HERE. NOW.

I am not a small person. I've always been active. I grew up on soccer fields and basketball courts. When team sports ceased I took to running. As I entered my 40's, half marathons grew more difficult. and less fun. I took up Crossfit for several years, even getting certified as a Level 1 Coach. When the gym turned over, I found myself in transition. Again. I had a short stint road biking. When a friend "volun-told" me I was going to train for a 100k run, I thought I had lost my mind. But what I lost was the space between my L5/S1 vertebrae. Transition. Again.

I never got to that 100k, but I did finish 50k. Barely. I was wrecked, dejected and a bit lost, wondering what I would do to maintain my fitness. I took up yoga and started walking. A lot. As I neared 50, I quickly realized the reality that things get different around 50. Another transition.

So when my friend from 4th grade mentioned backpacking across Catalina Island, my ears perked up. I threw on a ruck sack and started walking and walking and walking. With weight on my back.

For six months I walked every loop around in my community knowing I couldn’t quite simulate the Trans Catalina Trail but I was trusting my friend’s advice: “Don’t overthink it. Just keep walking and get some strength training in.” So I did.

I wish I had a wide lens. This was one of the hardest sections we came across.

The TCT is not Mount Everest. But, it certainly isn't Central Indiana. So when I was faced with inclines of 35%, I found myself beyond my comfort zone. Frequently. I abandoned any idea that I could keep up with Chris.

He was steady, consistent and kind about checking on me, providing the right about of encouragement, and waiting for me atop every climb.

My strategy quickly became mind over matter. While I could not control the burn in my legs, I leaned into my brain. Looking up to see how much hill was left was not helpful. Stopping was never an option. So I found myself doing two things that helped each and every ascent. The first was the mantra:

"Here. Now."

Good example of many of the ups. This one is fairly moderate and forgiving.

Over and over. This step. This rock. This pause. Here. Now. The present. Not what lied ahead. Not how hard this was. Not how I wanted to shed my backpack. And with each pause, I took a deep belly breath that provided an unexpected pleasant sensation in my stomach and my mind. I can not explain it, but it sure was pleasant and seemed to provide relief to my entire body for another set of steps.

Pausing. Here. Now.

In the face of adversity, "Here/Now" was a life raft. I was in no danger, however it provided the mindset and energy needed to keep going. It is also a reminder of life away from the trail to something that has always felt like a cliche. Until now.

I'll share that second strategy in my next post: Gratitude.

At the top

I was able to sneak a great pic of Chris on on one of my pauses.