Forward Movement

I think I'm making progress.  The three mile hike through gorgeous forests and meadows on Saturday felt easy, even on the hills.  I could have started over and done it again. 

On Sunday, I started a running program through an app on my newly purchased shiny white iPhone.  For the first time in my adult life, I ran.  I was the only person in sight on the track at Parkrose High School.  In the rain, ugly New Balance sneakers tied up tight, rain coat unzipped, hip hop song in my ear, a pleasant voice started me on the 38 minute program.   Nearly a dozen plump Canadian Geese lingered in grass in the center of the track.  I felt foolish for feeling self conscious as they noticed me, when stopped their pecking as I lumbered past.  One minute intervals of running should not have been so hard, but they were.  The 1 1/2 minutes of walking in between did not allow my lungs to calm.  I worried I might pass out on the track and that no one would find me until school started the next day.   I only wished I had brought a bottle of water with me.  But is that what runners do?  I never see them running with water. 

Thighs were a solid burn and so heavy as I started up the hill for the walk home.  I wished for a minute I had some bread to feed the geese to thank them for not laughing.     

My thighs still hurt two days later.  The last running I can recall would have been for basketball or softball during my freshman year of high school.  I hated it then too.  My lungs do not support running.  Breath sucks in so hard I can feel a scary indent in the small of my neck.  My pale freckled face turns such a bright cherry red that people notice and ask me if I'm okay.  Also, Joe tells me I'm flat footed, that I don't look right when I run.  Just like dancing, he said, some people just know how to do it and some people don't.

Run two is tonight, likely in the rain again.  This time I will bring water and bread crumbs.

Quiet

I am just-exactly-peaceful-right in the natural world.  Or at least the natural worlds I know in Western Oregon.  The moist day glow green ancient forests pump out super oxygenated air that gives me a natural unclouded high.  Makes me feel extra awake.  The pulse of the forest floor keeps time, grounds me to the moment.  Layers of fallen and decomposed leaves create a soft landing for my chestnut brown hiking shoes.  The ground springs.  Rocks and roots in the path force focus that quiets my mind.  My head is cluttered with details, distracted by flashes of memories, and sometimes a song I may have caught snippets of gets stuck on a tortuous loop.  Quiet is priceless and I know where to get it.

What is The Secret?

I think I need a motivational speaker.  Or one of those seminars at the hotel banquet rooms where I can learn how to make all my dreams come true.  I've set this goal, to climb Mt. Hood in 344 days from now, yet there is no plan.

And that is how I roll.

I'm a fly by the seat of my pants, get there when I get there, it all comes out in the wash kind of person.  Despite my late arrivals and the chaos that comes without planning, I sort of admire that I can pull off so many things that seem impossible. 

But I'm pretty sure it won't work this time.  A three mile vertical climb will not just happen.  Training is required.  My lungs must be conditioned to deliver oxygen efficiently to keep muscles moving for 11 hours. 

Do I need a guru?  A personal trainer?  Do I need an app?  Must I simply imagine myself as a fit climber and I will become that?  Maybe I need a spreadsheet? 

Three Generations on a Hill

Lungs burn.  Thighs aflame.  Big breaths blow out through puffed cheeks.  Miriam has given up on our hike so I pull her up the steep path through thick trees.  Behind us are the Cascade mountains, much taller than the mountain we climb now.  We are in LL Stub Stewart State Park, 30 miles west of Portland, on the pack-up-and-go-home day of our overnight.  It's not tent camping, but the small cabin we rented isn't really a house since it doesn't have a kitchen or bathroom.  So it's known as glamping (glamorous camping).  It's the only way we like to camp outside the months of July and August. 

The morning invigorates.  The early sun warms the pure air that smells like damp soil and thick green undergrowth that's lush this late in the spring. The most remarkable thing about this park, to me, is the lack of noise.  It's not silent with so many birds and people, but there is no sound of a highway or airplanes overhead.  Peace.

Behind me being towed is my six year old daughter Miriam.  She wears dark blue skinny jeans and a light pink t-shirt under a turquoise puffy coat.  I talked her into wearing her gray tennis shoes instead of the pink Mary Janes for the hike.  She carries a half eaten Hershey's chocolate bar that she ate on the downhill portion.  Her hair is stringy and tangly from a raucous night around the campfire and in the woods running with her friends and cousins. 

Behind her is my 63 year old mom Carol.  She wears faded mom jeans and a clay colored fleece.  Her short blond hair looks about the same as usual.  She wears purple Keen sandals with white socks.  

Ahead of us are a bunch of friends and their kids, my sister and her kids.  We bring up the rear.  My 10 year old son Henry is playing disc golf with his buddy and my husband Joe on the other side of the park.  

As my lungs get worked over on the steep climb, I notice my two companions and it reminds me that I have a long way to go to be ready for Mt. Hood.  I'm climbing with a child and a senior and we all seem to be struggling about the same.  I think about the posting for a recent bear sighting at the park and wonder if I could outrun a bear.  Not likely. 

I step over a gurgling stream that crosses the path, listen to the water fall over the down slope.  I stop to take a drink of my now cold instant coffee with milk.  It's bitter, more so than brewed coffee, but I'll take whatever caffeine I can when I'm camping.  I had also grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler before we left, but Miriam talked me into having a drink, which resulted in swirls of chocolaty backwash mixed in.  Miriam lets go of my hand, unscrews the top and gulps down her brown tinted water. 

Mom breathes heavy, drinks from her bottle too.  

Forward movement begins again without a word.  Miriam lags behind a few feet, then runs up to grab my hand to continue the tow.  I tuck the empty disposable coffee cup into the pocket of my black hoodie, pull off my camping hat, and let it hang down to my back with the string about my neck.  The wind cools my sweaty head, feels better than perfect.

My mind wanders to last night in the cabin, when my insomnia took full control and I only slept around one hour.  I cut myself a little slack.  Maybe the hill would be easier on a real night of sleep?  I had drifted off sometime after 5:30 am when I put down the People magazine and clicked off the flash light I had propped up for a reading light.

"Are we almost there?"  Miriam whines.

"Yep, just around one more corner and we should be able to see the cabins," I say.

"Do you think we'll see a bear out here?" she asks.

"No, everyone's making far too much noise.  They'd be scared off my now."

Mom chimes in, between breaths, "When your mom was little...............we used to see bear all the time...............where we lived...............we just steered clear though...............and they never bothered us."

"Yeah, bears are nice," Miriam adds.

We take a dozen more steps and see the row of little brown cabins.

More Roadblocks

This one didn't even make the earlier list. 

Birthdays 

In the months of April and May, we have six significant birthdays starting on April 17th and ending on May 23rd.

Starts with Joe, then me, then Henry on the same day as my old friend Lori, then brother-in-law Jeff, then mother-in law Delores.

This means parties every weekend and parties trump hiking every time.  It's a good problem to have, so many loved ones and friends, but this is where I get knocked off course and typically do not get back.

This roadblock shines the light on a flaw in my training schedule.  I can't just train on Saturdays if I want to climb Mt. Hood.  Seems obvious, but I'm not skilled at this goal setting business.  In fact, other than graduating from college or the occasional diet here and there, I can't think of any other goals I've set.  No five year financial goals, no will, no vision of where I will be in ten years.    Writing that makes me feel pathetic.  I see Suze Orman's face, watch her shake her head at me.  

But back to the problem at hand.

Ready for another roadblock?  I wake up at 6:00 am, get myself and the kids up and out of the house, work until 4:30 or 5:00 pm, commute 30-60 minutes home, make dinner and finish up eating around 6:30 or 7:00 pm, load the dishwasher, hang out with the kids until their 8:30 pm bedtime, and try to get to bed by 10:00 pm if I can.  As I write this, I see there could be a half hour of exercise thrown in to the mix after dinner.  Or I could wake up earlier to exercise before work.  

Ready for another roadblock?  I've got insomnia.  Not the, "it's hard to fall asleep" variety, but the, "I haven't slept in a week and am hallucinating" kind.  For the last seven years, I had slept sound with the aid of Ambien.  Last month, I weaned myself off and now getting a night's sleep is challenging to say the least.  One of the items on the "sleep hygiene" list I took home from the Naturopath, No vigorous exercise in the evenings.  

So 5:00 am it is.  

Roadblock cleared.