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Kelsey Williams

The Shift

I had the privilege of participating in a guided backpacking trip this summer in Yosemite. Last year, I did a similar trip through a different part of Yosemite with the same guide and had a miserable time. The swimming holes and views were stunning, but I didn't really get to enjoy them. I started that trip sick (I will spare you the details), and when I finally started to feel better, NINE rather impressive blisters covered my aching feet. Every step I took burned. It took me three weeks to physically recover from that trip. So naturally, I signed up to go again this year with an even more difficult route. Why, might you ask? I ask myself that question every time I'm sucking wind on a steep climb while I sweat like a rotisserie chicken in that unrelenting Sierra sun. But I do know why.


A lot of people tend to think that when one runs to the mountains, it's an attempt run away from something or someone. I believe the opposite. To me, running to the mountainous wilderness is running square into myself. There is nowhere to hide from your mind. None of the distractions we abuse in our daily lives. No work, no horn, no social media. It's just you, extreme physical demands, and your thoughts. Even in a larger group of hikers, I tend to saunter in silence, mostly because it's one of the only things that quiets that pesky voice in my head that usually never shuts up. Descending a steep, off-trail field of talus demands complete presence of mind because your safety is at play here. That presence is what I lack in my daily life. I spend 97% of my conscious state in "future thinking" mode. As many of you know, it's exhausting to be stuck in perpetual worry about what's to come. It's hard to say if my anxiety is the catalyst or a byproduct of future thinking. It's likely both. Regardless, when we get stuck in that awful cycle, you miss out on your life that's happening right now! And now... and now.


A huge part of backpacking is the physical demand. I like to describe it as adventuring, not vacationing. It's not necessarily a walk in the park. Walking is one thing, but throw forty pounds on your back, in over 10,000ft elevation, with intense inclines and declines, and things get real. For most of us normal folk, it requires a decent amount of training. Now I owe you a disclaimer. I unashamedly subscribe to the peloton cult. That damn bike was responsible for about 65% of the training I did! There is an instructor that I particularly enjoy because her taste in music is just as chaotic as mine. She often refers to the adjustment period at the start of the ride as the shit shift. This also applies to any time the stimulus changes i.e. faster cadence, heavier resistance, 3 miles of 3,000ft elevation gain, you get it. You feel awful at first, but then your body starts to normalize the demands you give it. And it goes without mentioning, the more we experience that shift, the higher our threshold for shit.


Every day on trail, I experienced the shit shift. The first hour of every incline was filled with thoughts like my body can't handle this, this feels horrible, why am I doing this voluntarily? And then I would start to find my rhythm. My legs would start to feel stronger, and my thoughts morphed into look at how strong you are. You are capable of so much. You get to be here. That shift in the tone of my mental chatter box is powerful. When I make that shift on trail, it gives me the space to process and heal "the real world" stuff. It gives me the space to reflect on the past couple years. That clarity usually is followed by a little crying. A cry not necessarily of sadness, but of emotional release, of grief, in awe of my persistence. There is relief in recognizing that this phase of life is just a big "shit shift." The amount of myself and hard work I am pouring into certain aspects of my life doesn't seem to match the returns. But it will. The time will come. While the load is heavy, I only get stronger and continue to evolve into a more self-actualized version of myself. A version of myself I will always want to know better.





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