Twice in three days I have mentioned to friends that I am enjoying training for the Grand Canyon rim to rim hike more than any other endeavor I've undertaken. That includes a magical 7-day cycling trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles, and two sprint distance triathlons. In the same breath, I added, "I'm not sure why."
But I'm beginning to have my suspicions. Since determining to sign up with a trekking company, and learning that they can't apply for the required permits to hike and camp in the national park until four months ahead of our ideal dates, Molly and I don't actually know that we are going on this hike in late August. The earliest we'll know is April 1. If our guides can't get permits for August, they will try again on May 1 for early September. The anticipation is thrilling.
Also, the simplicity of walking and hiking is incredibly peaceful. It comes naturally, unlike swimming. Or running. Egads. How my brain and my legs revolt when I attempt to run! But, the human form is built to move, especially to move forward. Some have argued eloquently (think Born to Run by Christopher McDougall) that we were made for running, but my body responds best, indeed with pure joy, when I walk. And even when we hike up a trail, then retrace our steps down, the trail looks all new from this different angle, and I am filled with the lovely feeling that I am making progress, moving toward something.
Most days, that something is a quiet mind. To move through the woods, or up a paved road to check on the new houses under construction, or along the Spokane River is to walk away from the tendency I have to overthink my doubts and fears and worries, and toward noticing the untouched patch of snow to shimmy through on my snowshoes, or the Little Free Library on the next corner, or the jack rabbit blending into the sandy banks. Walking, especially with a 30 lb backpack, is rigorous enough to get a good sweat, while manageable enough to make room for noticing.
I like noticing the pockets of air and changing temperatures, the smells on a hot, dry day versus a chilly, damp evening, the way clouds can move so quickly from one section of sky to another. While cycling, I am defying nature, speeding through time and space faster than any one person could for most of human history. Whereas with hiking and walking, I am in nature, I am part of the rhythmic ebb and flow.
Today is my 47th birthday and through the wonders of technology I have been showered in wishes and wowed by love. These 21st century wonders that allow messages to be sent in seconds from as far away as New Zealand may at first seem in direct contrast to the natural wonder of snow-covered Ponderosa pines or a canyon carved by a thundering river. But feeling so deeply the amazing spirits of my friends and family today helped me understand that all this hiking and carrying of a really large pack wouldn't be possible without the strength I gain from all of you. To be quiet is to also be connected. Technologically. Naturally.
But I'm beginning to have my suspicions. Since determining to sign up with a trekking company, and learning that they can't apply for the required permits to hike and camp in the national park until four months ahead of our ideal dates, Molly and I don't actually know that we are going on this hike in late August. The earliest we'll know is April 1. If our guides can't get permits for August, they will try again on May 1 for early September. The anticipation is thrilling.
Also, the simplicity of walking and hiking is incredibly peaceful. It comes naturally, unlike swimming. Or running. Egads. How my brain and my legs revolt when I attempt to run! But, the human form is built to move, especially to move forward. Some have argued eloquently (think Born to Run by Christopher McDougall) that we were made for running, but my body responds best, indeed with pure joy, when I walk. And even when we hike up a trail, then retrace our steps down, the trail looks all new from this different angle, and I am filled with the lovely feeling that I am making progress, moving toward something.
Most days, that something is a quiet mind. To move through the woods, or up a paved road to check on the new houses under construction, or along the Spokane River is to walk away from the tendency I have to overthink my doubts and fears and worries, and toward noticing the untouched patch of snow to shimmy through on my snowshoes, or the Little Free Library on the next corner, or the jack rabbit blending into the sandy banks. Walking, especially with a 30 lb backpack, is rigorous enough to get a good sweat, while manageable enough to make room for noticing.
I like noticing the pockets of air and changing temperatures, the smells on a hot, dry day versus a chilly, damp evening, the way clouds can move so quickly from one section of sky to another. While cycling, I am defying nature, speeding through time and space faster than any one person could for most of human history. Whereas with hiking and walking, I am in nature, I am part of the rhythmic ebb and flow.
Today is my 47th birthday and through the wonders of technology I have been showered in wishes and wowed by love. These 21st century wonders that allow messages to be sent in seconds from as far away as New Zealand may at first seem in direct contrast to the natural wonder of snow-covered Ponderosa pines or a canyon carved by a thundering river. But feeling so deeply the amazing spirits of my friends and family today helped me understand that all this hiking and carrying of a really large pack wouldn't be possible without the strength I gain from all of you. To be quiet is to also be connected. Technologically. Naturally.
Love it!
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