On the Trails Again

      It was our first time on this trail in eight years. We’ve made plans to go on several occasions, but each time the trip was cancelled due to bad weather – meaning cold and wet and sometimes snow. The Guadalupe trails are exposed enough even in good weather; we didn’t need to experience them when it was freezing.

      There were five hikers last Saturday - Carl, Ben, Chad, Braun, and me – on the traditional Iron Men fall hike. This year we hiked the Permian Reef Trail, which begins and ends at the McKittrick Canyon Visitor Center, in the Guadalupe Mountains National Park.

      While the temperature for this trip was ideal, just cool enough for serious hiking, the wind was brutal. It was the fiercest wind I’ve ever experienced on the mountain trails in the Guadalupes – and I’ve made 22 trips to the summit of Guadalupe Peak and 20 other hiking and backpacking trips in the Guadalupes.

      The only exception to my worst wind claim would be another Iron Men hike in November 2011 to Hunter Peak, when the wind on top made it unsafe to stand upright. And it was cold that day, 46*. The only reason I rated it as my second worst is because the Bowl blocked much of the wind in 2011, as did our descent down Bear Canyon.

      And yet, despite the wind, I was happy with my effort on last Saturday’s ascent up the trail. I never felt short-of-breath from the altitude and my legs didn’t get tired (two common problems for me on these trails). I suppose all the cycling and office building stair climbing paid off.

      However, during the descent I got worried. I’ve struggled with pain in my left ankle for the past couple of years, caused by my definitive flat feet. These feet have carried me through nine marathons and more than 38,000 miles of running few problems other than blisters, but lately my ankles have begun to collapse inward. The left ankle is the worst, and I baby it when I walk. (Nowadays, if you see me limping, which I apparently do often, that’s the reason - my whiny left ankle.)

      Coming down those rocky trails is trickier than going up. During the climb up, you plant your foot before shifting your body weight. The opposite is true on descent, and it’s less stable. Descending is basically a controlled fall. The risk of stumbling or slipping is much worse.

      And it’s even more difficult for someone who doesn’t trust their ankle. I used trekking poles to help me stay balanced, but even with poles each step down the rocky ledges caused me to hesitate. Since I favored my left ankle so much, my right leg did more than its share of work. As a result, my right hip was hurting by the time I finally reached the trailhead … something I don’t usually feel until twenty miles into a marathon.

      All the way down the mountain my monkey mind chattered that I should never do anything like this again, that my mountain trail days were behind me and it was time to move on to something else. My analytical mind argued it would be a significant loss to give up trails, and it would alter my life more than I could accept. I listened to two minds arguing all the way down the trail, for almost four miles, 2,000’ drop in elevation. I would’ve enjoyed the afternoon more had I brought my iPod to distract both minds with music.

      But now, four days later as I’m writing this, my stiff and sore legs have recovered. Those complaints from my monkey mind are only a distant echo and I’m already wondering what adjustments to make for the next hike. For one, bring my iPod. For another, tell my companions to pack a book or magazine so they can entertain themselves while I slowly navigate my way down.

      Getting older is an exercise of constant compensation for injury and discomfort. I don’t mind; it’s part of the adventure. But it makes me nervous when my companions must do the compensating along with me. I prefer to be self-sufficient … no trouble to anyone else.

      I’m constantly asking myself how I’ll I know when to graciously step aside and leave this sort of thing to younger guys, or should I fight to the last moment to keep moving, no matter how slow. I prefer to be an example of persistence and resilience, but fear I’m becoming the old man everyone must wait for.

      How much longer can I keep doing this - until I’m 90 years old, or 80, or 65? I don’t know. But I’m not yet ready to stop. I have too many more miles to go before I sleep, and I don’t want to miss spending time on the trails with some of finest men anywhere.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because someone like you shared with a friend, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog and Facebook. Press here to subscribe.