Lessons from My Second Racing Experience

On the eve of my third race, I realize I never posted my commentary on my second.  It was such a stark contrast to my first that I thought I really do need to post something.  My first race was at the beginning of this month, and was a 5K with about 1,500 participants (only 995 with bibs, so I'm guessing the field was about 50% bigger than the set with bibs).  It was run at 9:15am on a very hot and humid day with lots of sun exposure.  The runners were largely of the less-intense variety.

Fast forward 20 days, and my second race was in the evening (7:15pm start) on a hot but bearable day on a largely shaded course (though it was irrelevant at this hour).  Oh, and the field was 13,700 people deep with a large population of serious runners (as proof of this, the winner of this 3.5 miler was 2 minutes faster than the winner of the shorter 5K I did for my first race).  The course was slightly longer (3.5 miles), and about half as wide.  Needless to say, it was jam packed.

So I had two big lessons from my second race.  The first was just being schooled in what a dense race is like.  In the 5K I did, I picked targets and passed them, never to see them again and to benefit from a bit more room after clearing more of the pack.  With this race, as many people as I passed, there always seemed to be lots of people around and in front of me. It wasn't that I was hoping to win so seeing people in front of me meant I wasn't in the lead, but more that I was running all too conscious of the space I was taking up and having to check my pace to fit into a hole - either slowing down when I had energy to spare or having to speed up to avoid getting squeezed out (or off the course).  I definitely ended up expending too much energy to get through a few holes far earlier than I should have.

And that leads to lesson number 2 - bonking.  In my 5K, I went out far too fast, but I had the fuel to spare, and finished fast, turning in my best 5K ever (by a healthy margin, too).  In that instance, I was very much in control of my fueling before the race, and breakfast was still benefitting me when I started.  With the 3.5 miler, dinner wasn't with me anymore as I had to play this awkward game of eating early enough that I didn't have a heavy stomach but not so early that I ran out of juice. I messed up.  I should have drank my chia/water/lime mix just before the race (like I did for my 5K and will tomorrow for my 10K, though I substituted the lime juice with a Nuun electrolyte tab).  I also should have eaten a newbodi.es bar pre-race (again, as I did for the 5K and will do for my 10K). To put it plainly, I needed a bit more fuel for this race, and had options but didn't use them.  I ended up bonking soon after the half way mark, and felt my strides getting more labored while more and more runners I recognized from passing them on the way out now passing me on the way back (the course was a loop through Boston's Back Bay).

I did a lot of self-coaching, and got myself to the point I wanted to sprint.  I started working it, and quickly felt like I was about to drop.  I sprinted about half the distance, and then fell back to a jog (maybe in the mid to high 8s).  With about 100 feet to go, I started pumping my arms and legs, and sprinted in - always important to finish strong.  I made it under my goal time by 2 seconds, so I'm glad for that final push. I was 11 seconds behind my old boss, so I'm bummed about not sprinting the entire distance or keeping my pace up for the last 1.5 miles.  This was 100% about fueling.

Since then, I haven't run a ton due to knee issues and then getting really bad blisters with 5 days to go before my 10K.  I did play around with fueling a bit, tested things like Gu and Nuun to see how my body responds, and have a better plan for tomorrow's race.  It really is important to think about fuel. Even if it doesn't actually make a difference in the energy your mind will allow your body to expend, it can make you feel more confident in your ability to perform, and then you will perform better coming from a platform of confidence.

As I learned first hand on the Three Peaks Challenge, the body can do almost anything, but it needs the brain to allow it.  Get the brain to believe in your abilities, and you will enlighten.your.body.

3 Peaks Challenge: Day 3 - Mt. Katahdin, ME

For those who aren't aware, I recently participated in a charity mountain climbing event called the Three Peaks Challenge where a group of us climbed the three tallest peaks in the Northeast US in three consecutive days.  Not only was this a physical challenge due to the actual climbing, it was also one due to all the driving you had to do to get to each mountain.  We raised money for The Conservation Fund, with the total currently around $15,000.  Donations are still open if you're interested in supporting this great charity.  We felt the charity and the event were well aligned, and that became even clearer as we did the climbs and tried to respect the fragile land around the paths we hiked and climbed.

It was, in a word, amazing.  Below is a recounting of our first day on Mt. Katahdin in Northern Maine.  You can also read about Day 1 - Mt. Mansfield (VT) and Day 2 - Mt. Washington (NH). I try to share my experience on the climb as well as tips around gear, training, and - most importantly - mindset.

A special shout out to The Clymb, where I was able to pick up most of my gear at amazing prices. I got some really high end stuff, and am glad I had it. If you're not a member, join today (for free)!

Logistics

This was the day I thought I had figured it all out, but was definitely in the worst position logistically, save for one or two things. On all other days, I had packed my fleece and regretted the space it took up given that I never used it.  On all other days, I had done a very good job managing my clothing so I wasn't wearing anything too sweat-drenched or making foolish decisions about what to take off or put on.

I screwed up on day three.

I wore a thermal compression shirt (same one I wore on Mansfield - yes, we did laundry one day), and was very quickly overheating in the low forest. It was a pleasant, if not slightly (or at least comparatively) warm morning, and Katahdin has some good incline after the first 10% or so goes by.  I quickly sweated through that shirt, and swapped it for a short sleeve dry-fit mesh shirt from Dakota Grizzly.  This was my first time not wearing something skin tight, and first time in short sleeves. It was warm, so I thought I was ok. I also took off the bottom sections of my convertible pants to make them into shorts. I had a pair of CW-X compression/stability pants (ok, tights) on underneath that also had some mesh areas for breathability. Since I was warm, I appreciated the chance to cool down a bit.

We got to the point where a couple of guys in our group were going to turn back due to exhaustion and knee issues from the day before, which was a good place to stop and change clothes for the upper areas, which we figured would be colder.  The rain also started to hit at this point.  Instead of doing something smart like putting on a different shirt and transforming my shorts back into pants, I just put my rain jacket back on. That was a decision I would regret for the next five hours.

Early on, pre-freezing, enjoying the scenery 

My other big mistake was not taking the extra 30 seconds to put my pant-bottoms into the extra plastic bags I brought before putting them in my pack. As a result, they got soaked so I couldn't put them back on if I wanted to (and I did).  Overall, the theme was setting myself up to be cold when I had everything I needed not to be cold right at my disposal.

On the plus side, I had fumbled with my poles for two days, and left them behind on the third. I didn't use them at all on Mansfield except when I'd get them caught on rocks I was trying to descend as they were sticking down from my pack where I had lashed them on. I gave them a shot on Washington, and decided I did better without them (they took too much attention to use, and I was better off attending to my footsteps and hand positions). Then one of the straps came out of its mounting, which made the decision for me for day three, but I would have left them behind anyway.  I also did a good job bringing my water proof gloves that I bought after Mansfield.  They were crucial. Unfortunately, I didn't bring the second paid I bought, which were both water proof and insulated. They would have been very welcomed additions on the summit.

I also didn't bring my fleece after 'learning' what a waste it was on the other mountains. I would have put it on for Katahdin for sure.  I did have another insulated compression pull-over I could have put on, but never had another chance to change without over-exposing myself to the elements.  As the zipper on my rain jacket was really unreliable, once I got it zipped, I didn't want to risk it not zipping again, so I wasn't willing to take the exposure and chance to keep being exposed. FYI - I would never recommend a Sierra Designs product to someone after this experience.

I also did much better with food this time as I found myself extremely depleted on Washington. I brought a sandwich (which I didn't eat, some peanut M&Ms I bought the night before, and also packed two of my newbodi.es nutrition bars and a package of beef jerky (which was a HUGE favorite for me on this trip - really hit the spot again and again).  Fuel wasn't an issue on day three.


The climb
Katahdin started with my saying to one of my teammates, "This is a joke." If I hadn't packed more food with me, these words would have served me well with necessary carbs when I would later eat them several times over.



The joke was the early forest section. It is a really well-kept, shallow-incline, pleasant walk. I wouldn't even call it a hike - it's a simple nature walk. Soft paths without much steepness, lovely scenery and pleasant weather made for an easy start. Hubris set in. We quickly got to the steps, which a crew was working on extending higher up - kudos to the men and women tending to Baxter Park and Katahdin specifically. It's very-well maintained (probably the best of the three, save for the summit of Washington).  Sure, steps get tiring, but they're still easy in general.  And the rise and run was very manageable.

We made it to more of a forest hike like we had seen on the other two peaks, and got a bit hotter and spent some real energy. Fine - not a joke, but nothing too bad.  We were cruising ahead of schedule and generally doing well. These pics are from the point where a couple of our group headed home due to their bodies being past their breaking points. This would have been the perfect spot to have a proper bite to eat and change my clothing. The rain was also about two minutes from hitting, so I had a window to protect myself. That was the start of the real joke, only this one was on me.

Looking down

What Katahdin had that the other two lacked was real, technical challenge.  They all took energy from you, and all had moments you had to think through.  Mansfield had more treacherous points than Washington, but looking back on both, I realized that they were so much easier than Katahdin.  People kept talking about the plateau at the top, so I expected Katahdin to be a piece of cake, and the early forest only confirmed that. The reality is that it is a very tough climb, and the hubris I had was working against me (for instance, in making poor clothing choices).

We quickly got to a few points in the forest climb that involved scaling some tricky boulders - some included rebar grabs that the Forest Service had inserted into the rock as there was no way you could scale them without the holds. While there were some very tough moments here, you came off each boulder feeling a bit energized by the mental challenge you faced. All the peaks involved physical challenge, but we really hadn't had our minds put to task yet, and I (and others) really appreciated that.  It made things fun.

Looking up - notice the white mark
of the path going up and over

Once we broke out of the tree line, things were even more challenging, but I wouldn't describe them as fun. We were engulfed in a cloud, and the wind had picked up considerably. It wasn't as bad as on Mansfield, but probably in the 20-40 mph range when you consider the frequent gusts. This was a real issue as this part of the climb involved scaling piled up towers of limestone with a trail marked right over the peak. Steep, high, exposed and with nothing but a drop around you, for the acrophobic out there (me included), this was a very hard section to face. I will say that none of these feats of scaling what appeared to needles sticking up in to the air were as hard once you were on them as you thought they would be upon approaching them, but they were tricky and a bit scary. And we all had the recurring question of, "OK, I got up, but how on Earth are we going to get down this thing?" I kept reminding myself of moments like that over the other two days where I learned that the descents were never as hard as I feared, but I had a sneaking suspicion some of these would be. I was right on both counts. More on that in a moment.

The Summit

Walking on The Knife's Edge

After this very steep, very rocky section, you come to the plateau, aptly named 'The Knife's Edge'. From what I hear, the view is amazing. The only view I had was of the same clouds I'd been living in for the past couple of hours. Add to that complete exposure to the wind, and it was a miserable place to be.  For about a mile and a half (roughly 25-30 minutes). Times two (out and back). I don't mean to be negative about the beauty of the nature around us, but it wasn't a happy time in my life, for sure. The was a real issue and a real benefit, though.

Trying to smile

Confused 

The real issue was that the cold and relative lack of physical exertion meant that my upper body really stiffened up.  I was concerned because I needed my upper body quite a bit to get up to this point, and knew I'd need it going back down. While I knew I'd warm up again after using my arms and chest/back muscles a bit, I was concerned with how long that would take since it was still going to be cold, wet and windy on the rocks, and whether that stiffness would put me at greater risk of falling (remember, there's not much to fall onto as the rocks were mini-peaks of their own).


The real benefit was a serious amount of time to yourself. This is only a benefit if you choose to use it as such, and I did just that.  See the next section for more on this.

Getting down the rock section was definitely easier than I feared, but there were a couple of rocks that were truly dangerous ascents for us all, requiring a lot of coaching, some people backing off so another could attempt them, and lots of spotting. No one was injured or fell (unlike on Mansfield), but we were clearly at a much higher level of risk and danger than we had been.  And my concern about being too stiff definitely played out as I started the descent, but I made a point of moving my arms a lot, and choosing to use them even when I didn't need to so they'd be primed by the time I really needed them.

What did I learn (aka the mind of the climb)?
After we hit the official summit, I took off back for the rocks and had a very frank discussion with myself. My discussion was around what I had already achieved, and how much the mind works for and against us.

I was talking to myself about each of these little peaks of (or, as I viewed them, massive, thin, treacherous cliffs of peril) limestone and how I had a very loud voice inside me saying it wasn't safe to move ahead and I'd fall and die. That voice was telling me that my knee was hurting, my muscles were spent, and I wasn't a climber or someone who was ok with heights. Let's call that voice "Bob".  Bob is a pessimistic, reality-distorting idiot. I kept proving that each time I JFDI'ed a peak.  For those who don't know what that means, it means Just Fantastically Do It.  Only it isn't "Fantastically", but that does work and sounds more positive. I learned a couple of years ago not to question the tough things I needed to do, but rather just get on with it, and I'd soon find a) they're done, and b) they weren't so bad. Bob would ruminate about the horribleness, never start, and never accomplish.  Idiot.

So I talked to myself about how clearly my body was (and is) fully capable of all of this. I've been working out like a mad man for a while now, was in the best shape of my life, and had already climbed 2.5 of the three peaks. There was more than enough proof that I could do this. I, the guy who hated running and spent my childhood on the couch eating Oreos, not only was a runner, but had even raced (and done well in that race), and had climbed two of the three tallest mountains around already.  I'm a dad and husband. After weighing 250 when I was 14, I now have a six pack and pecks.  I have a large staff and lots of responsibility at work. I have an MBA.  I'm clearly a capable person. The only thing that can stop me is my failure to either recognize my capabilities or to deny their validity or applicability. I would not allow either.

No. The mind is the sole hindrance for so much of what we can achieve. If you allow for yourself to be as great as you are - and don't shy away from it, excuse it, explain it away or diminish it - you will be great and do great things. Humility is a lovely virtue, but it can go too far. The trick is not to have humility with yourself to yourself. That is actually not humility but self-doubt and a lack of self-exceptance.  Surely you can agree that you should be free of self-doubt and accept yourself.

Back to the base
The remainder of the descent was fine, and similar to the other mountains - down is easier than up, and you forget how long the trail is and start to question why you're still not at the parking lot and if you took a wrong turn.  I ran a little bit, but I had a lot of debris in my shoe, and my blisters were really a problem, so I mostly walked.

I really enjoyed the scenery, and had great conversation and company along the way. I stopped to take some photos, which I'm really glad I did as the views were worth taking with me as my last memories rather than thoughts of freezing on the plateau.

Beautiful lower-forest during the descent

I finished among the first part of my group, as I'd been able to do the previous two days, which reinforced my feeling of being healthy, fit and capable, but also allowed me to take time to think back through the event without getting caught in the rush to get back on the road that invariably came when the final hikers came back.  I was exhausted and weary, but had a massive smile on my face and wasn't even really aware of the exhaustion and weariness as I was overcome by what was essentially euphoria. The high-fiving set in as people got back to the cars.

While these highs set in, so did something else - a sort of disbelief that there wasn't another peak to conquer the next day. I was sort of crestfallen by the idea that there wasn't something more to do (ok, there was an epic drive home, but that wasn't as inspiring, I will admit). This feeling, as sad as it was, is also an impetus for doing more. If I went back to the couch and the cookies, then the feeling would be justified. If, however, I felt this way and decided to set another goal I could conquer, then the feeling serves a purpose beyond basic sadness or emptiness, and quickly fades as you gear up for the next challenge.

3 Down

I had a race 10 days later, another one 10 days after that, a half marathon in the fall, and a desire to get into road biking.  I have plenty of peaks to challenge myself on.  How about you?  How will you take one achievement and use it to fuel the next? The answer to that is another way you will enlighten.your.body.

Ran into a Young Me Today

Me at age 13

I went for a bike ride today, and made a stop in the center of town for a little stroll.  When I was locking up my bike, a woman and her son (probably 10-12) were doing the same.  They were more professionally dressed in terms of just wearing biking shorts and she had a biking jersey.  I had a tank top and some Pearl Izumi shorts, but looked less serious than they did.  Their bikes were also more legit than my 20 year old faux mountain bike.  That said, the boy stared at me in a way that was all too familiar to me.

See, he looked nearly exactly like I did when I was his age.  He was blonde, and his face obviously looked different from mine, but body-wise, this was me around age 11.  Like I was, he was probably twice the weight of his friends at school, and probably wished he didn't have to be on that bike ride in the heat, or, if he was ok with the ride, he was at least struggling with his breathing while trying to keep up.  I went on a ride with my dad in similar conditions around the same age, and remember how he had to jump off his bike and rush back to me due to my near collapse from wheezing so hard and being unable to catch my breath while turning dark red as I overheated.  We were on a maybe 5% incline, if that.

That boy looked at me with a sort of longing admiration the way I'd look at people a bit older than I was and were in at least marginally fit states of health (or appeared to be).  I'd wish so hard to be like that, but couldn't face the mountain of work I perceived it would take.  This all came across in his eyes as he kept looking at me.  I wanted to say something to him, but didn't want to risk offending him or his mother, or crossing any lines.  I wanted to give him a look that said, "Hey, don't worry. I was you, and you can be what you want to be. Don't look at the mountain, look at each step."

Who knows what words would be the right words for him, or if I was really projecting myself onto him and he wasn't thinking or feeling any of what I was reading in his eyes.  It was a powerful interaction, though, and it stuck with me through the 20 minute ride home, cleaning up, and sitting down to write a bit (hence being the focus of this post).

What it made me realize is that we all have a version of ourselves from our past that we want to reach out to, connect with, and comfort, inspire and lift up.  We can't do that, and the 'us' from before must live through all the trials, tribulations and hard work we put in to become who we are today. As much as you might want to protect 'them' from the gauntlet of life, it is the journey through that gauntlet that you shaped you into you, and through which you emerged stronger and enlightened.

Believe in yourself, and accept just the simple beauty of your existence through everything. You've made it. Revel in that. That comfort, acceptance and peace is how you enlighten.your.body.

3 Peaks Challenge: Day 2 - Mt. Washington, NH

This is part two in my recounting of my recent participation in a charity mountain climbing event called the Three Peaks Challenge where a group of us climbed the three tallest peaks in the Northeast US in three consecutive days.  Not only was this a physical challenge due to the actual climbing, it was also one due to all the driving you had to do to get to each mountain.  We raised money for The Conservation Fund, with the total currently around $15,000.  Donations are still open if you're interested in supporting this great charity.  We felt the charity and the event were well aligned, and that became even clearer as we did the climbs and tried to respect the fragile land around the paths we hiked and climbed.

Below is a recounting of our second day on Mt. Washington in Northern New Hampshire.  You can also read about Day 1 - Mt. Mansfield (VT) and Day 3 - Mt. Katahdin (ME). I try to share my experience on the climb as well as tips around gear, training, and - most importantly - mindset.

A special shout out to The Clymb, where I was able to pick up most of my gear at amazing prices. I got some really high end stuff, and am glad I had it. If you're not a member, join today (for free)!

Logistics
From my experience the day before on Mt. Mansfield, I learned a few things. First, I needed to protect my hands better from cold and wet conditions.  New in my pack were two different levels of insulated Gore-Tex gloves. Second, I drink much less than I expected I would, so rather than filling my water bladder all the way, I put more like 1-1.25 liters in it. Third, and this ties to the first, cold hands don't open food packaging well, so I pre-opened a newbodi.es slow carb nutrition bar and my package of Jack Links beef jerky enough to require zero fine motor skill to feed myself.

On the "I confirmed my knowledge rather than lack thereof" side of things, I ensured I had a good mix of compression clothing for my top and bottom half. You can see one of my Skins compression shirts in this pic, courtesy of The Clymb. I have several different Skins products, and my favorite lines are the A200 and Sport lines. The A400 isn't tough or compressing enough for my taste, which is good because it's the most expensive line I've seen.


I packed several different shirts for two reasons. First, I sweat a lot, and it's nice to wear dry clothes. Second, the weather changes quite a bit as you move through different sections of a big mountain, especially once you break through the tree line, so you really want to be prepared with layers and different types of garments. I had a long sleeve Skins compression shirt for the start, then an Under Armor Heat Gear half zip long sleeve I wore to the summit. Up there, I changed into a Mizuno Breathe Thermo long sleeve shirt topped with an Adidas Supernova long sleeve running shirt (from the 2012 Boston Marathon). You should also think about your clothes changing strategy. I was lucky to have a lodge at the top of Washington, but none on Katahdin (when I really needed a dry, warm place to take off my shirt and jacket - too cold to do it on the summit).

On the bottom, I had some North Face convertible, quick-dry pants, and ended up removing the bottoms to make them into shorts about half way down the mountain. Under those were my Skins compression pants. I might have looked funny, but I'm a huge believer in compression, and felt very vindicated on this event.

On the "I wish I had learned what not to pack" side of the equation, my fleece jacket sucked up space, added weight and served no useful purpose. It could have been needed if the weather reports were accurate, so I won't totally blame myself for this one, and I did freeze on Mansfield, so I wanted to be safe. Turns out, the only time I needed it was the only time I didn't have it. Go figure.  Equally unnecessary were climbing poles. You may want or need them, but I didn't, and they just got in the way. They nearly sent me to my death on Mansfield when my poor packing skills meant they stuck down too far and caught on rocks I was trying to descend. I did learn to pack them better so they were on the side of my pack and a bit higher up so as not to risk catching. I did try to use them on the descent, but they just felt more awkward than useful, and the strap on one came undone, so I just re-packed them, and wrote the cost off as a waste. They were one of two items I shouldn't have bothered buying, but couldn't have known that going in.

The climb

The actual climb wasn't too hard from a technical standpoint. We intended to do the Tuckerman's Ravine route, but it was closed due to snow, and instead started on Tuckerman's, and then continued to the summit on Lion Head. I had a great view into Tuckerman's, though, as shown in some of the photos where you seem to be looking into a cloudy abyss.  Pretty amazing.

Washington is steeper than Mansfield was, and I definitely felt the work on my legs sooner. It's also much longer of a hike as it achieve around 2,000 more feet of elevation. The total hiking time was nearly twice as long, with a around 8.4 mile distance. The forest section wasn't too bad (just steep), though you can see there were a couple of spots that you really needed to find things to grab, or be a bit careful how and where you stepped to make it up. I didn't mind those parts, nor was I scared. I actually appreciated the little mental challenges vs. just getting myself up a steep section.

Once out of the trees, you're basically scrambling your way up larger rocks/boulders until you reach the top. A couple of spots were marginally alarming when you first saw them, but I don't think there was a single moment when I - a historically acrophobic person - was scared while actually scaling any section. I'm sure some moments were technically classifiable as climbing, but looking back on it, I feel like it was really just a hike.  I don't mean that in a bad way or anything, but if you're expecting death-defying feats, this isn't the path for that. Personally, I really enjoyed it.

One thing that this particular hike enabled was a real chance to enjoy the magnitude of beauty around me. On all three climbs, I could appreciate the nature right in front of me, but on the other two days, seeing more than 50 feet in front of me was tough given the weather. The gorgeous sun that came out as we started to break out of the tree line really gave my whole group a chance to take in a truly awesome sight.  Breathtaking views for miles (probably hundreds of them) around; amazing interplays of clouds and the ravine at Tuckerman's; getting a feeling of the massive size of the mountain and the lack thereof for the peaks around us. Given that these climbs were to benefit The Conservation Fund, it is only fitting that we got even a brief moment to take in so much of what our efforts were helping protect.  I was really thankful, and very humbled.

I couldn't decide on which photos to include from the hike as they really are all pretty awesome.  Do have a look and enjoy.

  

What did I learn (aka the mind of the climb)?
Heading back down wasn't hard, but it certainly was long. After doing about 14,000 vertical feet already, my legs were definitely tired - thank you, compression pants! It went pretty quickly, but members of my group were really slowing down due to fatigue, so we ended up breaking up into a few smaller groups based on speed.  My five person team was way out in front when the two marathoners wanted to run the last 1.5 miles.  The three of us left behind really started to drag.  We hit a point we knew to be 1.3 miles from the end, and that raised our spirits. While I expected no more than 20 or so minutes to finish, we just kept going. And going. I kept worrying that we had taken a wrong turn or missed a branch of the path we were supposed to take. I saw a set of steps leading some water I hadn't seen when we came up - and they were positioned so that I really would have seen them. We were on the wrong path! Oh no! All that wasted energy and growing knee pain!

No, we weren't. My mind was. Some other hikers were coming up, and cheered us on saying, "Parking lot is just around the corner."  This is a great example of what I learned.

On my way up Mansfield, I saw all these boulders and rock faces we had to scale, and all I could think was, "Oh, man, how are we ever going to get down these?" I wasn't sure if I'd be facing forward or backward, if I'd fall, if I'd get paralyzed with fear, or what. Every rock was easier to come down than I feared it would be. 100% of them. No exceptions. Not even the one I slipped on, caught myself, and then saved a team member from falling off the mountain when he fell on the same rock.

See, it was so clear to me after doing Washington that the body truly can do more than the mind thinks it can. You read about this a lot, and you hear about it. I read it in Runner's World with stories of people swearing they had no gas in the tank, and then they suddenly sprint to the finish of their big race. I experienced it myself in the 5K I did a week before this climb. But that's physical endurance and strength, not mental fortitude, right? I'm not talking about using lactic acid to burn through a finish line, I'm talking about knowing what to do and not having my body freeze up with fear because I'm looking down at my death 6,000 feet below me.

But that's just it. Fear isn't real in the sense that it isn't a tangible thing. It's a feeling you have that arises from beliefs. The reading I've been doing lately is focused on how we control our beliefs to impact our lives overall. A person cuts you off on the road. You get angry because you feel they did that to you. Maliciously. The nerve of them! You swear at them though they can't hear you, so you're just yelling alone in your car. Your reaction and anger and all that costs you does nothing for the overall situation. It doesn't punish them or educate them about their bad behavior. It just takes you down and ruins your day (at least a little). If you believe they didn't see you, or maybe they're rushing to the hospital or something, then you become less angry and more accepting of what happened. You might even feel bad for them. Suddenly, the incident is irrelevant.

You see, this is no different. You go up a rock and find it challenging mentally. Because you are in good shape and lead a healthy life just like I've been helping you do (right? Right? No? OK, start here, and then go here), your body can handle the challenge. If you believe that your life is in danger, and you will fall to your death, then your mind will stop your capable body from achieving what it can. And while you might get up it fine, you believe it must be harder to come down for various reasons, so you continue the climb with a growing fear of the increasing number of insurmountable challenges that are between you and going home alive.

How are you supposed to get through anything believing these things?

I lived my life that way, and specifically did on prior hikes as a kid. I was so paralyzed by that fear I literally couldn't move. And often that fear impacted what little movement I could make such that I would end up falling because my footing wasn't right, which would confirm my fear and spark more of the same beliefs.

I got to see this on each mountain. No matter what little voice warned me of the difficulty facing me on the trip down, I learned on the first day that it wasn't as hard as my fear thought it to be. The difference was that I allowed this evidence to take hold and didn't stop to debate or refute it. I just kept moving. Action was my friend and coach.

Back to the base
So I learned that mental lesson while descending, and then was so tired and demanding (to myself) that I be done that I lost my cool and started to worry. I created additional and irrational pressure to be finished when I could have handled the extra effort of back tracking, and wasn't likely lost. And I had people in my group that took the bus from the summit I could call to pick me up from some other trail if I had gone down the wrong route. And I wasn't alone. And on and on. I allowed my beliefs to steer me wrong, and felt it overtake my mind and my body despite plenty of signs that all was well and that if it wasn't, I could deal with it.

 

We finished, I ate lunch, we drove nearly five hours to Millinocket, Maine, and I went to bed feeling incredibly proud, empowered and accomplished. I also felt like I had grown tremendously through what I proved to myself via positive examples and control and showing myself what letting the bad thoughts in can do to make you crumble. I definitely enlightened.my.body on Mt. Washington.

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