Climb Any Mountain

This weekend my family left the Cape and drove up to Vermont to visit my sister-in-law and her partner for a couple of days. They rented a house in a little town in Vermont and as soon as we made the plans to visit, I began to envision rolling green pasture lands picturesquely dotted with black and white cows, thick slices of Vermont cheddar cheese accompanying a crisp glass of pinot grigio and waking up to dive into pancakes smothered in Vermont maple syrup. The last time I was in Vermont was when my teenage daughter was a baby and my husband, my parents and I did a little New England sightseeing trip. I remember the charm of the pastureland, Ben and Jerry's ice cream in the afternoon and of course, plenty of cheddar cheese.

As we left the Cape my daughter offered her only request in return for leaving her friends, internet and cell phone access behind to participate in the family gathering--a Ben and Jerry's t-shirt. "Of course," I nodded--remembering from the last trip that there was no scarcity of the famed ice cream shop--no problem.

As we drew nearer to our destination, I was surprised to see no green pastures...no black and white cows...no cheese shops...no Ben and Jerry's. Our car began to climb up, up, up the side of a mountain. There were tall green trees, enormous boulders and a river running alongside our two-lane road. We pulled into the quaint little mountain town and noticed most of the shops displayed clearance signs for ski wear and other heavy duty outerwear--no Ben and Jerry's. Our car climbed higher up the mountain and then turned onto a dirt and gravel path which led even further up the mountain-side. My sister-in-law, Inez, had rented a ski cabin tucked into the hillside complete with a babbling brook in the back and relatively no neighbors. Once I recalibrated my expectations to the reality of the surroundings, I began to appreciate the wooded scenery and the sound of the wind in the trees and the water running over the rocks. We spent a low-key weekend walking in the woods, eating fantastic homemade New Mexican enchiladas, talking and laughing late into the night, and enjoying each other's company.

Yesterday before loading up the car for the return drive to MA, I took the dogs on a run to discharge some of their energy so they could snooze away on the long drive ahead. I am not accustomed to running in mountains and it seemed that no matter which direction I turned on the winding dirt path, I was faced with an uphill climb. Zeebo, my male Dane, loved the challenge of the incline and galloped up each rise in relative ease, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Every once in a while he would gaze back at me, wheezing and shuffling behind, as if to say "Isn't this the best time ever?" My thigh muscles burned and my calves strained as we climbed the rising slope. The run took so much effort, both in terms of the steep incline but also due to the sliding gravel underfoot.

When the run was over and each of the dogs lay spent and panting on the wood floor in the lodge, I thought about how our run represented the challenge of living a fulfilling life. At different junctures in each of our lives, there will be hills--some of them quite steep and challenging and appearing insurountable. The choice is ours as to whether to do the uphill battle first and then enjoy the downhill slide later or take the easier way first and then gear up for the harder climb at the end. Basically there is no getting around the uphill portion--we all have to face it at some point; our choice in the matter is how we decide to tackle it. We can power up it in leaps and bounds; we can shuffle up with our heads down placing one foot in front of the other, not looking up til we reach the summit; or we can move upward at the pace that suits us best, soaking in the majestic view while gaining a new appreciation of our muscles and lungs working in tandem to help us in reaching our summit.

I have worked with clients who prefer to experience the ease and thrill of the downhill ride; they want to postpone the work of the uphill climb or somehow detour the steep trek altogether if at all possible. My challenge in working with such folks is to serve as a sherpa of sorts and help them create a map for the climb, breaking it down into manageable steps so as not to become ovrwhelmed and frightened with their own personal Mt. Everest of goals looming in front of them. Like the canine encouragement I received from Zeebo, I encourage and cheer on my clients as they tackle their own hills and mountains while on their way to reaching their dream destination.

Today as I write this entry and reflect on the challenge of the run yesterday, I feel proud of my accomplishment of running the mountain with my dogs. I am happy to have the experience to reflect on rather than choosing the easier route which would have involved plopping down into the carseat then nosing down the mountain without breaking a sweat. I am also thankful to have had my trusty and always exuberant running buddies alongside to make the challenge a bit more fun.

So, we didn't find a Ben and Jerry's (but my daughter settled for a Vermont sweatshirt instead); we saw only a few black and white cows; we didn't gorge on Vermont cheddar cheese but we did enjoy maple syrup one morning with homemade blueberry pancakes. We had a wonderful time with family and I got to experience the challenge of an up-hill adventure.

Thought for the Day: Have you been choosing the down-hill slope lately and avoiding the challenge of the uphill climb in your own life? What can you do to break the task down a bit into more manageable steps leading you to your desired goal?

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
--Edward Abbey

Salad Days

Today was an awesome day and the first day my back felt pretty normal as I am now off pain meds. As you read from my last post, I wrenched my back pretty well by lifting a huge bag of dog kibble into the back of my car. Lesson: Lift with your legs and not your back. More importantly, forget about being independent and ask for help. Over the course of several days last week, my back went from bad to worse and by Thursday I was waiting awkwardly and in great discomfort in the ER of the town hospital. After six days of pain meds, I am now pretty much back to normal, although bending over to pick up beach glass is pretty much out of the question for a few more days. In any case, as I mentioned above, today was my first day out of the condo and once again enjoying the outdoors and the cool sea breeze.

Since I haven't been outside for over a week, I was struck by the number of new flowers that have bloomed since the last time I was outside. The area where we live in the summer is full of beautiful plants and flowers--most of them I never see in Texas. One year we tried to bring two beach rose plants to Texas as I was told the plants were so hardy they could grow anywhere; anywhere but San Antonio, that is. The poor things shriveled up and died within weeks of leaving the clime of the Commonwealth.

When we first arrived on the Cape in early June, the incredibly blue hydrangeas were just beginning to blossom and the dogwood trees were in full display. The beach roses were out as were the lilys near the pond. On today's walk I noticed the seven sisters roses on the fence were nearly finished with their bloom cycle, but the yucca plants were showing off their tall, fragile-looking blooms to fill the absence.
Later in the afternoon we went to the nearby organic farm, Coonamessett, where we picked fresh basil, tomatoes, blueberries and raspberries. We have been members of the independent farm for years and I always look forward to spending a couple of hours wandering the farm, visiting the requisite farm animals (llamas, goats, geese, ducks, chickens, miniature donkeys, Oscar the parrot, and a spurred desert tortoise named Peanut), and picking a few days' worth of veggies and fruits.

Last night, as I reflected on the day, I realized that one of the reasons I love coming here for the summer is that I am able to spend so much time out of doors and I truly experience the shifts in nature as the summer progresses. The flowers on my walk change on a near weekly basis as does the bounty on the farm. Each time I venture out the door, if I am truly conscious and open, I experience something new. I believe so much of our typical day to day existence is spent with our heads down, plowing through the day with maybe an hour, if we are really dedicated, spent out of doors and opening up to what nature offers us each day. After being cooped up indoors for a week last week made me even more cognizant of how much I cherish mother nature. Each day is a gift and should be ackowledged with gratitude and wonder.

Thought for the Day: Take an hour to walk or sit outside and open up your senses. How many different bird songs can you hear? What scents and sounds do you notice? Breathe deeply and take a moment to experience gratitude and open your mind up to your dreams.

In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful. ~Abram L. Urban

Life in Horizontal

I am writing this entry laying horizontal with the computer in my lap, two snoozing danes sprawled alongside me, and a heating pad on my back. A few days ago I made the enthusiastic, but not so bright, decision to hoist the dogs' 32 lbs of dog kibble into the back of the car by myself. The repercussions of this act did not become evident immediately; it was the next day, following a cleaning frenzy of the condo that my back began to emit a droning, spastic outcry. Yesterday morning I felt some twinges, but I knew things were not boding well for my bod when after attempting to extricate myself from the beach chair at the end of the day, I realized I could not stand fully upright. On the way home from the beach, I hobbled into the nearerst pharmacy and stocked up on heat patches, pain reliever and invested in a new, lovely blue heating pad. I spent the night in the embrace of the big living room chair with the healing heat of the pad coaxing my muscles to relax and unspasm. I have spent today horizontal, to the tail-thumping delight of the dogs, Zeebo and Suki, since they have never experienced me sharing their prime napping hours alongside them.

Being knocked for a loop by an injury is always startling. If you recall last summer I suffered an elbow injury after being bowled over by love in a parking lot by my dane, Zeebo. In that post I wrote about how recovery from an injury offers one opportunities to celebrate little achievements and successes on the road back to health. Over the past couple of days I have been thinking about how this new injury has provided me with time to consider how I tend to push my body beyond its limits simply because my mind thinks a particular task is a good idea and like an unruly tyrant, overthrows good sense and takes charge. I have brought running injuries onto myself in the past because I did not want to listen to the signals my body tried to provide me about slowing down. A few years back I was so intent on training and completing the Honolulu Marathon that, while running the event I popped ibuprofen to manage the pain in my aching left achilles tendon. Upon return to TX and a visit to an orthopod, I left the doctor's office sporting a bright blue cast for the next three months while time healed my inflamed tendon. Fortunately following a year of taking it easy, I am back to running--no more marathons, but I am so grateful to be able to continue to indulge my passion for running that I gladly pass the marathon baton to another.

Earlier today I pondered over how difficult it is for me to accept that my body is aging and that I need to heed its messages. I have always been an athlete and a woman proud of my strength and independence. It is a sobering reality to accept aging and some of the physical difficulties that accompany the passing of years. Not that I am ready by any means to cancel my subscription to Runner's World or trade in my membership card to my gym for a motorized scooter, but what I am beginning to realize (albeit reluctantly) is that in order for me to continue to enjoy physical movement and activity for decades to come, I need to temper it and allow my body, not my head, to signal when I need not push myself so hard.

So today I make the commitment to acknowledge that my body is no longer as agile and strong as it was 20 years ago. I acknowledge that I love my body and wish to treat it with kindness and honor, rather than with abuse by rushing headlong into physical feats, with no thought to the potential aftermath. Today I will begin to ask for assistance and help when needed rather than allowing my pride to lead me down this particular path of pain. Here's to hoping that tomorrow I will stand a bit straighter and I will be a bit smarter as I age one more day.

Thought for the Day: What can you do today to honor your body and treat it with the respect it deserves?

“Aging is not 'lost youth' but a new stage of opportunity and strength.”
--Betty Friedan

Gems from the Sea
I am finally settled into the peace and quiet of our little place on the Cape. The family and guests have come and gone and hosting the 4th of July BBQ for my husband's students last night went without a hitch. I am looking forward to some leisurely strolls on the sandy beaches close to home in search of whatever gifts the sea offers up to me today. One of my most favorite things to do when I am near a shore is to hunt for pieces of beach glass. Upon return from a hunt, I deposit my little jewels into a clear glass lamp which, I hope, will someday be filled with pieces of beautiful, polished glass.

I find it amazing that what one considers garbage at one point in time can become something one seeks out and treasures at another point. Broken bits of beer bottles and pottery become treasures after spending months being tumbled, smoothed and polished in the surf and sand. Sometimes the glass pieces are large and obvious, washed upon the sandy plain, while at other times, I must concentrate and focus on small areas of sand in order find a shard of blue or green glass.

The search for the colored chips is a bit like life itself. It is easy to go through the day oblivious of beauty and specialness present in our lives. It is only when we slow down and turn our attention to what and whom we are surrounded by that we can be appreciative for what we have. What at first glance seems to be void of any surprises or beauty, upon closer inspection holds a treasure trove of wonderful things. Each day I walk on the beach, I look for my gift of the day: a piece of light green glass shaped like a bird, a whelk shell, a seagull feather, a small starfish or an interesting piece of driftwood. With each deep breath of salty air, I feel cleansed, renewed and invigorated and I give thanks for the opportunity to be surrounded in such beauty each summer.

Thought for the Day: Today slow down and take a closer look at the beauty that surrounds you. What can you consider your gift of the day?

The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach -- waiting for a gift from the sea.
--Anne Morrow Lindbergh