A Simple Hike

These boots were made for walking.
-Nancy Sinatra

A simple hike. That’s all it was supposed to be. Just a nice, little meandering trail around the delights of Mt. Constitution on Orcas Island. Ben and I went camping last weekend, and we thought naively that we should leave the safety and perfect bliss of our smoky campfire for a late morning stroll. We put out the fire with more than a touch of regret and found the nearest trail. There wasn’t exactly a mile sign on the post pointing THAT WAY to the scenic beauty of Cascade Falls, but our map clearly indicated it couldn’t be THAT far. So we set off--Ben with his handy-dandy backpack filled with water for wussies (um, me) and honey-roasted peanuts for munching purposes.

Um. Well. Yes. I was just fine! I toddled up the trail like I’d been doing it forever…no heavy breathing, no sweat pouring down my back. Then the first three minutes went by. I quickly lost my sweatshirt, tying it around my waist like a cool kid from the 90s. Which I totally was, by the way. Duh. And the trail just kept going,  you guys. It wound up and around and down and through gorgeous valleys of dense green summer trees and bushes. I found myself breathing deeply…then huffing heartily, then gasping for seemingly elusive air after the steep hills. Thankfully, it was just Ben, me, and some deer who observed us rather in a rather askance manner. I probably scared them a mile off with my Darth-Vader breathing. Oh, and there were plenty of slugs. And ants. I would be terribly embarrassed if any of my friends, co-workers, acquaintances, or any other human found me so terribly overwhelmed by some mere exertion of the limbs. And of course, I’m telling you all about it, but whatever.

The thing is…my body has been very tired the last three years. Overwhelmed by black mold, stress, and allergies, it’s required a lot of rest time. So it makes sense I’m not quite ready to run up a trail or hike a mountain just yet. It’s hard to give myself grace and not really beat up on my poor sweating achy body. Let me tell you, though, it felt great to move around at last, at least for the first couple miles. To be out in the gorgeous nature of Orcas Island, God’s playground. The trees were so rich with summery goodness, the air so fresh, the streams and waterfalls so foamy and bubbly. Although my legs turned to pudding very quickly and I had to rest and take a nap (I would have taken a nap anyway…let’s face it) after we got back, it was totally worth it. And sitting with my feet stretched out towards the fire that evening, I felt on the top of the world. I conquered my fears that I couldn’t do a smallish hike, that I’d give out and Ben would have to call a helicopter to get me back to the campsite. You never know. Next time, I just think I’ll make sure I know long the walk is before I set out.

Things of a Summer Nature

"More saving. More doing."

-Home Depot commercial

Be still and know that I am God. 

-Psalm 46:10

People. It's July 17th. We're way into summer, and here in the good old town of Bellingham, we hit upwards of 85 degrees yesterday. Sweltering, I tell you. Positively sweltering, with a touch of fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk. Well, not that bad, really. But it's been hard to sleep in our apartment, and that's really how I know summer is making its presence known. The heat makes our place into a oven and it's hard to sleep while under a deep broil. But it makes me glad that even though I can't sleep, it means that summer is HERE. Every summer, I tell myself that THIS summer, I'm going to make the most of the sunny months, the long days and cool evenings. I'm going to do THINGS OF SUMMER. Make fresh strawberry jam. Host a million barbecues. Plan an ultimate frisbee game. Hike up a mountain or two. Take up kayaking or canoeing. Spend more time at the beach than indoors. You know. All the things that make summer a wonderfully sunburnt time of year, full of good memories and picnic food.

Well, I've got the sunburnt part down. And I've spent a little time by the water so far. We went on a couple of walks around Lake Padden. We had Father's Day out at Birch Bay. We did find some nifty chairs and a little table for our compact balcony, and we do sit out there fairly often. Aaaaaaand, that's about it. There's no strawberry jam in my freezer. I'm not even sure where my frisbee is. No mountains have been conquered. I don't even have the right shoes for kayaking. I'm assuming you need correct footgear? See, I don't even KNOW. And I'm more than reasonably sure that I've spent waaaaaaaaaaaaay more time indoors than out so far. You see, Masterchef and Hell's Kitchen and The Bachlorette (what is GOING ON this season??) are demanding my full attention. And my health is demanding plenty of couch time, meaning I've been guilty of canceling plans with friends, declining fun social things AGAIN, and generally taking it one day at a time. The usual.

I hate the thought of watching another summer, another year float through my fingers like clouds of July. It's so very hard to not equate a full life with full-on activity, you know? To equate busy-ness with the good life. I can't help but feel sometimes I'm pressed up against the glass and watching life and people march by on their merry way. Comparison (darn you, Facebook!) only increases my crazily high expectations for myself. When I find it hard to do the dishes or make dinner, how much harder is it to give myself a break when I can't kayak or hike the nearest trail? Doing things isn't always an option, and it's a daily process to decide if I push myself a little and get out there, or choose rest and the remote control or a book.

When I step back and stop equating real life with activity, stop comparing myself to my neighbors, I see that life...is...good. As it is. With its aches, pains, naps, Netflix marathons, and doctor's appointments. With its small beach trips, good conversations with good friends, trying new recipes, and good times with family. Accepting my limitations releases me from the dangerous game of comparison and expectations and can open my eyes to the good life I have, and this very good summer.