Next Essay
Hill Climbing
“I’m a believer in momentum.”
Lance Armstrong
I can remember the first time I ran along the countryside in Albany,
Kentucky. A mile climbing up and down the hills seemed equivalent
to at least five miles of the pancake roads in Indianapolis. To begin,
there is a three-quarter of a mile hill climb I used to call The Beast
but whose real name is Grider Hill. It starts straight up a boat launch
ramp to a gradual upward slant through the parking lot, growing
steeper as the road winds around the lodge and cuts through the
foothill, which to me is a mountain but does not technically meet the
requirements of one. I used to walk this hill, as I just couldnt run it.
I called it my heat-up instead of my warm-up, because walking it
raised my heart rate more than running on the flat surfaces I was
used to at home. One day, I asked a fellow runner and friend,
Jimmie, who owns the lodge and dock, if she could run up Grider
Hill. At 68 years of age, she could run it, and that inspired me,
nearly 40 years her junior, to do it, too.
In the beginning, it wasnt possible to scale it all at once, so I ran a
little and walked a little, ran a little and walked a lot, until I reached
the top. Every day, I did what I could, even when my glutes,
hamstrings, and calves were screaming at me to stop and my voice
of reason was urging me to rethink this.
My spirit trumped my body and my mind. Id go home for a while,
where I had to seek out hills a fraction of those in Kentucky, and
return trying to rebuild my strength and endurance to get up Grider
Hill. I never gave up or lost hope, leading to that miraculous day
when I could run from the bottom to the top without breaks. The
thrill of this must be equivalent to those who ascend to the peak of
Mount Everest after trying countless times or preparing on other
mountains for years. This Rocky Balboa moment left me raising my
arms, pumping my fist, and jumping up and down in victory. As I
witnessed the neon orange sun break through the haze and crest over the foothills while a herd of deer stood like statues curiously
watching me, I could hear the song Gonna Fly Now from the
movie Rocky. I felt the true meaning behind the words for the first
time, and I knew there was more to my life and more to all life.
Since that glorious day when I mastered hill climbing, I have always
run up Grider Hill and every other hill I have met on my 6- to 22-
mile runs. As I run up Grider Hill, I meet others who ask in
amazement, Can you run up this entire hill? to which I always
respond with sincere encouragement, Yes, and you can, too. It takes practice and determination, but if you want to, you can do it too. I also run into comedians who remind me to keep a sense of humor, as they pull alongside me and ask if I need a ride, continuing up the hill slowly with their truck engines sputtering.
Since conquering Grider Hill, I have never doubted my ability to
climb a hill, no matter how monstrous it may appear. Step by step, I
just do it. This is a cherished gift that I consciously work hard not to
take for granted. Hill climbing has never been easy for me, no matter
how many I overcome or how often. My body has adapted to the
conditioning, but my breath is always more labored in a staccato
rhythm no matter how good of shape Im in. I like this sound, as I
believe every breath we take is a prayer a prayer of thanksgiving
for the gift of this journey; a prayer for guidance as we travel into
the unknown and a prayer for healing so we can step into more of
who we are. Life isnt supposed to be a steady flow of breaths so I
welcome the intensity, knowing I will make new discoveries in this
state.
Climbing Grider Hill and the hills of Kentucky is a reflection of the
way I have approached my life when I had to make choices to get
myself out of the circumstances where I felt hopeless, stifled, and
trapped, forgetting the joy of life. Choice by choice, I have gotten
where I wanted to go and beyond, but there have been as many
moments of heavy breathing as there have been moments of
effortless breathing.
At twenty-four years old, I had just moved back to my hometown
where I wanted desperately to put my life back together. I thought
everything would be okay once I got home with my circle of friends
and family, but I got sick the second day on my new job. Standing
on the scales at the doctors office caused me more panic than my
high fever with hallucinations in the form of a light show, an
inability to breathe more than a teaspoon of air and a cough that
sounded like a fog horn. The petite nurse with a heart of gold spoke
softly with the voice of angel, 217 pounds. I immediately cried out
in reaction to this reality check. This wasnt a whimper or a snivel
where the nurses reassurance could plug the dam, save the day and
make it all better. This was a primal cry reaching from my soul to
the ears of everyone in that building. The nurse who I outweighed by
a hundred pounds or so put her arms around my waste and helped
me into a room where I could lie down.
There I was lying on the crunchy paper that covered the brown
plastic examination table feeling as if life had swallowed me whole
and there was no way out. My arms folded into my chest with my
fingers interlaced as if in prayer, I cried as I told myself that I was a
worthless fat slob. I continued to wound myself over and over
thinking about what a piece of crap I was for allowing this to
happen. I broke down even harder in reaction to these punishing
words. As if this wasnt enough torture, I told myself in the voice of
a bully with ice water running through her veins that no one loved
me and I would never be loved as long as I was a disgusting pig.
Dr. Dyson who had been my doctor since I was 16 entered the room
where I was having a meltdown. With the compassion of Jesus, he
stood there with his hand on my back, listening to me as I poured my
guts out about what a mess I had made of my life. I told him about
my drinking excessively every day not just on weekends, divorcing
my husband who was as sick as me and moving back to Indy with
nothing but debt and a closet full of clothes that didnt fit me. His
presence calmed me as I knew he genuinely cared about me. He
didnt try to fix my life or me; he listened, assuring me that I would
be okay and some part of me believed him.
I didnt leave the doctors office cured of all that was ailing me, but
there was a glimmer of hope even in my feverish state. Since I had a
balance of $16 in my checking account and my health insurance
hadnt kicked in yet, my mom had to pick up the prescriptions for
me. This tormented me further to ask my mom for money because I
done this countless times for no good reason and never kept my
word to pay her back; but I vowed this time would be different.
I stayed with my mom so she could take care of me. The time was a
blur as I was barely able to move from the bed except when I was
forced to take a bath when I wet the bed from coughing so
explosively. I prayed that I would never forget what it felt like to
cough this violently and to gasp for air, thinking this would help me
quit smoking, but it didnt. Being this ill, I didnt even think about
drinking alcohol, smoking or eating. Seven days later, I emerged 10
pounds lighter with very little desire to partake in my usual
activities. My appetite for drinking and smoking gradually returned
but both were more moderate with sporadic binges.
My first paycheck was for only one day so I paid my mom back the
money for my prescriptions with my second paycheck which felt
astonishingly good and responsible like I was a grown up. She tried
to tell me not to worry about it feeling sorry for me because she
knew I was broke, but the new me that was determined to keep her
head above water just wouldnt hear of it. The third paycheck I
joined Weight Watchers to keep the momentum going with eating
less and facing the music with weekly weigh-ins which gave me
much needed accountability.
I began moving my body, walking and doing a Kathy Smith 40
minute aerobic workout video. I did as much as I could do each day
until I could complete the entire 40 minutes. There were times that I
would stop at the gas station on my way home from work to buy a
pint of Ben and Jerrys Coffee Toffee, eating it all before I ate my
Weight Watchers frozen dinner. The next day I would get moving
again and start anew, feeling stronger from this act of kindness
towards myself.
I stopped meeting my friends on the weekends for drinks, and I was
limiting my drinking to beer only, a few here and there. After an
especially hard day that left me feeling almost as awful as stepping
on the scales at the doctors office, I picked up a cold case of Bud
Light and a sack of White Castles, drinking and eating until it was
gone. I passed out and didnt go to work the next day. This would
be my last bender.
An alcoholic friend who was still drinking came into town with her
husband on business. I met her at The Circle Centre Mall near their
hotel so we could shop because this was something we had never
done together. We didnt talk about her drinking or my not drinking;
we shopped. She hadnt seen me in five months; she held my face
saying with full appreciation, Your eyes are so clear. They are so
blue and the whites are so white. She got choked up seeing the
possibilities within her through my eyes.
I hung onto smoking until the bitter end declaring to anyone who
snared, Hey, everyone needs a vice and this is mine! My body was
127 pounds, a fit and slender size 6, looking like the picture of
health. There wasnt a stronger pro-cigarette debater than me so
other smokers loved having me on their side. There was a rattle in
my chest that persisted for almost a year. Id get a round of
antibiotics and it would go away for a week or two and come back
again. The doc sat me down, looked me in the eye and said, I wont
give you anymore antibiotics after this. You have chronic bronchitis
which is only going to lead to emphysema.
My mom had recently told me that her dad, my grandpa was a heavy
smoker and had died from emphysema complications. I didnt want
to die and wanted to be able to do all of the things that brought joy
into my life. Flashes of me trying to hold a portable oxygen tank
while riding a Sea Doo, scuba diving, water skiing, working out at
the gym, walking the neighborhood and giving sales presentations
popped vividly into my psyche like a slide show. I knew it was time
to quit smoking so I traded addictions. I started running, well lets
say that I started trying to run 10 feet and then walked 50 feet. It
worked! Eleven years later, Im still running. Running reminds me
of the miracle of the body to repair itself when we treat it as the
sacred vessel it is. Running encourages me to run towards life,
pursuing dreams, embracing change and enjoying the journey.
Whenever I am running down Grider Hill and greet those walking
up it, they sometimes make sarcastic comments like, The only
reason youre smiling is because youre going down not up, or Its
easy for you to be happyyoure heading in the right direction.
This used to irritate me, allowing myself to be offended by the
limited perceptions of others. Id replay all that I had gone through
to get where I was wearing my past as a badge of honor and
needlessly whining over their remarks, They have no freakin idea
what it has taken for me to climb this hill. Just because I can now do
it and can breathe easier going down the hill doesnt mean I havent
had to push through the discomfort.
In the clarity that comes from my time on the roads, I am now
powerfully aware that we cant expect others to understand where
we started from, the exertion we have put into getting where we are,
and the struggles and triumphs along the way all of this is part of
our solo journey. We cant put in the effort, looking for recognition
or for any other reason than we simply want to see whats on the
other side of life. Our actions can inspire others to find their own
way, and the wisdom from our experiences can help to uplift them as
they climb their own hills.
Meditation:
What obstacles have you climbed in your life? Are you
able to recognize the courage it has taken to overcome these
challenges? Are you able to honor yourself by standing in your full
strength built one step at a time?
Action:
Take your age and break it into brackets like from 1 to 5, 5
to 10, 10 to 15, and so on. List in each category at least one act of
courage you displayed that led you to where you are today. Then
stand up, raise your arms in victory, jump up and down, and savor
your Rocky moment!
