“It’s almost eight miles, Kat,” he says. The morning is
chilly, but the sky is a deep blue, too blue to be atmosphere and must be
instead something tangible, touchable, bending in at the pressure of my hands
as I press. Around the corner, I hear the creek rushing. I shoulder my pack and
say, “Let’s do it.” The trail lollipops through the woods—meaning, we start out
and end on the “handle” of the lollipop, and make our way around the outside of
the “sucker” part. 
We follow the creek a while, then begin the incline. I munch
nuts and fruit, and drink the water I’ve brought. It’s silent save for our
breaths. At the end of the steepest climb, my right leg begins to complain; I
ignore it, move on. We round the top of the lollipop and make our way down. The
decline is easier, but the terrain is rougher—the trail narrows, we step over
slippery rock, climb over a giant fallen limb from a tree that looks a thousand
years old. The pain in my right leg is expanding across my lower back and to my
left leg; I ignore it. We come to an ancient tree that reaches forever into the
sky, its trunk as wide as Texas
We come to a sign that reads: .8 miles to the trailhead. It’s
been hours and we’re hungry for the wine and cheese we packed. But the pain screams
loud now. I hold my head high, pretending, so no one would know I’m hurting
this bad. But, by time we are to the trailhead, I can no longer hide it; I’m
limping, and my lips are pulled in a grimace. It’s another “lil’ piece” before
we make it to the bridge that leads back to our car, and by then my limp is much
more pronounced, my lips pressed, my teeth gritted. But I don’t care; I’m
exhilarated. I hiked the entire lollipop, and it was sweet! Once in the car, my grimace turned to a grin, I
say, “When can we do it again?”
Sometimes we just have to push through the pain to be where
we want to go. Sometimes the painful struggle is worth it if we appreciate what else is
going on around us--if we see what we long to see and do what we long to do and be who we long to be. Sometimes there is just pain and that’s
just how it is but there’s much more to the experience so that the pain doesn't completely define us, but as well, the journey to where we want to be.
Thanks for the day,
Mother Earth, Father Sky.
What pain will you push through for what you love or desire or where you want to be? Will you say, "It was worth it and I'll do it again?" or give up before you complete what you desire?
What pain will you push through for what you love or desire or where you want to be? Will you say, "It was worth it and I'll do it again?" or give up before you complete what you desire?
