Up and Down the Mountain
This past Sunday, my boyfriend and I decided to run up the side of a mountain. Okay, so it wasn’t really a mountain but it was very steep and one of the toughest runs I’ve done since I ran the Spartan Race in 2015.
And we didn’t really decide to do this. He did.
As we were pulling into the parking lot at Valley Forge, I was thinking about the leisurely run I was about to have following the stream through the park. I was visualizing the way the path wound through the thick, green trees, forcing its way through the lush chrysanthemum flowers. I could see the warm rays of sun reflecting off the surface of the water and the chipmunks I would inevitably encounter scurrying across my stony path.
“Are you going to run up the hill with me?”
Am I going up the what? I laughed at him. Out loud.
We had gone to the gym that morning for over 2 hours. I worked out my legs and did yoga. In what world did he think I was going to run up this hill?
He wasn’t laughing with me. Turns out, he was serious about running up the hill and I had a choice to make. Was I going to take my nice, easy jog through the park, or was I going with him up the sweat-inducing, hamstring-burning hill?
“Come on, babe. It’ll be good for you.”
I rolled my eyes at him as I opened the door to the car. He smiled. He knew he got me.
As we jogged our way to the hill, I began to dread the run I was about to take. Don’t get me wrong, I had run up and back down this hill before, but today it seemed like a daunting task. I started to plan out the whole run in my head; winding my way up the hill over large rocks, obstructions in the path and places that are so steep they needed to install natural stairs; running back down the hill over loose rocks that slide precariously under the soles of my shoes, threatening certain death if I don’t pay close attention to my footing; then finally the 1.5 mile run through the sticky, humid path that winds past the stream through the park.
I was losing motivation fast.
We reached the bottom of the hill and began our ascent. Sure enough, we encountered large rocks and path obstructions, not to mention my calves and hamstrings were absolutely on fire. My motivation was lagging. I slowed my pace to a walk.
“Come on, babe. You were doing great. Let’s go.”
I started to pick up my pace, his encouragement giving me the confidence I needed to get it together and conquer the hill.
We got to the top and began our steep descent. The small rocks gave way under my feet and I slipped a few times, revving up my frustration. Then I remembered my sister while we were running the Spartan race together.
“Trust your feet! Trust your feet!” she yelled at me as I struggled to find grip on the steep decline at Blue Mountain.
I repeated the mantra in my head this time. Trust your feet, Britt. Trust your feet. Slowly, this turned into one foot at a time. And one foot at a time, we made it down the hill. We hit the bottom in stride, taking a steady jog along beautiful stream that winds its way through the park. I made it.
Out of breath, I turned inward to reflect on the one thing that is always on my mind — my book.
Any time I think about my book as a whole, it feels like I am standing at the bottom of a tall mountain, staring at a summit that feels impossible to reach. I know that incredible obstacles lie ahead, like time, and sometimes the climb will be so daunting, I may need to stop to catch my breath. But something will always spark my motivation — a stroke of inspiration, an encouraging comment from a loved one — and I will be back to scaling the mountain.
It has taken me a while, but I have learned to trust my feet and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. It’s slow, but it’s coming together. The summit is growing ever larger and ever closer.
But I know that on the other side of the mountain lie a different set of obstacles and I will need to be cautious of getting too far ahead of myself, lest I rush my steps and slip.
Regardless, I know that if I trust my words, and my ability to string them together, one after the other, I will make it back down the mountain.
I may come down sweaty, covered in dirt with a few scratches and out of breath but I will make it.
One word at a time.
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