Many Steps Make Mountains

To be well now is to learn to accept whatever body and mind I currently have.

Suleika Jaouad

Life has changed again. I have been injured and will now bear witness to this year’s change of seasons from the confines of the couch. As the winds of life shift I am once again compelled to put the pen to the page. A return to processing the world around me through written word instead of my more typical passage of miles. And as of late the miles, or even simply the steps have progressed rather slowly. I have been granted a gift of abundance; an abundance of time.

In April while skiing at Lassen National Park I hurt myself. On the ascent that morning, I peered up at the wide open blank canvas of snow and could already imagine the beautiful arcing turns I would leave behind on the pristine slope. Unfortunately, as reality would have it, I caught an edge while flying over the snow’s surface. I bobbled, I almost saved it; then I violently tomahawked head over heels. I vividly recall my face unnaturally close to my boot buckles and felt a painful pop in the back of my left thigh. 

Recently, I have had many hours and days to revisit and reflect on the moments since injuring my body. I have thought less about the big mountain objectives and more about the sublime. I have thought less about the epic spring ski lines that I’m missing out on and more about simply having the strength to pick up my daughter. I have thought less about how I’m not working up a ridgeline or standing on a summit and have spent more time just wondering how muddy the neighborhood trails are right now as the seasons change.

That ‘pop’ in the back of my leg was my hamstring. Not a strain but a complete tear and avulsion off of the bone. One week later I would be rolling back to the operating room to have that hamstring surgically reattached to my pelvis. About six months to return to sports… “Some things just won’t be the same”…but here I am.

The gains since surgery are already notable and significant. I could barely sit and now I can enjoy a meal at the table with my family. I move throughout the house with a kind of temporary learned grace. I’ve figured out how to dress myself using a stick with a hook on the end. Small systems quickly emerge when we are placed under pressure. I feel strong some days and deeply uncertain on others.

What surprises me is how much recovery is like the outdoors. Progress is slow and repetitive. Discomfort is non-negotiable and to be expected. Showing up often matters more than anything else. You adjust to the conditions instead of arguing with them. When the weather moves in, you layer up, you carry on.

Despite missing the summits and sufferfests, in this time of reflection, I think more about my neighborhood run. It’s a simple route; but I miss it. I wonder how it has changed? How has it transitioned this spring without my being there to bear witness? One of the special things about living in this area is our absolute abundance of trails to explore. I would venture that many of you have a trail or space just like the one I describe here.

 I run and turn left picking up a touch of inertia at the bottom of our driveway where the route rapidly pitches uphill for a short punchy warm up. After a stretch of pavement you’ll find the locally maintained renegade bike trail. I always prefer running on a trail designed for biking but this one is notorious for small stubs of sticks emerging from the ground that will turn a moment of flow state bliss into bloody palms on the forest floor.

 My regular loop happens over a section of the historical Emigrant Trail where settlers used to travel West nearly 200 years ago. I run right past the site where the Donner Party built their fateful cabin and attempted to wait out the winter of 1846.  These trails are adjacent to our local reservoir and are often muddy, moody and aromatic.

The dawn’s fog is dense and always quick to burn off before the sun is high in the sky. I enjoy the mental mapping of every little spur and game trail that I have found. From there comes the knowledge to adapt, to customize your travel to maximize the time allotted.

The thing is I’m probably telling you less about my run, less about what grounds me in this place and just as much about a place of your own. Somewhere where you too are granted just a little more of a mindset of observation and presence. It really doesn’t have to be a mountain top, most of the time it is not. 

It’s that strong push up the street after first leaving the house or the frost on the shady aspects of the trees. It’s the sun glare lighting up the unworldly colors of the leaves or the way your feet landed just perfectly on the series of rocks this time. We are touching base with our community by way of these trails, but they are also checking in on us.