You need to figure this sh!t out

In August, 2012, I stood on the shores of Lake Tremblant, about to start Ironman Mont Tremblant. This was not my first ironman, but it was the first time I had specific outcome goals to be faster. And you know what: I freaked myself out.

On the the surface, my anxiety fixated on my starting location for the mass swim start (this was in the years before the rolling starts for Ironman).  But really, it was about fear. I let my fears about the unknown, my fears about my ability (or perhaps lack thereof) get to me. 

My husband John, who was also racing that day, tried to help. First, he calmly identified a good place to start. He pointed to an area on the beach where relatively few people were standing. But, I was already spiraling, and refused to tune in to reason. He stopped mid-sentence, looked at me and said, “You need to figure this shit out.”

Then, he walked away and went off to race. He wasn’t going to let my negative energy wreck his day. Rightly so! 

He was 100% right to leave me standing there. I needed to figure that shit out on my own. And, while I did figure it out – I paid a price for that spiral. I was unable to consume much fueling because I worked my gut into a frenzy. When I finished the race that day, I vowed to myself that I would not let fear cause that sort of spiral ever again. I’ve made good on that promise to myself. 

Of course, I still feel fear. I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect the absence of fear or anxiety as we stand on the precipice of realizing our big dream. On the other hand, it is reasonable to expect ourselves to learn how to figure that shit out – and move on with getting it done. 

In the years since Mont Tremblant, I’ve learned that it’s okay to be afraid. But, it is NOT okay to keep yourself from doing something you want because of that fear. I’ve learned that when I’m facing fear: I need to figure that shit out. 

Still Figuring It Out

Recently, I summited my first 14er. For those who may not know what this term means, a “14er” is a mountain that is at least 14,000 feet tall. Colorado is littered with these suckers. They are impressive to see – and beasts to climb. John has the summit fever – he wants to get on top of all of the 14ers. He skips and trots his way up and down the rocky terrain as if he were taking a Sunday stroll on a sidewalk. Me? Not so much. If there was a version of “Elaine Dancing” for mountaineering, I would be it. Graceful is not a word that comes to mind when people check out my mad skillzzz. For me to get to the top of one of these monsters, I need to figure out a whole lot of shit. 

One year ago, I was certain I wasn’t ever going to even try to get to the top of a 14er. I told myself I didn’t really care about it; that mountaineering wasn’t my thing. And, while I don’t crave mountain summits in the way that John does, I do enjoy hiking, the challenges of technical terrain, and of course: the views. As with all things endurance and perseverance, I appreciate the sensation of doing something that I didn’t think I could. Yet, I told myself that the 14er summits weren’t my thing because of fear. I’m pretty much TERRIFIED of being on the side of a mountain, exposed above the treeline, on a thin ridge where it is clear one false step will have me plummeting to my death.

But, at the same time, I also kinda like that feeling.

The first time I was on an exposed trail was in Hawaii in 2014. John and I did a portion of the Kalalau Trail, which runs along the Napali coast. At one point, I became literally paralyzed with fear. John had to stoop down, grab my leg and get it to move. That is no joke. That is a true story. I did not do a good job of figuring shit out that day. But, something in me wouldn’t give up.  

In 2015, we ran Rim to Rim to Rim in the Grand Canyon. I was much better than that first exposed hike – but a far cry from comfortable. Shit getting figured.

Then, we did the Zion Traverse. Getting better. More figuring.

Then, we did a bunch of hikes in the Adirondacks, better still. I kept hiking (and sometimes running) on rocky rooty stuff. Last year, I did a mountain hike by myself – big girl panties and all! 

You get the idea. I exposed myself to the fear of heights (or is it the fear of falling? 😂), and each time I successfully figured some more shit out. Each time I did this, I was able to manage that fear better than the time before. 

The Giants Teach New Lessons

Now, John and I have moved out to Colorado, to the land of hugemongous monster mountains (or at least by my standards – maybe not global standards), and I’m supposed to keep hiking to the tops of these things. Oh, good molly, more shit figuring is a-coming! 

We headed to Grays Peak, one of the “easier” 14ers in Colorado. It’s a class 1 climb, which means it mostly involves hiking. And truth be told, it is a lot easier in various segments than some of the gnarly terrain in the Adirondacks. But, the exposure is significantly more. You can look off the side of the trail and see thousands (literally) of feet with nothing but air. So, yup, we were hiking most of it – but on the side of a steep slope with a thin ribbon of trail (at least in some parts).

These mountains – even the “easy” ones – are not a theme park amusement ride. There is no safety net. There is no guarantee of a smooth ride. 

And therein lies the beauty of getting to the top of one of these suckers. If you are going to get there, you gotta figure that shit out. 

I had two moments when I strongly considered turning around. The first one came when I saw the storm clouds in the distance. Lightning strikes are no joke out here. Colorado ranks 4th in the nation for fatalities from lightning strikes – and you are at an increased risk when you are hanging on the side of a mountain, well above the tree line, almost able to touch the clouds.

Check me out, I’m a lightning rod!

We were headed up to the summit – bound to be there before well before noon (which is a general safety rule), but I don’t think the thunder clouds always agree to those terms. 

John assured me that the clouds were far enough away (they were). And, so I just kept my head down, on the trail, and tried to ignore that menacing gray mass off in the distance.

The second time I almost turned around came when I was about 30 steps from the summit. You’d think I’d have this old monster in the bag by now, right? Nope. Due to the snow, the trail to the summit was completely covered, and you could either head up over slippery snow (summer snow is more slippery than an eel!), or scrabble up over loose, pointy rocks that trembled under your foot steps. 

The choices were enticing indeed. The clouds continued to get closer, and I knew I needed to shit or get off the pot, as my dad would say. Instead, I stood there. Luckily, not paralyzed with fear – but contemplating. I was trying to figure it out. 

I looked up at the summit and saw John and the dogs looking down at me. 

What is the matter with me?

I watched as people scrabbled back down. One woman took a step, the rock slid and she with it. She laughed, “Wow! This is dangerous!”

Exactly what I’m thinking, sister. 

John yelled down, “C’mon, Maria. Get up here.” I could tell he was annoyed with me.

I forced thoughts of plummeting to my death out of my head and just focused on the process. I started with a deep breath – exactly as I tell my athletes when they are about to do something that scares them. I took another deep breath, and added a step. 

Then, I did it again. 

Step. Breath. Step. Breath. 

AAACK! Loose rock. Slip. Stop. Okay. Fine. Breathe. Fine. Okay. Fine. Breathe. 

Okay, step. Okay, step. 

And then after what felt like the longest time ever to take about 30 steps, there were no more rocks to climb. I was on top of the world – or on top of the state of Colorado at the very least. 

“You did it!” John smiled. 

I nodded. Words are hard to come by at 14,000 feet for so many reasons – oxygen the least of them at that point. 

We took the obligatory summit picture, with me still so terrified that my smile clearly shows it. I took a look around. I took a breath. I realized in that moment that I did want to get to the top of a 14er. I just needed to figure that out. 

It was unimaginably beautiful up there with the rows of mountains on top of mountains as far as the eye could see – nothing but summits, all showing me how I can figure this shit out. 

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