Musing: The Adventure of Rachel and Jeff

{not too intimidating, right?}

That's Rachel and Jeff as opposed to Jeff and Rachel because it was Rachel’s idea.

The adventure: to run the “Y” hike. . . .after lifting for an hour.

Bad plan. We made it second switchback, but only after this older lady saw us huffin an puffin on the side of the trail and said, “I’m a forty (somethin’) old lady and I can do it. You can do it it too!” I proceeded to explain that we had run up to this point (about the first switchback); her reply: “Oh. Slow the pace!” Insightful.

In life, I am not so good at pacing. I have a great tendency to expect much of myself, to want to be able to do everything within my reach all at once. It’s been something I’ve struggled with for most of my life, which my mother will attest to; she was always trying to keep me from leaping out onto overly-mountainous paths. The attempt at running up to the “Y” was a significant metaphor for my life, one which occurred to me as we jogged back down to the trailhead- all jell-o legs and noodle arms. I get so excited about something and set off on the trail with confidence. When I start to feel a strain I remain determined, but by the time I reach less than halfway my lungs are roasting and my legs are as logs. Disappointment sets in and I tear down the trail in the opposite direction. After this hike, Jeff actually said that when it comes to acting upon my own expectations, I am bipolar. Excited then depressed. Hot then cold. On then off.

So I’m working on it. I am trying to “chunk” my expectations. I keep a detailed planner with a to-do list for the day, focusing on priorities first and moving on down the line from there. I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again.

I also have a plan for that darned mountain. It involves farlicks.