Happy Trudging

Last weekend, my friend Jenny and I spent a couple days at my cabin in central Minnesota.  We created a retreat—eating nourishing food, meditating, writing, sharing, doing authentic movement, and taking a silent walk.  We took the road into the woods and when we got to the spot where I usually turn around, I asked if she wanted to walk back on the lake itself.

She did, so we entered where a family was snowmobiling, and I asked the parents if it was safe.  "Stay away from the shore, where it’s slushy, "the man said, "you’ll get a good work out."  So off we went, our feet going below the surface with every step. It was harder work than I thought it would be.

As we trudged, I remembered a line my hot yoga instructor says often—we’re stronger than we give ourselves credit for.  As much as I wanted to quit, we kept going.  Did we have a choice? No one was going to rescue me on a sled or helicopter me out of there. 

When we got to where the road began again, I suggested we get off the lake.  We knew the surface would be slushy closer to shore, but I wasn’t prepared to see Jenny’s footprints fill immediately with two inches of water. For the first time I wondered if we were safe.  When I stepped onto shore, the snow came up to my hips, so lifting my legs was quite a task.  My ankle boots were packed with snow, I was tired, and each step required a new level of effort.  “Hold my hand,” I asked, and we walked together through the snow. At the road, after unpacking some of the snow from my ankle boots, we walked the remaining mile as if on clouds.

We were both happy we’d done it, though I wouldn’t attempt it again without snowshoes. Regarding physical work or play, I’m not interested in something difficult that’s also dangerous. I don’t need that adrenaline rush. But attempting something difficult that requires stamina or effort beyond an ordinary day has value. It stretches me and revises old stories of what I’m capable of.  Plus, doing it with a friend made it an adventure and a new story.