I truly feel that in our day-to-day lives we do not suffer enough. OK, so before you @ me… I’m NOT talking about trauma. Trauma is different from suffering and takes years of therapy in most cases to overcome. I’m talking about your garden-variety suffering– You don’t have what you’d like to eat. You’re too hot or cold. A coworker is annoying you. These could all be instances of minor suffering. But I’m also talking about the kind of suffering that could range all the way up to major suffering, the kind that might end in injury or death if you’re doing stupid things. Going out and trying to outlast hypothermia comes to mind (not that I’d know anything about that… *cough cough* Mt. Leconte.) That’s the suffering I’m talking about. Childhood abuse, death of a family member, systematic racism– I’m classifying those things as trauma, so that’s not in the scope of this discussion.
Now that I’ve defined my terms a bit, I really feel like we, as humans, benefit from a smidge of suffering– large or small variety. I’ve written before about the fact that these days we pass our lives in relative comfort, and the more I think about it, the more I think that perhaps this is the quiet desperation Thoreau talked about. We’re mostly free from suffering we may have had to go through in the past — chopping our own wood, hauling our own water, living without the comforts of HVAC and plumbing. If we get the hankering for a pineapple, we can just jog on down to the store and pick one up, never knowing how long it takes to grow a dang pineapple yourself. We just move along our lives in relative comfort, and I’m not knocking it. I really think it’s kind of awesome that we can do this! It’s when we forget the privilege of this comfort that the problems start to set in. Enter self-imposed suffering.
I’m a big proponent of self-imposed suffering obviously. If it’s gonna hurt and I’m gonna suffer, Sign. Me. Up. That teensy bit of suffering makes the comfort oh so much sweeter. Plus I’m more resilient to times when the suffering isn’t quite so self-imposed. Say the heat or air goes out or a huge leaks springs up in my house. As I’m schlepping through that water that has invaded my house, I might think to myself, “Still not as bad as that time at Merrill’s Mile where it monsooned on us for 12 hours straight and our feet pruned up into blisters on top of blisters. I instantly feel better. I might think, “Still not as hot as that year at Georgia Jewel where I ran out of water in the 90 degree heat for three miles. I made it through that. I’ll make it through this too.”
And that’s what feeling uncomfortable does for us. It makes us more resilient, yes, but it also makes us more empathetic. You can recognize that look of suffering in others and jump in to help. You can see this phenomenon in action at any longer distance event. I’ve seen folks stop racing to provide water, salt, food, emotional support, all of the above to complete and utter strangers. Heck, I’ve stopped my own races to walk with folks who were struggling. It’s just something you do because you’ve suffered–you are suffering– and you’d like to make it better for someone else. I feel like this world could use a little more of that spirit.
On that note, I hadn’t really scheduled any good sufferfests lately, so I decided to do something I’d been daydreaming about for years ever since I started running — tackle the mountain by my house. The weather for the attempt looked awful–storms dotted the radar and I wasn’t sure it was going to happen at all. I got up, checked the radar one last time, determined it was safe to go, and set off from the house. The first three miles were fairly flat and gave me time to assess the weather more before starting the climb. The first three were pretty slow going. I’d had my Covid shot earlier that week and my heart rate kept spiking for no reason, but I eventually made it to the base of the mountain. From the bottom of the hill, it was daunting. I looked up, took a deep breath, and started making my way up. I knew the mountain was fairly steep in places, but this was all new territory for me. I was excited.
I started up the base, which happens to be the steepest part (of that side, I’d find out) and slowed to a walk. I really wanted to make my way back and not have to use my phone-a-husband on the other side. The cars on the road were loud and kind of freaked me out. I wasn’t sure this was going to be an enjoyable experience. My legs were burning pretty much immediately. Soon the incline started levelling off and the shoulder widened considerably. I started to notice these incredible little caves and waterfalls all over the side of the mountain that I’d never noticed while driving. At the top, I stopped to get a brief glimpse before continuing down the other side. I knew two things: 1) the view would be way better on the other side and 2) I was determined to see it!
By this point, my legs were thoroughly chewed, IT bands screaming from running downhill, but I didn’t care. I barely felt it. I was going to make it back over this mountain! I u-turned at the bottom and started my way back up the other side oblivious to the fresh hell that this side would bring. As an aside, Drew tracks me on my runs, so I kept getting encouraging texts from him like, “Good job! Made it to the top!” When I turned around and started up the other side, he was a bit shocked but cheered me on. Drew has ridden up this side on his bike. Drew knew what awaited me.
The way back was a whole, whole lot steeper a whole lot longer than the other side. I trudged up and up and up until I thought my legs would just give out. They burned; they ached; I second guessed myself. I cursed myself. But I didn’t think about stopping. I had a summit to reach and a view to see. “This is the crux! You can do it! showed up on my watch. I smiled and dug deep. I was almost at the top.
I have driven over that mountain countless times and seen some beautiful sights out the windows as I passed, but the view from the top of that mountain road was the most beautiful I’d ever seen it! I stopped to take some pictures and eat a snack, stomach growling, legs burning, heart full. It was literally all downhill from here.
Climbing the mountain that day for me was physical, the suffering self-imposed, but that certainly isn’t always the case. Sometimes the hard and steep roads we have to climb can’t be seen by others, but we have to get over them anyway–keep grinding and grinding until we see the top– even if we don’t have a guide to signal “This is the crux!” Going through the crucible on our own terms makes us stronger in body — sometimes– in mind — always. That kind of resilience teaches us patience, peace, stillness. And there’s nothing quite like the view from the top.
Tales from the Back of the Pack 