When he climbs a hill, he has the feeling that it is lifting him, for he takes it one step at a time and does not fight with it.-Alan Watts
For now, two miles to the south, the Halemau’u Trail, inside the crater of Haleakala, still contains the footprints of a 2 and half year old boy. If the wind still carries his exuberant laughter across the cinder cones, between the Silverswords, and into lava tubes, I can no longer hear it. All I hear now are the snores of my boy and the rain pinging off the rain cover for his carrier that is currently strapped on my back. I found out later, the pack exceeded its 40 pound limit by five pounds. 100 yards to the north is the beginning of a 2 mile stretch of trail with an elevation gain of 1000 ft.
In the foreground, between myself and the switchback buzzards circling above me was my Wonderwife. I have a healthy appreciation for yoga pants, bikinis, and flannel shirts just as much as the next guy. That being said, damn if there isn’t something beautiful about a women standing effortlessly under a teal 65 liter pack filled to the brim with the majority of your families backpacking gear. Her trucker hat casts a shadow over green eyes filled with empathy. Empathy is an emotion she keeps tucked away in a dark corner for a rainy day. It was raining and she had tried on my pack earlier. She knew it was all bad.
We’ve all got that friend that can speak some truth to you that has some stank on it. In response to the stank, your eyes narrow, the ends of your mouth form a sly smirk, and one or more middle fingers goes promptly in the air*. If your friends stanky truth comes from their concern for your wellbeing, then they will know that the fuck you should certainly be translated as I love you. The mountain’s stanky truth was I didn’t really have a choice to avoid the impending sufferfest. Not only did my wife have to be at work the next morning, but our food supply and most of all my ego, wouldn’t allow any procrastination. Due to cloud cover, I had to imagine a ridgeline 1000 ft up. With a smirk, my bird flew with the Nene in the sky and I hiked on.
I'll take you to land, where the lake made of sand And the milk don't pour and the honey don't dance And the money ain't yours Now it's just a red pill,Got a blue and a hand full of Advils -Chance the Rapper
Teton Gravity Research defines Type ll fun as “Type II fun sucks the entire time you are doing it, but you are excited to either brag about it at the bar later or look back on it and value it as a character-building episode. Equal is not always fair… my feat of getting to the top was no Grand Teton Picnic, ultra, or winter ascent, but it did suck the entire time and I do very much value the time as a character-building.
You know what else sucks the entire time for me and also builds character? Doing the dishes, working out at home, and making myself write. The thing is though, is that procrastinating doing these things just sucks and doesn’t build character. Yet somehow I forget that. That’s where church comes in. My church anyway. Nature’s cathedrals. I’m provided with lessons that facilitate growth. Those lessons will repeat themselves until I no longer see being proactive as a choice but a necessity. Allow the truth to set me free. When that happens, I’ve got to find myself a mirror, give a sly smirk, hold up a big type ll fuck you, and get some.
*If you don’t have that friend, find one.
