The following is an excerpt from a little “coincidence” I ran across in the latest newsletter by my favorite creativity author, Suzanne Falter-Barns. Suzanne and I have some other little coincidences, like she was born and raised in Philadelphia, and her father was a celebrated illustrator during the Golden Age of Illustration (ok, so my father is a banker… I’m the illustrator. Just not well known…yet. Tee hee.) And her mother lives just a few miles away from me in a retirement home that I pass every time I see my therapist. I just happened to fall in love with Suzanne’s works long before I found out all this other stuff. So when she responded to an email I wrote her one day, and she shared all these things, I was like, “like, wow!” And when I read this essay of Suzanne’s this week, I was like, “like, woah! And you like to ski too?” Yes, in fact, she does, and it was one of the reasons she and her husband moved their family from a flat in Manhattan to a house in the Adirondacks… which they intended to be their summer home, but decided never to leave.
Essay: Lessons Learned on a Mountaintop … Or on the Way Up
Recently I did something highly unlikely. I hauled a 35-pound pack containing skis, boots, helmet, water, winter clothing, and a carload of snacks up at least half of the East’s tallest mountain. It was a 2500 foot ascent that stretched on for 3 miles to the base of Tuckerman’s Ravine, a place beloved by generations of natural snow skiers. And once I got there, I knew I’d done something spectacular.
Maybe it was spectacular just because I was actually able to get through it (I don’t like carrying my skis to the parking lot, let alone up a mountain.) Or was it because I did this with my husband, and our ten-year-old son and 15-year-old daughter? Or because we were with two other families from the Adirondacks? Or just because here I was, truly in the glory of incredible, unspoiled nature and it was grand?
All I know was that I pushed myself to places I’ve never been before, and I came back feeling changed. May the following lessons inspire you to push your own outer limits.
In terms of training, I did nothing special. (If I had, the walk up might have been a tad more fun.) For the past few years I’ve run a few miles 2 times per week on a treadmill while watching the Food Network, and lifted some 50-pound weights. And I’ve skied one or two days per week for the last three months at our local ski resort, Whiteface, and worked in a little cross-country skiing as well. But I’m no star athlete. Just a 46-year old mom who wanted to find a vacation the kids and hubby could get excited about.
My husband Larry and I climbed a nearby 700 foot mountain to test the two funky packs we found in our attic. The packs proved to be beyond funky and got ditched. We borrowed new gear and felt much more prepared.
Lesson #1: Don’t try big adventures with strange, broken down equipment. Borrow or beg the good stuff.
Our teenage daughter, who was nursing a cold, went through some last minutes doubts. A lot of words were exchanged, some of which were short and mean. But ultimately, We shoved her through the door and ignored our own doubts. Our son, meanwhile, was dancing with excitement.
Lesson #2: There will be doubts at the onset. Push through them.
We began the hike at 6:30 AM, as we would be in the company of at least 1000 other skier/hikers that day. I soon realized as I strapped on my pack and began up the hill that I’d be in pain for much of the next three hours. I decided to take it slow and ignore the parade of buff college guys (and some girls) fairly running up the trail passed me. My group moved on and I was left in last position, with the walkie-talkie. Finally, a woman my own age passed me … with only a tiny day pack. ‘Aren’t you brave to take your skis?’ she said cheerily. A four letter word came to mind; I squelched
it.
Lesson #3: Compare and despair; go at your own pace. Especially when you’re over 40.
Gradually I adjusted to the weight as we climbed, so the pain shifted from a radical assault to more of a background burden. I focused instead on what my feet were doing as we slogged through the slippery slush. A
mantra sprang to mind: “I have the power”. I began reciting it, especially as we got past the half-way mark and began nearing the top. The rougher the climb got, the more I hung on to that little phrase. Oh yeah, and I took a lot of breaks, too. Consumed: many malted milk balls, a Clif bar, handfuls of Sprees, handfuls of gorp, water, PowerAde, an apple.
Lesson #4: Breaks are good. Mantras are, too. Malted milk balls also work.
My daughter, who’d been so resistant, actually got to the ranger station – the 2.5 mile mark – first. When I finally reached the Ranger’s cabin, I took off my pack with waves of deep, intense gratitude. I decided then and there the skis weren’t going to the top with me. Instead, my daughter and I simply reveled in the majestic view in front of us as we sat there, resting. The sky was a brilliant blue; Tuckerman’s was brilliant white.
An hour later, we consolidated our stuff for the afternoon into one pack, left our skis and hiked the last 500 feet up to join our group at the base of the bowl. A sign warned: “20, 50 and 100 pound chunks of loose ice the size of cars falling ahead. Hundreds have died here. Head for cover behind large rocks.” Spring had come; ice on the headwall cliffs was melting. OK. No problem.
We found our group and snuggled down into the snow behind some protective rocks to watch the skiers above grapple with the triple black diamond runs. (I’ve since seen a PBS documentary that calls this terrain some of the steepest in the world.) My friends Sue and Terry, also moms over 40, hiked up and skied the bottom half of the bowl, as did Sage, age 7, who also hauled most of her gear up the mountain. The leaders of our pack climbed up another 1000 feet and took a spectacular run from near the summit. Hubby also climbed up into the bowl and skied down. Our son and friends built two small jumps at the base of the bowl which he and friends spent the afternoon attempting three-sixty turns on in their trick skis. We all left happy and exhausted.
Lesson #5: Extreme hard work is usually rewarded with extreme great stuff.
I was looking forward to a relaxing ski down, and took off down the descent trail only to find narrow twisting moguls that required … sigh … energy I didn’t have. I finally took off my skis and walked the lower half of the trail, while all the children whizzed by, fast blurs of joy. I resisted the urge to write myself off as She-Who-Failed-Tuckerman’s; after all, I did the toughest part, right?
(See Lesson #3)
Later I asked our 10-year-old how he got up the mountain. He replied, “When ever it got hard, I just watched my feet walk up the hill.” Or as the Zen Buddhists would have it, he lived in the present moment. Hearing that, alone, made the trip worth it.
May the power be with you, and your dream, too, whatever your challenge may be.
For information on how to find the time, energy, money to live your purpose in life, check out Suzanne’s free ezine, The Joy Letter. Sign up at http://www.howmuchjoy.com/joyletter.html and receive our valuable report, 35 Guaranteed Time Savers.
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