Should I Go Back?

Every adventure needs a moment when you start to think - “maybe I should go back... Oh no, maybe I made the wrong choice.”

One more big hike before the new year:

I traced a route on the map that I thought would be challenging but still doable for my dogs. So, we loaded into the car and headed to the Catskills to hike up Blackhead Mountain with an extra jaunt to Acra Point - what looked to be a 7 mile loop.

When we arrived, the amount of snow on the ground surprised me. Closer to New York City, the weather has been unusually warm, and there’s practically no snow on the ground.  At the beginning of the winter season, I sometimes forget that the snowfall is remarkably different just an hour and a half further north. Some people were using snowshoes and most had spikes on. I tend to overpack anyway, so I planned for spikes but I hadn’t even considered snowshoes yet.

When things come up for which you hadn’t planned, what’s your response? How easily do you abandon your intentions? Or, how stubbornly do you hold onto your plans when it’s clear they’ll no longer serve you?

I’ve been working with a mantra of sorts from my life coaching circles:

“I live in perpetual creative response to the present moment.”

In this way, I’m neither abandoning my intentions nor staying glued to them. But rather, I allow for creativity to help me find new routes or new destinations depending on the circumstances.

So off we went. Wearing my minimalist winter boots, I played with the notion of not using my micro-spikes for as long as I could. These boots are built for maximum foot mobility, but have a minimum amount of tread - so it’s easy to slip.

Not only for movement but also for life, creating your own challenges/games builds skills for when you need them, and focuses the mind keeping you presently engaged - which makes longer journeys seem more manageable and less daunting.

In this instance, playing with stepping on a slippery slope and maintaining stability is a great way to illuminate inefficiencies in your walking gait and at the same time learn to develop more balance with each step you take. Check out the Instagram post about it here.

The climb over Blackhead Mt. was glorious and fun: beautiful views and weather, a challenging ascent and a fun glissading run down the mountain.

But on the way down, I noticed the sensation of my legs getting wet. I felt the back of my pants and discovered water running down from my backpack. My water bag had opened inside my pack and by the time I was able to close it, I had lost half my water, and both my pant legs and winter jacket were soaked.

Not a tragedy - the weather was warm enough that I most likely wouldn’t need my jacket, and I had enough water for the dogs as well as an extra thermos for tea - So, I didn’t have much risk of either freezing nor getting too dehydrated. Moments later, we reached the split in the path where I could make the choice to either head back to the trailhead or continue with the plan to reach Acra point. Feeling good, we continued on.

But a half mile in, this path had a very different quality. Much less traveled, the snow hadn’t been packed down, and with the warmer weather, the snow had become a little softer but heavier. My dogs could mostly walk over it, but every once in a while, a paw would fall through the surface of the snow and they’d have to catch themselves. Meanwhile, most of my steps pushed right through up to my shins making each step more of a workout.

Then, about a mile in, I began to worry. My older dog has had some health issues over the last year and watching her stumble now and then as she pushed through the snow concerned me. Is this too much for her? Will she get too sore? Am I being irresponsible? Is it too late to turn back?

Mindfully watching and making sure she was ok, we made it to Acra point. We ate, rested, enjoyed the view, and the rest of the trail was more packed down so we traveled more easily to the trailhead where I finished with an icy dip in the river.

This experience had me thinking about the lines between a fun outing, an adventure, and reckless danger.

We could have headed back at the split in the trail after descending Blackhead mountain - we were moving fast and having fun. The water bottle mishap could have been my signal to stop early while things were easy.

But the longer trail felt like a call to adventure. Maybe more enticing because my winter jacket was useless now and I had just enough water instead of plenty. A fun outing might become adventure when it calls into question the boundary of your abilities, adds a hint of danger, and the promise of the reward is great enough to inspire you to test those boundaries.

But when does it become reckless? Without the dogs that day, I may not have even considered this question. I felt capable enough for myself, but if I push another beloved being to struggle, then the reward of the trail would have vanished. If the weather was colder with wet clothes, or the trail longer, or snow deeper, or daylight shorter, any variable changed could have made the hike feel dangerous.

I think the key to riding the line between adventure and recklessness is to check in with yourself often. In this moment, are you still having fun? Is the yearning for your goal still present? If yes, continue on.

Is the voice in your head unreasonable worry? Or reasonable knowing?

In my experience worry feels bad - it’s accompanied by racing thoughts spinning out stories of a projected future. Whereas, knowing is like stillness - it’s in the present moment, with little emotional content and the messages have little story attached: “Go back.” Or “Keep going.”

When you follow worry, you tend to feel more worried and doubtful - lots of “maybe’s” and “should I’s?”

When you follow knowing, it feels peaceful.

So, are you experiencing worry? Then, maybe you can contend with it and keep going.

But if you get a sense of knowing, listen to it.

In my case, the satisfaction of enduring through the heavy snow felt worth it. The dogs were fine and slept well in the car. And I slept well that night.

Where will your sense of Knowing take you this year?