Cimarron

Starting on the trail gave me plenty of adrenaline and satisfaction. I was the youngest of our five-strong all female Trek crew. Right away, it was easy for me to compare myself to the other girls similar to my age. Was I walking fast enough? Was I carrying enough or too little on my back? Am I really the only one already out of breath? Within the first few hours I was pretty-well humbled regarding how ready, or there lack of, I truly was for this trip. When the day was finally done I remember lying in my tent, struck with fear, that I was not going to be able to live through a repeat of that day for the next week. 

The next morning, I felt refreshed and hardly noticed my aching body. I was once again enthused about continuing our journey but was nervous about the miles ahead. I did my best to put my pack on as fast as the other girls and made sure to keep a steady pace behind the girl in front of me. Soon than later, however, it was beginning to set in. The more I thought about it, the more I questioned my right to even be there. No one else seemed to be hurting or panting, in fact, they were talking and even singing. Talk about noise pollution. I began to grow irritated every time on of the Rangers would stop to give us some kind of ecology lesson. All I wanted was to keep walking, the sooner we reach camp, the sooner we can take off our packs and finish the hike. Another day down., another day closer to getting home. 

Alas, it’s the third day and we are finally half way through our trip. Part of me felt like it had been forever since we were back at base camp checking in, the other part was shocked it was already halfway over. Oh well, I’m not at a loss. I kept my head down as we hiked on and tried my best to look around when it seemed necessary. I fixed my view on the heels of the hiker in front of me and tried my best to laugh as Konrad shared his awful jokes. But mostly, I just focused on zoning out as fast as I could. That way my body would feel numb under the weight of my pack and I could keep one foot in front of the other without it feeling so forced. Internally, I was frustrated and confused. Here I am living in nature and it was hurting me, why on Earth would something I loved be making me want to get away from it as soon as possible? I was questioning everything at this point. I wasn’t thriving in the outdoors like I always had, perhaps I’ve been wrong about myself this whole time. 

That night we were camping at a small camp well of the beaten path. I was tired but looking forward to the campfire being hosted by the Rangers who were the keepers of this historic site.  But we didn’t roast marshmallows or sing campfire songs, the girls, Rangers, and I sat in a row in front of the fire and we listened. We listened to the young men tell us of their experience in the backcountry and the songs that came with them. One young fellow took off his hat and told us of his first trek out there. “I hated my first experience, I was small and felt betrayed that anyone ever thought it was a good idea. I stared at my boots as I walked, instead of the kingdom I was navigating through. I didn’t know it, but I was in love.” I took his words personally, I was the only one in my group that I thought was struggling. I had felt betrayed by nature, I always loved it, but not from where I was sitting. The group of young men finished with a song called “The Mountain” and we were off to bed. 

Two days left on the trail and I was feeling some type of way. The crew and I had taken the initiative to learn the song and for the first time, we all sang together as we hiked. And then I did something, I looked up. I stopped drowning myself in my self doubt and anger over my pain. I hiked on. The last bit of my trek I walked with my head high and gave my legs the strength to carry on. By the end of the trip, I thought I had found my strength. But the truth was, it was there the whole time. When it was all said and done and it was time to say goodbye to the place I had got to know so intimately, I was in tears. I wasn’t ready to go home and leave a place I had so subconsciously fallen in love with. But as we drove away, I turned my head over my right shoulder to look back at the place that had gotten to know me so well and vowed I would return.

“Your body will do what your mind will let you”