#44 Failing and trying again
Spring training and summer hiking
There is one goal I’ve constantly failed at for the past five years; it’s building up my hiking capacity again to a level where I can be on trail for 8+ hours a day, multiple days in a row, hiking up 1000+ m (3200+ feet) of elevation. I didn’t want to make it a goal again this year. I didn’t want to be disappointed again to be honest, but it’s still the main thing pulling me forward: working up to multi-day hiking trips again without exertion migraines.
When I hiked the West Coast Trail in 2018, I had a moment of total serenity the likes of which I never experienced before or since. I want to chase that feeling of contentment.
While I’ve reached a certain level of acceptance with my reduced capacity -listening to my body instead of blasting through the boundaries it’s trying to communicate- I still looked for opportunities to expand that limit. As soon as my chronic migraines were more manageable and my body gave me a bit of slack, I wanted to push further, figure out how I could get more traction.
While Bucky’s death was devastating in many ways, it gave me more freedom to hike at my own pace and see how far I can go before my body starts ringing alarms.
To start I focused on practice rather than metrics. Weekly hikes in the forest; stretches and strengthening exercises at home.
I focused on progress rather than an end result. A little more elevation gain, a few more repetitions, a slight increase in difficulty.
I kept listening closely to my body and meeting its needs. I improved the ways I hydrate and fuel my body outdoors. I saw my physiotherapist early to address any pain.
I told myself: I’m here to spend more time in nature, to spend more time with quietness, away from the constant stimulation of screens. I’m here to relearn the lesson that I can -and need- to control less than I think I should. And sure, all these are worthy intentions, but I was mostly using them as protective padding from the hit of disappointment. The disappointment didn’t come. Instead I was surprised at how high, how long I could hike when I took my time.
Things went better than I expected.
In the wake of that surprise I suddenly can no longer contain my hope to a ‘reasonable and realistic’ level. My imagination kicks in and suddenly I am no longer willing to slowly work up to a 3-day backpacking trip at the end of the season. Suddenly I am training for the Sunshine Coast Trail, in late June. A hike of 180 km (112 miles), 7000 m (23,000 feet) elevation gain, usually done in 7-12 days. I am still tentative when I share it with people yet internally I’ve switched to ‘shit’s about to get real’ mode. I make and print out a training plan. I work out what level I want to get to before the hike and I get to work.
Once I see that progress keeps steady, I start looking into logistics.
The possibility of hiking that trail wraps itself around my heart and tugs me forward. The area is beautiful. I love multi-day hiking. It’s also a trail I wanted to thru-hike with Bucky as soon as I learned about it. We did a couple of overnight hikes in the area but then were thwarted by medical issues and never attempted a thru hike. Now, I can’t help but think it will be a suitable way to say yet another goodbye. A way to nudge me along on the journey of grief, a process I mostly started avoiding as soon as I had the capacity to. For grief and pacing reasons, I plan to walk the trail alone. I need to let my body decide how far and how long we’ll be moving each day. I want time and space to be with my thoughts, take notes and occasionally cry my heart out.
In April and May the training is full of fucking delights. With a vivid goal in mind my commitment to more strengthening exercises comes easily. I use short work breaks to sink into my body and mobilize the small and big muscles that do the bulk of the work when I hike. I run into a few speed bumps, unexpected food poisoning and a migraine that takes me out for two days, but mostly I keep a steady progress. I’m hopeful and determined. I incrementally increase the distance, elevation and carried weight for my hikes. I intend to work up to 25 km (15 miles), 1000 m (3000 feet) and a 12-kg (26-lb) pack; separately and then combining them a couple of weeks before the actual hike.
June comes. I set off on a day hike with my goal elevation gain and pack-weight, with half the distance. My left knee feels a bit inflamed and twinges, especially on the short downhill sections. I do not get an exertion migraine; this in itself is a major win that I barely acknowledge on the day, so focused am I on the little thing that went wrong.
That knee twinge causes my brain to throw a bit of a tantrum.
First it worries. I don’t have long to train! What if it happens during the big hike? I’ll have to exit early! I’ll have to be in pain for miles while I hike back to a road! What if I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere?! I knew I should’ve trained on downhills instead of taking the gondola down every time!
Then it rages. Well if I can’t do this perfectly with zero discomfort, fuck you then and fuck this training plan. Walking and hiking are so time-consuming and I want to do other things. Like finish the midlife crisis podcast and new Lines Into Shapes season. And learn more about bikes. And find a bike for myself. And play with botanical prints and cyanotype. And get more involved in the Mountain Mentors program I applied for. And spend all day reading books and looking into empty space day dreaming. The training is leaving me little time and energy for everything else. Am I really going to spend 12 days of time off getting to/from a far away trailhead to hike for over 9 days? Urgh.
My brain is metaphorically flipping the table. A knee twinge drove it over the edge. I blow off days of physio exercises as I let this frustration run its course. It boils away, dissipates into the warm air of spring. What I need -maybe- is some rest, a bit more fun and less productivity. Am I going to give that to myself? No, at least not before I attempt the Sunshine Coast Trail, and finish 12 podcasts & 12 essays. I’ve been on this road before, the empty promise to future me that “I’ll rest when I finish this big thing”. By the time I reach that metric I will likely have pushed the goalpost further away. Again and again, until I feel the looming arrival of a burnout.
Okay body, let’s compromise. I’m not willing to give up on my plan to hike the trail in late June. But I can listen to my body. Not strive to finish all my projects before I leave. Prepare for the trail as if I’ll be hiking the whole trail in 9-10 days. Promise myself that I will slow down or stop if my body tells me I should.
Even as I give myself these reminders another part of me -my little goal-oriented goblin- widens its eyes and wonders if I could hike the trail even faster. The goal-oriented goblin does not believe in enjoying the process, and welcoming trial and failure, it’s only interested in the mirage of results, a mythical oasis where my thirst for achievement would finally be quenched and I would be able to rest.
Editing post-script:
In the end I do finish recording 12 episodes of a podcast, and I leave for the trail on the summer solstice.
After 4 buses, 2 ferries and a water taxi, I spend my first night at the Sarah Point trailhead, in a beautiful hut. Three hours after I go to sleep, I wake up flat on the ground. My new air mattress has a slow leak that informs the rest of my hike. I decide to hike longer days to limit the sleepless nights. I grow more tired. By day 5 I’m both astounded that I’ve averaged 25 km (16 miles) per day, and feel like my feet rest on a bed of potential blisters. I bail on day 6, with 40 km (25 miles) of the trail to go, after processing a wave of disappointment.
To me this is both a failure and a success. A failure in that I did not complete the full trail as I set out to do. A success in that I pushed when I thought my body could take it, and then when my feet asked, I changed my plans and left trail early, still feeling accomplished and in no way resentful. I hiked for 6 days, over 140 km (87 miles), with a 13-kg (29-lb) pack, much more than I thought possible in early spring. My hardest day was a 12-hour effort over 32 km (20 miles) and 1250 m (4100 feet) of elevation gain. I had one massive blister and a light short headache, but no exertion migraine or other major issue. How cool is it that my body let me do that?! And like a shower after a week on trail, finishing a hard hike after 5 years of not being able to feels unbelievably good.
Thank you, Body, for giving me that chance. And thank you past me for persisting despite the repetitive failures.
Congratulations!!!