The Mountains Called

Sometimes we hike, and then sometimes we don’t. It’s no big deal, but sometimes it is.

Got it?

When Mark and I first started dating, and through our engagement years later, we hit those Adirondack Mountains hard. Every other weekend, packing up our gear, prepping snacks, strategizing where we’ll shower after one hike before crashing in the back of the car to hike again the next day.

(A post for another day: the time I broke down while trying unsuccessfully to bathe in a gas station bathroom.)

We didn’t treat it ”like it was our job” because who actually puts that much effort into their job. Be honest, this is a safe space. No, we treated this like it was our life. The hours during the week were dedicated to figuring out where we’d go next. It was the thrill of planning and exerting and rewarding and finally crashing in bed laughing about how old and aching our stupid joints were that made us happy and alive.

But then another season ushered itself in. And that was one of house projects and new jobs and new shifts and, just, life. During ”hike life” we would run on the side, a few races here and there, but running took over more of our focus and so did training. So we shifted from one body draining activity to another.

And that was fine.

But then another season came and has lingered that has been less…fine. One of the dreaded ‘Rona which sidelined races and activities and most devastatingly our motivation. Healthy habits: gone. Desire for activity: nope. Marathon training: you gotta be kidding me.

By now I’ve realized life has been a series of seasons. Some good and some bad, but all temporary. I can’t say if these seasons are entirely my conscious choice, because I DO go to sleep every night with a plan to wake up early to (insert every potential activity that doesn’t actually happen here), but factors that feel beyond my control keep me snuggled warm in my bed with a dog under each arm until the last possible second.

Not exactly fine, but a temporary season.

It’s just our lot in life; Mark and I were made to be on a mountain, or on our way to a mountain, or planning to be on our way to a mountain. And if there isn’t a mountain in our future, we were made to do something else that pushes us to the extreme.

(Another future post idea: Mark’s competitive beer stein holding ambitions.)

So in the meantime, we carry on until the next season arrives, taking advantage of the moments of motivation here and there that still find us prepping and climbing and sometimes allowing friends to talk us into long walks.