To understand this blog post, you have to know that I have a thing for natural bodies of water. Whenever we were traveling during my childhood, I would veer off into rivers, lakes, ponds, or the ocean whenever possible. I love being in water, love feeling the river current, the ocean waves, the rocks and sand beneath my feet. I love the sound of water flowing, falling, and crashing.
Water helps me connect to myself. It helps me manage my creative flow (which is sometimes strong and overwhelming). It helps me allow my emotions to flow. To me, it represents everything joyful in life.
So, whenever I plan a vacation, it involves a natural body of water, or several. Last week, my husband and I celebrated our twelfth anniversary with a vacation in Estes Park, Colorado. I booked a perfect little condo overlooking a stream. I scouted hiking routes that involved rivers and lakes. Our room even had a giant Jacuzzi tub.
On the first day of our trip, my husband and I set off to hike around several lakes. We spent the whole day meandering by a stream, dipping toes into lake-water, and enjoying the majestic mountain scenery. It was relaxing and fun, but a little more populated than we desired. So, on the second day of our trip, we set off on a longer, more remote trail.
Let me just pause to say that for some reason, we were woefully unprepared. Normally two overly responsible citizens with perfectionist streaks, we somehow managed to completely blow it when we packed for the trip. My husband, the gadget man, forgot his GPS. We both forgot our rain gear. I forgot my hiking boots. (Yes, I realize that I was going on a hiking trip. Believe me.)
We couldn’t stand the thought of missing out on a beautiful hike, so we went ahead despite our lack of gear. (Very bad idea.) Wearing my old running shoes and praying for a sunny day, I took the lead as we started up the mountain. It was the perfect trail. Not only did it follow a crashing waterfall for miles, but it promised a gorgeous mountain lake at the top. It was hiking nirvana. I was so excited to see the mountaintop lake I could hardly stand it.
My husband was enjoying the photography opportunities, so we moved at a quick pace interspersed with long pauses for photos. I savored the little streams crossing our path, as well as the waterfall off to the left. The sound was magnificent—a melody like none other.
We hiked on, up the mountain. Up, and up, and up. And up. The incline was steady and intense. Sweat poured off of me. My muscles ached. My hamstrings shouted. Several times, we paused to assess. Should we turn around? Each time, I shook my head, determined to get to the lake. At mile three-ish (no GPS, remember) I felt sure we could make it. Around four, I thought we could probably do it. Around mile five, we stopped and watched the ominous thunderclouds gathering above us. We looked at the steep incline in front of us. “I really, really, want to see that lake,” I said. We forged onward.
Somewhere between mile five and six, I stopped. I sat down on a rock. I checked in with my body. I remembered that I’m a mind-body coach, and part of that means walking my talk. It means not just helping other people, but helping myself. It means listening to what my body has to say, even when it doesn’t match my goal in mind.
Yes, I really wanted to make it to the lake, which was at 6.3 miles. We were so close.
My muscles reminded me that we had to survive the hike down. My feet, somewhat disgruntled from the beating they were taking in those silly running shoes, had a definite opinion. My heart looked at the thunderclouds above and knew it was time to turn around. I wanted to enjoy my hike, not end up in agony or danger just because I had a goal in mind.
