I have a militaristic streak. I get this a) from my mother b) from my father c) from myself. As a recovered eating disorder survivor I still have some hangover traits. One of these traits includes making a day plan that goes something like this: wake up, climb a mountain, find the hardest route, conquer it with humour (grace might be left in the parking lot), come home, go to yoga, go for a bike ride – plan a fabulous dinner party, do sit ups, collapse – you get the idea. Anyways, I am no longer like that. Not even close.
But I still have this mentality of let’s do something harder than it needs to be. And that’s what happened on the trip to Cypress Mountain. “Let’s pick the hardest route” on the busiest day of the year – not because it’s free (it was) but because look – we get to snowshoe straight up a mountain. And while we might laugh and gaily talk about when the flat bits are coming, we soon discover that there are no flat bits. And that’s when we laugh hysterically. But we continue on with the others trailing up the mountain in a way that I can only imagine Everest might be and I realize suddenly that I don’t have to do Everest. I don’t have to kill myself. I can just enjoy this. And we did. And we didn’t slavishly conquer the entire mountain (it was the dead bodies littered on the way up the trail that dissuaded me:)
Appreciating this for what it was. That’s what I liked.