges, and all this at over 4000 feet! I kept in front of Boy the whole time, so I could set the pace, giving in to my characteristic need for control. Well, also so he could watch me maneuver between the rocks and say impressed things, which I would casually brush off as though I didn't care. "What - that little boulder?" ;)

When we finally, finally reached the highest peak, I took a huge dose of mountain air in through my lungs as I lifted my arms to the universe. It was incredible. I was so proud of myself. Then, we were ready to descend down the other side. Phew, I thought, I'm ready for the easy part.

Silly me.

Shortly into the downhill climb, my body starting communicating with me for the first time that day. "Melanie," it said, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, body," I replied, "I'm just going to scurry down this little mountain now. Don't worry. Thanks for sticking with me as I pushed up, but this will be easy. Just hang in there."

Just to be clear about its disagreement with this sentiment, my body continued to send me jabs of pain in my ankles, then my knees, then my hips, then - well, everywhere else. I couldn't believe how much more difficult it was to go down than up. I said aloud, "Wow, restraint is so much more of a challenge." And it hit me. How true.

The "doing" energy in life has always been easy for me. I welcome the physical challenge of pushing up against a rock to climb over it. I feel at home on the stage, and can speak or sing in front of hundreds of people with casual confidence. I love change, I invite drama, and I take secret pleasure in most conflicts and debates. To this, people look and say, "Wow, she's so brave! She's strong and confident and articulate" and blah blah blah. I allow myself to hear this and I allow it to get me off the hook for actually pushing myself in life, which really has nothing to do with any of these things. Just because I stand up on stage doesn't mean that I'm brave, it just means it's easy for me. Now, holding my tongue at times or allowing someone else to have time on stage - those are challenges I could stand to overcome.

It's easy for me to think I'm doing something great when I forge ahead with full speed and power up a steep mountain. That sort of task takes kinetic, moving, forceful energy, which I seem to have in abundance (often to my own demise). But coming down the mountain is something different entirely. You have to look very carefully where you place your foot, because your ankles are in a very precarious state of tilt, and could turn over at any moment. You have to hold yourself back at every step, or you will just slide and tumble down the dry leaves, hitting unforgiving stones along the way. Hiking down a mountain requires patience, modesty, and humility.

I finally did get back down that mountain, and it taught me a lesson or two along the way. So I did what any healthy, fit, energized hiker would do after a refreshing climb - I had a double bacon cheeseburger and a cigarette. Hey, no one said anything about giving up vices as part of the challenge!