Mount Shasta: Healing in Creation

Mount Shasta from Bunny Flats TH, 14,179ft

As I've gotten sucked further into the world of mountains, I find I'm (often!) asking myself: Why? Why are you doing this? Why not turn around? Why try to go higher? Why do you keep coming up with new ways to torture yourself? Don't you find this crazy, and a ton of work, and time consuming, and... well, crazy??? Most climbers would probably just pull a George Mallory and say "Because it's there!" Or another classic go-to: to see if I can! To see what my body is capable of! But as a massive over-thinker, a superficial answer would never suffice for me. And getting the opportunity to spend more time with people that also have a love of mountains, I've noticed a real pattern that causes me to think that those quick and superficial answers are actually indicative of the real reason they are out there, whether they fully understand that reason or not.

Setting out! The plan was to climb 7,300ft in ~5.5 miles over 3 days

The first person I was really exposed to that did "crazy" stuff would have to be my ex who rode bikes competitively. I wanted to understand the why... why the time, the effort, the dedication, the pain and agony... But try as he may to explain, and try as I might to understand, I didn't get it. Pieces of it, sure—clearing your head, being in nature and feeling closer to God, wanting to live a healthy life. I had found those bits true for myself in hiking and riding so I could rationalize those aspects, but I knew they weren't enough to fuel that degree of commitment, or drive, or obsession. It seemed like something was missing from the explanations, even the ones written by other athletes and sent to me to try and help me "understand". It all seemed like a carefully constructed web of justifications, but hollow on the inside. Somehow not getting to the heart, or the real reason. Maybe it was just me, maybe there was nothing missing in his explanation, or that I just wasn't in a place yet to understand, maybe God was just leading and preparing my heart for where I needed to go... But I've noticed that this feeling of a seemingly hollow web of justifications and superficial reasoning tends to be a trend for a ton of people doing "crazy" stuff and pushing beyond the bounds of involvement normal people would enjoy. Of course, over-thinker that I am, when presented with something I don't understand, it became a reoccurring question in my head, annoying me in my inability to find an answer—even long after I felt it had any applicability to my life. It wasn't something I had ever thought about previously, but as I became more and more exposed to people living lives of pushing their bodies to do insane and incredible things (living in the "crazy"), it really caused me to want to dig deeper, to finally understand... To put that question to rest once and for all. I just never thought I would finally understand because I had somehow became someone doing some of those crazy things. And that's still hard to process at times, but I'm working on it.

Horse Camp! We stayed here our first night, it was incredible!

I had been following a friend's journey of using trail running to heal her body, and to make up for the lost time her health issues had cost her. There was so much about her story I could relate to. I understand feeling like you wasted time in your life and want to make up for it, oh how I get that feeling. And sometimes I think I overwhelm myself trying to do just that; but using the outdoors, using the "crazy" to heal? Yes, this was making so much sense to me as I was journeying in the healing myself, and starting to recognize the prevalence of the hurting in others. I had started to recognize the quickness to give the easy and superficial answers to the "why" as an indicator to the hurt laying under the surface, it is often a deflection, a denial that there is more to it. There are wonderful articles about others using running/trail running/cycling/hiking/mountaineering/what have you to help heal their minds and bodies, and I can totally get behind that logic having experienced it myself, and as much as it seemed like the pieces were starting to fall into place for me to understand all this crazy, something still didn't quite add up for me...

Peter and Chatchay working their way up the Climber's Causeway

It really wasn't until this weekend that I think I finally got it. Not the superficial explanations of why people do this stuff, but the deeper truth... I've met a lot of people now that live in the crazy. All these sports, but especially mountains it seems, have an uncanny ability to absolutely strip away all barriers and conceptions of what is normal or decent or proper... They leave you vulnerable and incredibly authentic. And the result is that you get to see a lot more about people in very short periods of time than regular life affords. And most have some degree of hurting. Sure, some might be completely well adjusted and just truly enjoy pushing themselves to the point of agony instead of kicking back and watching tv or something, it's possible. But I think those are by far-and-away the minority. Some might carry it better than others, or hide it better, think they are cured of the hurts, or simply in denial that they exist. But most, whether they recognize it or not, are running from that hurt or seeking the healing help that nature has to offer. They might say they are only out there to see what their bodies are capable of or to climb a mountain because it's there, or any number of superficial reasons just as a defensive mechanism to protect themselves from the truth of the hurt lurking in their hearts and minds. Or maybe they are like I was for so long and are in absolute denial that their hurt runs so deep but have intuitively found that they can use nature and their sport as a coping mechanism, or a tool to process, or a distraction so they can avoid the hurt entirely. I've been guilty of it all, but in this journey of healing, I didn't just want a "treatment" for these problems and hurts that had been brought to the surface. I didn't just want something that helped me get through a day or week, but left me needing another patch job after that. I didn't want another crutch in my life, something that my mind would become fixated on to keep me feeling okay and in control of my problems. I didn't want to become one of these people that need a sport in their life so desperately to keep themselves going. No, I wanted a cure. I was done wasting time with the nonsense of these hurts, and wanted to beat it once and for all.

The Causeway had big stones all along it to walk on--so neat!

And there in lies the beauty for me... Reading through what I wrote in my prayer journal during my trip to Mount Shasta, I found this: "I was talking with the others about [...] why I come do these things, and it's amazing how so many need healing and find it in your Creation... Lord, help them see you in it. You were amazing to provide this for us, but it's more than Creation, it's YOU." God wired us to run to his Creation to seek healing, and that truth is found in one of my favorite verses: "Therefore, behold, I will allure her, will bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfort to her" (Hosea 2:14), but ultimately... the healing Creation is capable of giving us is only part of the curative healing we're wired to crave. If we allow ourselves to be content with that degree of healing, if we settle for the easy superficial and safe answers to the “why” and fool ourselves into thinking we're okay and have our problems under control, if we cut out those people from our lives that don't understand and question us and force us to dig deeper to find the real truth of our motivations... If we are okay with the band-aid and temporary relief and never own up to the truth that we want something more... If we don't let things get stirred up and force those hurts to get laid bare, brought to the surface demanding to be dealt with once and for all, if we don't let ourselves see that running to nature and pushing ourselves into the crazy, isn't actually curing us but only treating the symptoms of the hurt we want to forget or deny or dismiss... then we miss the true blessing of what that calling to nature truly affords. Creation points us to what is even greater at alleviating the hurts, our ultimate healer... the CREATOR.

Getting into snow headed up to Helen Lake!

My mother likes to tell me that most people aren't insightful enough to care to evaluate why their lives aren't as good as they could be, or to push beyond accepting the mediocre. I don't want mediocrity in life, and I sure don't want it in my faith. I thought I loved mountains because of the perspective the summit affords... The views of God's Creation of course, but also in the greater sense: the accomplishment of a challenge, a tangible precipice to look back on where you've come from in life and evaluate where you're going, and a chance to really praise God for the journey of life that seems so beautiful from up there. But I realize as true as those things are, mountains are so much more than summits for me. They are a chance to not just get a treatment for my problems that will leave me needing more tomorrow or next week, but a chance to be stripped bare and let God do the work of true healing. To show me my true self, to teach me incredible lessons in the raw and vulnerable, to break down the walls and barriers that prevent me from seeing who I am really becoming. "I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order" (John Burroughs) is one of my favorite quotes, but without God in the mix, without letting Him work in the crazy to actually cure me and not just let his Creation put a band-aid on my problems, it's all for not. I'm so grateful this is how we're wired, to run to the wilderness, and to find God there when we finally let our knees hit the ground in surrender to His love and healing.

Camping at Helen Lake, Elevation 10,443ft

Mount Shasta taught me a lot. I'm still processing it all. Some of it is still hard for me to accept... like how incredibly different I've become by this journey. I got teased and didn't freak-out in debilitating discomfort, I slept in a tiny tent with two guys I had just met (me, who could never be near guys without freaking out that I might get hurt), I fell on my butt in front of a whole group of climbers so many times and never once was embarrassed but just laughed and razzed them back, I changed clothes in yet another crowded parking lot (and had it pointed out that if I thought I was being immodest, I obviously hadn't noticed the naked people walking around by the rainbow painted buses), but more than all these rather shallow (but poignant) changes... God showed me something very interesting about my heart.

The view up from Helen Lake, you can see the "heart" towards the center below the "Red Banks"

I still struggle at times to believe good things about myself (good things could be attractive things to someone, which could get me hurt, so bad things were good and good were bad), and this mountain finally let one good thing get into my heart with the full weight of truth attached to it, not just logic. Towards the start of my journey of healing, while trying to process how someone ever moves if their heart is incapable of becoming unloving toward someone, my dear friend said it would be impossible for me because I'm so loyal, my heart can't un-love, that I'd have to accept that reality and find a way to love in a healthy way that would still allow me to move forward with life. I could see his logic, but that word loyal... That had me hung up on the accuracy of his evaluation of my heart. But when stripping the word "loyal" down to its definition (a trick I've learned when I freak-out about applying words to situations or people or myself, so I can clear the messed up connotations my mind has created about those words), I knew he was right, but my heart still couldn't process it. Loyal is a good thing, surely I'm not that good... But trekking up to Helen Lake, our second and final base camp on Mount Shasta, I found myself pondering this word: loyal. I've written it in the front pages of my Bibles and journals, "Kevin says I'm loyal. Pastor Scott says I'm tender-hearted. God says I'm enough..." (and so on), and I see it and try to find the truth in these "good" things. And it's hard. But that trek up to Helen, I found myself feeling so protective of this incredibly inspiring woman in our group. 

No summit bid at 3AM meant a nap and waking up to this!

I would say she was quite a bit older than my mother, but boy was she a tough cookie! She had summited Shasta 4 times, and skied down most of those times. She fell off a cliff in December hiking, and was hospitalized with a punctured lung amongst other things, and yet here she was, trucking up a mountain. Yeah, she was slower, but my lands, she was incredible. I offered to hike with her so the others could go ahead at a quicker pace. And had the most amazing time visiting with her during our "breathers". And then while hiking, I'd ponder... Loyal... Is this loyalty? When she couldn't summit bid Sunday morning because an eye had gotten severely inflamed and irritated by a torn contact lens... I knew my hesitation of attempting the summit had been for a reason, I couldn't leave this woman alone at base camp. If it hadn't been so windy or if I'd been feeling 100% and not been having the worst cramps in my life that no amount of Aleve and ibuprofen could even begin to alleviate, I may have made the selfish decision and gone for the summit... Even as it was, my cramps were relenting and I was feeling good, and I was wondering if I should try for the summit instead... Maybe this was just mountaineering code that I wasn't used to? Wouldn't I be a failure if I don't get the summit? And I really want this summit! I came this far! But I knew that wasn't what my heart was driving me to do, I knew that wasn't the person I wanted to be, who could leave someone in their time of need despite how (arguably) safe and secure she'd be... I knew that wasn't the lesson God had for me on this mountain.

Glissading down with Marianne!

Hiking back down with Marianne, taking our sweet time while the others summited, I grappled some more with this word loyal, and then my mom threw "compassionate" into the mix when I got a message out that I wasn't going for the summit so she could stop worrying, and I'll have to process that word some more before it ever feels true... but loyal? Yes, that word finally holds truth in my heart as a word that describes me. And I thank God for bringing me on a path to find the truths He has for me, to be led on journey to have my walls and protections stripped away, and to heal my broken mind and heart enough to grow and truly grasp His incredible love for me. The journey makes me fall more and more in love with Him, and makes me even more appreciative that I now can recognize the difference between running to nature to be temporarily "soothed" and going there to be truly healed. I want the healing in my life—the cure, so I aim at making sure all of my treks into nature stay fully rooted in the One who created it and wired my heart to seek Him there. God is good! And so are mountains.

When you realize your desperate attempt to avoid burning your nose again makes you look like a ninja...

Another visit to Mount Shasta will be in my future at some point, so I can finally add that peak to my book, but it will be in God's timing, and in accordance with the lessons He has in store for me. And I'm definitely okay with that plan.

 

View of the Mountain from Horse Camp

Going Solo and Climbing Mount Adams

There she is. Mount Adams.

It's back to the combine today, but my mind is still kind of lost in the mountains! And I kind of love it. I took off Saturday night after finishing up combining for the week, and drove up to Trout Lake, Washington. I got my volcano permit (required for climbers above 7,000 feet) at the ranger station, then made my way up the 12+ miles of winding single-lane gravel forest roads (can you call that gravel?) to the trailhead. With leaving the house at around 11PM, I'd been feeling a bit sleepy on the boring freeways, but the dodging of trees and potholes and washboard-galore sure got me woken up in a hurry! I somehow ended up with a prime parking spot at the crowded and pitch black trailhead (and by parking spot I mean driving my car over a tree stump and wedging it in beside some logs to get it out of what passes as driveway at remote trailheads like this one). This was by far the most "rugged" trailhead I've encountered, and there was no doubt about it, I was in the wilderness. With a bunch of long-vacated cars. Not the least bit creepy, no! I finished getting my gear together, and set out on the South Climb Trail #183 around 3AM, hiking into darkness with only a towering dark spot in the sky to hint at the monster I would be attempting to conquer. Sometimes the unknown is your friend, especially when it hides the dauntingness of what lies ahead: Washington's second tallest peak, coming in at 11,276 feet (or 11,280 depending on the source), the majestic Mount Adams.

The sunrises I stay up for are the only ones I ever see!

Most people don't tackle Adams in a day (they camp part way up at "Lunch Counter"), so I knew that tackling it with zero sleep was sure to up the ante on the level of the challenge, but I wanted the summit and it was just how it was working out. Getting to this summit was a major lesson in letting go of plans and being flexible, two things I'm not the best at. I was supposed to climb on Saturday with a group, camping at the trailhead the night before and starting early but rested Saturday morning. But wicked winds at the summit forced us to cancel. Conditions were supposed to start improving early Sunday, and keep improving throughout the day, so after even more plan changes, I seized the opportunity and went... Solo. I'm a control-freak that likes everything planned out, but letting go of my plans was a good reminder of how it can let God do his work and let even better plans fall into place—in this case for next weekend, and I'm thrilled. It's awesome to see how very much God is on this crazy journey with me, and keeps me excited for the things to come. Plus this new plan? It got me my first solo summit! Climbing solo is not really a goal for me—I tend to make bad judgment calls when left alone, but seeing as how it was a non-technical climb, I chose to embrace the chance to face my insecurities and challenge myself both physically and mentally.

Working my way up... To the false summit.

The climb itself is around 7,000 feet of gain, and around 12 miles (I ended up with more of both—electing to switchback some of the slopes to conserve precious energy and with a getting-myself-lost incident on the way back to the trailhead). It was a BEAST to say the least. I was feeling incredibly sick, and was battling exhaustion and the results of a poor decision to deviate from my tried-and-true fueling plan (harvest messes with my stomach and makes it hard to get/keep food down, I thought something more "appealing" tasting might help, but it left me under-fueled and unable to recover effectively. Lesson learned.) But it all gave me lots of practice in praying for God to give me the strength to keep moving when I really just wanted to curl up in a rock shelter and sleep, and makes me more able to praise Him for the gift of this summit, because I know with all certainty it was Him that kept me moving. And what a summit it was! It took a long and grueling 8.5 hours to reach it, and boy was it cold up there! And windy! The winds had mercifully been dying down, but were still plenty strong at the summit to make it very uncomfortable. I had no interest in wasting time digging out all my insulating layers and trying to stay warm, so I took in the incredible views, got a few pictures, and started the long trek back down. I did have such an amazing vantage point of Mt. Rainier from up there, oh my! Someday, that beautiful summit will be mine, and it will be another great day of praising God for all the incredible places He leads me to, and the ability to experience his creation at its most magnificent.

Lunch Counter. See all tents???

It was a long day. I had started earlier than I wanted to, sacrificing time to let the winds die down as much as possible in the hope of being off the mountain and back to Salem in time for church... I obviously wasn't planning on being that sick or getting lost and it taking 13.5 hours to get back to my car... Needless to say, I didn't make it to church and didn't get home until about 9. After washing my gear and a well-warranted shower, I was so very happy to climb into bed, and this insomniac was dead asleep within minutes of my head hitting the pillow! My alarm has never seemed as cruel as it did this morning, but it is harvest after all, and that means combining! It was so very worth it though, and I'd do it again. Just maybe not in one day. And not without sleep. I'm not that crazy.

Summit! The views never cease to impress me.

Other random thoughts from Mt. Adams?

1) I really wish sunscreen was more effective for me, my poor nose is not happy with this climbing-life thing.

2) I love that my car has good suspension and can tackle those rough and awful drives to trailheads on mountain roads that would make off-roaders drool.

3) Glacier sunglasses may not be the most fashionable, but oh my lands, are they amazing and worth every penny of their ridiculous price tag.

Looking down hill at an insane glissade chute

4) Glissade chutes are a great opportunity to find free gear! Like another Black Diamond Pro ice axe to add to my collection. Check that your gear is secure before sliding, people! But no worries, I made sure whoever you were honored the “Leave No Trace” rule! I'm just kind like that.

5) And on the subject of glissading... I may have forced myself to be brave and give it a go for the first time in an attempt to conserve some of my depleted energy for the descent. Glissading reminds me so much of sledding, and how much I both fear and dislike snow and going fast, and then to couple those things together... Please no! But other than accidentally stabbing myself in the leg with my ice axe in the initial freak-out, I survived unscathed! And maybe, just maybe even enjoyed myself a little!

6) I can't help but laugh at the things I'm utterly un-phased by now because of hiking. Changing my clothes in crowded trailheads? Peeing on mountains with no privacy? Even discussions about blue bags! Hiking is a funny thing and definitely breaks down all sorts of barriers, because at the end of the day, any other soul also pushing themselves along side you on that trail or climb is your friend, your ally. You're in the same boat, working toward the same goal. You don't judge or get offended by the strange—and otherwise inappropriate—things that happen on the trail. You take care of each other, root for each other, help each other—even if you don't know the other person's name. It might be lending gear, offering a snack, or just an encouraging word. I may have been climbing solo yesterday, but I by no means was climbing alone. Besides, God was with me! As He always is.

When you're lost and you finally find one of these poles... And people? You praise Jesus!

God is good. And I continue to be amazed by this incredible journey He has me on, and am anxious to see what the coming months (and years) have in store. I may have some plans in place, but am definitely going to try and be better about staying flexible and leaving plenty of room for God to do his thing and shake things up and make new ones as well! And as always, to teach me life lessons along the way.

Oh yeah. I was up there.

Worry and Guilt: The Ugly Side of Adventures

I had to send my mom that dreaded “I'm fine. You don't need to worry. But...” message earlier this week. I'm pretty sure I've only had to send that message one other time in my life, and the situation was very different. This time, it was because of an adventure, I was knowingly putting myself at risk... Because that's the downside of adventures: they have risks associated with them, even if we very much do not want to think about it. It's been hard to process, not because there was a close call (meaning it could have been worse than a close call)... but because of the position I put those I love in. The guilt and selfishness I feel because I choose to do things that can be “risky”. Fear that I'll hurt people I love through my choices and activities.

It's really hard to reconcile two things: I want adventures in my life, and I want desperately to protect the people I love. The two things don't really go together nicely... I know the hurt that can come with worrying about someone you love, making yourself sick waiting for the message to come through that things are fine, that nothing bad happened. I've been on that side of the equation, and I can't forget how ill equipped I was to process that. I'd never been around anyone that did crazy stuff, it was utterly foreign to me and all I could see was the danger. Even though I wanted that person to pursue his passions and to live life to the fullest, and for me to be strong enough to be a source of encouragement in that... I also hated it because my worry-wort and worst-case-scenario brain made me want to just curl up in a ball alternating between praying like crazy and staring at my phone, waiting. It hurt. And the thought that now the shoe is somehow on the other foot and I've become the person that does crazy things and is causing others to worry, to hurt??? That's a lot for me to process. I know my loved ones aren't any better equipped to handle the worries than I was, but I'm grateful that they aren't as cursed in the worry-wort department as I am. It makes it just a tinsy bit easier to stomach. Maybe. But still, telling your family the thing you want to do is climb mountains??? That's a big ask to expect them to not worry about you.

Sometimes I'm not even sure how I ended up here... It can feel like a dream. I look at my goal board and wonder what the old me would have thought of all this. The one that lived a safe but boring life. That wondered at the safety of going and hiking at McDowell Creek... I'm grateful for the journey, I am; and for the most part, I can tackle the things I want to do and put the fears for my safety far from my mind... If I die, I know where I'm going, and I know that'll be a great day. And if I die on a trail or a mountain? All the better. But the fear of hurting others? That's not so easy.

Confession: I often don't tell anyone when I'm going out hiking. I know I should, I know it's kind of hiking-101, but I don't like to put anyone in a position of worrying, or to be the one that would have to make the call if I don't make it back when I anticipated. And normally, I wouldn't have told my mother that there had been a near miss—even now, it took most of 24 hours of pondering if I should or not. I mean, what she doesn't know, can't hurt her, right??? Why give her any extra reason to worry? But then where do you draw the line? What do you share and not share? I always felt like I couldn't give her any reason to worry about me—she had enough to worry about as it was. So I tried to always be “good”, the one getting straight A's, keeping out of trouble, being responsible, playing it safe. But then there were the hurts... And I didn't want her to hurt by sharing them with her, because that's how it works. Mothers care, and what hurts their kids, hurts them. So I started hiding things, but once that little bit of distance forms, it just grows. No relationship can be what it's supposed to be if it's not based on honesty, but how do you be honest and still protect someone...?

When I decided to start sharing my life with her, and my journey of finding myself, of the adventures I was taking, and wanted to take... I knew she'd worry. I knew that telling her the truth of my hurts would hurt her. And that, in turn, hurt me. And then comments like “you're too old to be giving me gray hairs” started getting thrown around—and as much as I know it is in jest, it can cause those feelings of guilt and selfishness to flare up again. I could just not do the things I want to do. I could choose a safe and boring life... Maybe develop a passion for knitting afghans??? But I know that's no life to live. I fought hard to crawl out of a pit of trying to protect myself from the world, to embrace life, and to live it, and I don't want to go back to that place. And the truth is... I can't protect the people I love. I can't protect anyone. As much as I'd give anything in my power to do that, I can't. No amount of analyzing my decisions, actions, or endeavors could ever perfectly protect the people I care about from any ill-effects caused by my life. And that's a hard pill to swallow.

So here's the truth I need to cling to... And it's a tough one. It will continue to be a battle for me, because it strikes at the very heart of loving people deeply. But here it goes: no matter how hard it is at times to remember, no matter how much the guilt and selfish feelings scream my name, the people in my life love me. They support me. And yes, it may kill them at moments to worry over anything bad happening to me, but they want for me to pursue my dreams and to live, just as I would want that for them in return. Just as I would bear any degree of worry and hurt if it meant them pursuing their passions. There is a tension between caring and worrying, and it's the result of loving. And it can be awful to live in that tension, but it's what we have to do. Even when it's hard. So I'll try my best to take comfort in the fact that God is the one with the perfect plan, and as long as I seek to follow Him... Even if my life causes hurts for those I love, those hurts are likewise part of His plan. Something He can use, just as He used my hurts as part of the plan to get me where I needed to be. It's just easier to take hurts on myself than it is to let it fall onto others, especially if I feel I caused them. But sometimes, we don't get that option. And we just have to trust. Trust in the One that is in control.

Yes, there is a downside to adventures. Risks that seem abundantly obvious to those that aren't caught up in the excitement of it, that haven't built up that comfort level that makes those risks seem not as likely, and thus are easy to push out of your mind. Those risks can cause worry and hurt for those we love, and it can trick us into thinking that they don't “get it” and must not be supportive of us; but we have to cling to the truth that they just care deeply enough to not want us to get hurt. And trust that they love us enough to want us to live...

I'm grateful I told my mom. I'm grateful I heard the truths out of her mouth that she wants me to dream big and follow my heart up whatever mountain I need to climb—just to do so as safely as I can. I know the journey ahead won't be easy, and there will be more fears I have to conquer, but hopefully I can keep the fear of hurting others at bay a bit better from here on out.

And as a side note, I didn't fall off a cliff. Which surprises me a little, since I'm soooo not a coordinated person and trip constantly on the trail, and in the back of my head, am always expecting that day to come. But no... I was on the river, kayaking, with my friend Tammy. I've always been scared of the water (like, gave up on the goal of ever completing a triathlon because I was terrified of the swimming leg), but I am kind of stubborn and always think if I just bull-headedly force myself to do things, and ignore the fact that I'm afraid, I'll become braver and feel like less of a coward... It usually doesn't work out, but kayaking is something I'm generally pretty good at, so I usually just suck it up when people want to go. And Tammy wanted to go! It was a beautiful day on the river, aside from just a few minutes of it, and I enjoyed the time spent with my wonderful friend. Other than being a bit battered, and losing my new camera, I came out of it just fine. God is good, and He made me strong (well, Him and the 2.4 million pounds worth of 50's I threw this season!) So it's full speed ahead on the goal list... Putting the fears of hurting others out of my mind, and maybe just maybe, sticking to trails and mountains for awhile ;) And putting my beautiful new ice axe to good use!

Dome Rock: When your nerves (almost) get the best of you!

Detroit Lake!

I hiked a new trail yesterday! By myself. Something I haven't done in what feels like ages... And the thought of doing so sent my nerves into overdrive! I don't know why I so quickly forget the things that were once my “norm”, but it definitely leaves me scratching my head in bewilderment. The best example I have? Bikes. I used to ride bikes a lot (I say “a lot” because for “normal” people, it was a lot, but for “bike people”? I couldn't hold a candle to their miles!) And I just have to pause for a second and set the record straight: that whole “it's like riding a bike” phrase is the biggest.lie.ever! I don't know about you, but when I tried to ride a bike again after 15 or so years??? That was just ugly! I couldn't stay on the path to save myself! And after quite a few years of riding, and practicing going in a straight line, I still had to watch myself like a hawk or I'd end up in the ditch in 2-(distracted)-seconds-flat. I guess that's kind of my point though, when I was little and riding bikes every day during the summer, it was easy, the balance and coordination where natural. And then I got out of the habit, and it became hard. I had to work at it, and never was able to recapture that ease I had when I was younger, no matter how much I tried. Sure, I got to the point I'd built up to longer rides, got comfortable riding on the road, going further from home (I may still have had a 10 mile radius limit, if you do have to call for help, you want to limit the inconvenience, right?), exploring roads I'd never even driven down... And that was my "norm". But now, with like 9 months not having ridden? The thought of even being a couple of miles from home? The thought of riding on roads at all?!? With CARS?!?!? The thought of setting out for a 10 mile, let alone a 50 mile, ride??? That's all just crazy talk! Am I even sure I could still ride a bike??? What in the world was I ever thinking? I was insane! Wowza, makes my anxiety flare just to think of it. Yeah, let's not try to reignite any love for riding any time soon...

Mt Jefferson! Maybe someday??? :)

But hiking is no different for me! I had built my way up to this degree of comfort and confidence in myself where I was excited to seek out new trails, and go explore them on my own. Just escape and get away from it all. How far could I get from any semblance of civilization??? Let's see! And then I started hiking with my friend Tammy... I didn't always trust my emotions at that point in time (a lot of them were new for me and I struggled to process them), so I welcomed the distraction on the trail of not being left alone with my thoughts. It might not have always worked the same to get my head back on straight and get me grounded again, or go long distances with crazy elevation gains, but it was fun. And I got used to it. And it became my new “norm”. And lately... I've been terrified to go alone. At least to new trails—my old favorites aren't as much of an issue, I feel comfortable and safe with those (which probably makes Tammy oh so happy, since “training” isn't her goal in hiking, and she gets to sit out the treks up Defiance or Mary's). But a new trail? It's nerve racking for me! I don't really know what to expect. I can't gauge what's coming up. How do I pack my bag for the unknown? What if I take a wrong turn? Have I been past this tree before? Oh no, this isn't looking familiar, I swear this isn't looking familiar!What if I get lost?? Or what if I can't do it? What if I hike all those miles in, and can't get back out? What if I fail???

Tumble Lake in the distance

When people are there, even if it's just to listen as I think out-loud which turn to take, it gives me so much comfort. It's easy. I don't over-analyze all the write-ups and trail descriptions I can find, I don't freak-out about the time and what if I run out of daylight, I don't play all these games in my head of why I should turn back now. Because I know it'll be okay. I trust my instincts more. And my nerves stay at bay. I don't have to try and remind myself of all of the miles I've logged solo, or how this used to be my norm that I was perfectly comfortable with, all to convince myself “Hey, no one has murdered you yet. No bear has attacked you. You've still not fallen off a cliff and died (no matter how clumsy and uncoordinated you are). You've never not made it out. No--that sound is not some monster coming to get you. You've still never had to bust out your head lamp. You've got this!” Or today, a new addition to the mantra... “You freaking climbed Mt. Hood! Not even a week ago!!! Why are you worried about this???”

You could even catch a glimpse of Mt. Hood if you looked North. 360 degree views!!! It was amazing!

Nerves. They can be ugly. They can make us do stupid things. Like create new norms. And limit ourselves to what is easy. Or to stop progressing and growing. But do we want to be... limited? Or stagnant? Isn't it better if we kept our nerves in check by keeping our “norms” where we want them? By staying diligent and not wavering in our resolve? My devotions this week have driven this point home in a profound way (God likes to beat me over the head with an idea until it sinks in. Thanks, God. I think...) Our faith-journey is no different than anything else. If we slack off, if we don't prioritize our Bible time for a bit, or miss church for a couple of weeks, or skip out on Bible study... That all so easily becomes our new “norm”, and it can be torture to fight our way back into the habits that used to be so easy for us. It can be scary. It can feel overwhelming to find passion again for losing ourselves in God's Word, even if it was just a well-intentioned “break”... Just like finding passion again for being brave and exploring new trails can be hard when we've hung out in the safe comfort-zone for too long.

I almost let my nerves get the best of me today... I truly thought there was no way I was going to finish the hike, that I'd be turning around before the summit and tasting failure. I was sure the battle was lost before I'd even left my house, so why fight it? But I so didn't want to fail... I wanted to find my way back to that brave girl that loved exploring new trails... So I pushed on, even though my legs were screaming, I felt sick, and my body was sleep deprived. I pushed on, and prayed like heck that God would take my nerves away, and just let me battle my body and the trail... And He did. It was still a struggle, but I'm so glad I kept pushing... I would have missed out on all the beauty that is Dome Rock, and all the joy and praise I could offer God on the way down for having given me the strength to keep going. When my life gets crazy, I get so tempted to put off my Bible time, or being a Prayer Warrior for those I love. It can be so easy to "take a break", and say I'll get to it tomorrow. But I hope I can continue to stay the course, to keep up the good “habits” I've established in my spiritual life, and not settle for an “easier” norm. Making up lost ground is tough work! Work I'd rather just avoid having to do. So here's to the “working smarter, not harder” route instead, and just sticking with it. That being said... I think a certain book is calling my name...

Tumble Lake--Apparently there is even a waterfall somewhere!

And to my hiking friends, check out this far overlooked gem of a hike. You can hike to Dome Rock, or if you're really feeling ambitious, continue on to Tumble Lake. The trailhead is right on Hwy 22, just past Detroit Lake State Park. And even when the lake's accesses are packed, this trail is blissfully deserted. It's a lot of elevation gain, but so very worth the climb!

Can you say... "Happy Place"???