Wilderness Training (or 23 Uses for an Orange Bandana)

This weekend I rediscovered nature. I joined several friends for a backpacking weekend in the White Mountains of New Hampshire (Mt. Hancock). This weekend I came face to face with dirt, rocks, water, tree sap, moss, and--quite literally--swinging branches (ending up with a small but sufficiently bloody wound at the top of my forehead). I felt the slow and steady burn of my leg muscles as my body unwillingly lurched itself up one steep boulder to another. I smelled the unmistakeable smoke of a campfire made from scratch and the sap that stuck to my hand after swinging from the tree trunks on my way down the mountain. I tasted accomplishment at the end of a long day -- along with a bean and rice burrito. I listened to the alpine water as it lulled me to sleep. This weekend I conquered a feat I never would have attempted were it not for the encouragement of those who were with me in this endeavor.

The trip started off with a drive up to NH, near Loon Mountain. About 12 of us camped at a regular campsite Friday night, arriving without time for much except pitching our tents and braving the unbearable stench of the outhouse (nature is always a better option!). After a so-so night's sleep, we awoke at 6am with the sun and after a bowl of oatmeal we went off in search of our respective trailheads: 7 beginners ("jeff's girls"), 5 intermediates ("the hard cores"). The hike in was glorious. We carried our packs, filled with only the necessities: a tent, a sleeping bag, a ground pad, a clean shirt, a bowl and spoon, some water, and some cans of food. We stepped over tree roots winding every which way, we watched our footing carefully on slippery boulders as we crossed the river at several points. We encouraged each other and learned about each other's lives. We sang a little. We told stories. We dropped our packs and pitched our tent at a site that would be ours for the evening, once the hike was through. We lunched on hot pasta (our fearless leader had carried in the propane stove!) and snacks.

And then the hike began. The first bit was energetic, optimistic, and sunny. We climbed steadily uphill at a comfortable pace. We continued our songs, stories, and chatter. Without our packs, we were lighter. But then we started to hit the hard stuff. The climb became steeper, and the boulders larger. We were climbing the stairmaster on the hardest level times ten. It was an endless uphill, with no mountaintop in sight. My confidence failed me, but my friends did not. The rain clouds started to roll in. My heart beat quickly. I may have given up. I prayed God would give me energy and also that he would keep the rain away from our path. He did. And I kept on going. After what was most likely about 2.5 hours, we reached the summit. We looked out over the green mountaintops in awe of creation. We had made it.

The way down was much tougher on our bodies, but less taxing on our spirits. Now it was merely physical. We reached our campsite again after 5 hours with joy and thankfulness! This home was now ours for the night! After four of the girls left us to head back to Boston, the three of us left sat 'round our campfire and rested our bodies, nourished them with burritos, and learned more about each other. We listened to the rushing river and felt the fulfillment of a day that brought not only huge accomplishment, but the much needed rest and peace that only nature can bring.

Sunday morning we packed up, hiked in, and called it a trip. Until next time.

PMC 2007

How do I recap a perfect day? It started at the dimly lit hour of 5am with the undeniable buzz of my alarm. My body and mind felt energized and ready for this day. We had 50 miles on a bike ahead of us, a challenging feat (though not relative to our previous 86 miles in years past). One note: P strained a leg muscle last week, so with the Chile ski trip coming up, the doc said to give it a rest this weekend and not push it. I wasn't alone though: our dear friends L & H were up from NYC to join us for the big ride.

The Pan-Mass Challenge is not just an athletic endeavor for me. It's an emotional roller coaster -- uplifting in all the amazing ways we and others are supporting and promoting cancer research funding, and reaching out to those still suffering from cancer -- but also sad in remembering all those we have lost from this disease (too many to count now). I think about this ride and I think about all these millions of dollars ($27 million in 2006) that haven't yet funded the research to find a cure that could have let my dad live to see another few years. I am often discouraged, but at the same time I am full of hope for the future. I think about my many friends whose parents are survivors (my mother-in-law and my step-mother included), and I am overjoyed that cancer hasn't taken their lives and they can still be with us.

We drove out to Wellesley for the start -- 7:30 and we're off. We wound down the shady streets, tree-lined and perfectly calming when it was a downhill stretch. I thought, isn't this easy? Life is a breeze! But then a hill would appear in the distance, creeping up on the horizon, at first appearing large, but little by little it evened out and as I adjusted my gears the hill became easier. It was conquerable. And once I hit the summit of this once near impossible hill, it blessed me with a breezy coast back down. Most streets were shady, the sun peeking through the umbrella of trees and offering light and warmth. At 80 degrees, the air was perfect. We stopped at 29 miles for a water break and to power up. With 19 miles to go, we needed it.

The second stretch was tougher. Hill after hill, with plateaus in between, I felt the rhythm of life played out in this four-hour ride. It was seemingly too hard to bear at points, but just when I thought I needed to get off the bike and walk uphill, the incline eased and I realized I had made it all the way up, and then the next thing I knew the wind was blowing in my face and I felt all the exhilaration of a roller coaster, without the nausea. Reaching the end at 11:40, I felt such thankfulness that God had seen me through all those ups and downs, the burning muscles, and the feelings of defeat. So this particular Sunday morning I praised Him -- not in church, but on the hard, sweaty seat of my road bike. I thanked Him for the peaks and the valleys, the giving and taking, and the joy amid the pain.