My 2021 BCEP group went back and forth all last week about whether to do our training hike or not. The forecast was 90% rain in the Oregon Coastal Range. At the trailhead, we decided to adjust the original plan up Kings Mountain, across a steep traverse, then down neighboring Elk Mountain, to just Kings Mountain. Instead of 10-miles, we’d do 5-miles, instead of two mountains, just one.
And, instead of a sunny summit with views all the way to the Oregon coast like the last time I was there a few months ago, we were socked in with fog. It even started to snow as we summited in April. We staying at the top for less than five minutes, shivering as we took a couple of photos and signed the trail log. Then promptly descended.
The view is usually why we want to go higher. Just like results are usually why we go after goals.
And yet, just because we have something in mind, doesn’t mean we’ll get it.
- Will plans prove less accurate in reality?
- Will unpredictable things happen?
- Will there be challenges and setbacks along the way?
Yes. These are the only guarantees.
That’s why it’s a journey.
This isn’t a lesson we’ve just been learning on repeat for just the last year—this is life.
As my ankle started aching only a mile into our hike up Kings Mountain, I was thinking a lot about the journey so far and all of the choices leading up to the elusive goal of climbing Mt. Hood, just a few weeks away. Nearly 19 months into this #HoodorBust “project,” as the professional climbers call it, there are no guarantees.
Last fall, I was scheduled to do the 10-mike hike up Elk Mountain for the first time. Alas, my plan for the weekend was unrealistic —I had committed to helping friends move on Saturday, then doing the all-day hike on Sunday. Just a couple of weeks after moving myself and starting a new job. Unsurprisingly, I was pooped and canceled at the last minute.
In January, we rescheduled.
The night before I biked to my friend’s for a beer by the backyard firepit, then headed home by 10 p.m. to get a good night’s sleep. But, as I rode up to my apartment building and dismounted, a thick, little, white dog shot out of nowhere. Before I realized what was happening, he was detaching his jaw from my ankle and running away.
What just happened? Was I okay?
I couldn’t tell: Was this an actual injury or just an inconvenience?
As soon as I got upstairs to my apartment, I pulled out all the tricks for my bruised and slightly swollen ankle: rest, icing, compression, and elevation, plus Tylenol. Then, I realized I had to text my friends. Oh no. Not again. They were super understanding and offered to cancel, but I was determined: We should stay the course.
Last summer I almost backed out of hiking the 45-mile Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood with these same friends. A whole year of training redirected toward this goal. But then my leg was hurting a lot the week before. We still went. I totally underestimated myself. We ended up covering 15 miles, 18.5 miles (a hiking personal record for me), and then 11 miles—finishing a full day ahead of schedule!
We overcommit or underestimate. Those are the few things we control. There are so many variables in flux. And the data, including from our bodies and the weather, is difficult to interpret. We make what we can with what we’ve got. The only constant is the ability to make choices.
The best choices we can, given what we know, at any given moment.
Choose your own adventure.
Does the best choice mean the right choice? Not necessarily.
But it feels the most right at the time.
That’s why it’s about the journey. Not the destination.
Will I summit Mt. Hood this year?
Maybe. Maybe not.
We will see!
May you put faith in your choices this week.
Love,
Jules
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