I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.
John Muir
I have always been competitive. Whether it’s team sports in high school or individual sports such as road racing, I have always approached physical activity as a competition or as preparation for it. For better or worse, this shows up in my hiking. I find myself pushing for more miles per day, more miles per hour, more trails per month. I collect data using my technology and I review the stats of my physical activities: elevation gain, pedal cadence, heart rate, calories burned, etc
And I have been blessed with a body that puts up with this nonsense.
It affects my overall experience in the wilderness. I impose an overall goal and then I strive to meet or exceed it. In 1985, I thru-hiked the AT. I had about four months to get it done which defined the daily mileage. My trail name was “The Runner” because I was hiking over 25 miles a day at a time when that was unusual. My John Muir Trail hike in 2018 was planned for 15 miles a day but as soon as I knew my body would take it, I was cranking out 18 – 22 miles.
Even on my weekend hikes, I try to optimize hiking time by figuring out which trail combinations would give me at least 16 miles in a day hike. When you are working on a 900 Miler map, this becomes the strategy.
There is a sort of satisfaction that accompanies this mindset. As I close my 5th decade on the planet, I like the fact I can still crank out a 20-mile day. It’s better to catch people than to be caught and hiking this way gets one through those less enjoyable sections of trail.
But it comes with a cost. I catch myself short-cutting time at a beautiful overlook because I need to cover another 10 miles. I spend time in camp strategizing the next day. I have a regular goal of maybe 15 miles and a stretch goal of 20 miles if the campsites support it. If I sit still for more than an hour, I get antsy for no other reason then I believe I need to be moving. I’ll blow off a side trail to a waterfall because it’s not on the main trail.
I hold no shame in this approach. It has served me well. I have been able to maintain a level of fitness that takes me to remote places and on balance, I believe I have been able to see more places and have more experiences. But as I continue to evolve more into one who saunters, I have given myself permission to change my thinking about this. There is a book that launched this change: Backpacking with the Saints by Belden C. Lane. The subtitle is “Wilderness Hiking as Spiritual Practice.”
Wilderness hiking as spiritual practice…
At the time, Lane was Professor Emeritus of Theological Studies at St. Louis University. He sees backpacking as a discipline and a metaphor for a spiritual journey, providing a framework for experiencing solitude in the wilderness. Backpacking is not an end in itself but the means to another objective. He uses the time to contemplate his own spiritual journey and a he takes along company, although not in the sense of animate human companions, but the writings of great saints, thinkers and spiritual leaders of different faiths and backgrounds. The range is broad from Edward Abbey to the Desert Fathers of the third century. What an impressive group of friends to take on a backpacking trip.
Lane suggests that the wilderness of Creation only enhances our study and contemplation of spiritual matters because of the solitude, stillness, and proximity to the Creator. The practice of lightweight backing packing is similar to the existence of those who sought guidance from God; taking only the necessary belongings for basic survival, very limited comfort and minimal distraction.
This has led me to come to terms with the competitive nature of my hiking. I am still working on my second 900 Miler map and I still plan epic treks, but I now seek out opportunities for being still and having quiet reflections amidst a high mileage day. Although I still tend to hike alone for the solitude, I am not sure if I can ever become one who “smells the roses,” but at least I notice their presence as I pass. And I approach hiking as a time to be alone with my thoughts and less of a physical training objective.
As I sit writing this essay, I am blessed with a beautiful Saturday morning and I am being treated to a wonderful concert performed by a full chorus of birdsong. What is special about this moment is that the energy of this choir is so strong as to nearly drown out the background noise that is typical of city living. And I believe that I may be the only person in the audience; not that they are performing exclusively for me, but that they are living within their character and I have been granted special permission to be witness.
…Alas, the crescendo as faded. The unseen conductor has directed the movement toward adagio and the concert has come to an end. The noise of humanity has returned abruptly and it is time for me to engage the tasks of the day.
Be well, do good, walk humbly…
wildsabbath.com 