Day 24: No Whining. Crying Permitted.

(Mile 316 to 335 = 19 miles)

We caught up with Gumby's boss from Michigan at
Silverwood Lake. She brought us pop!

My first day of my college geology course, Dr. Tom Fitz went over the syllabus and class expectations.  The syllabus was what you would expect, but the course expectations were a little more.  I remember there were ten, one of which was the expectation that we take care of ourselves -- sleep, eat, ect.  Nice, I thought.  Also on that page was the word WHINING in caps and bold with a circle and a slash over it.  Dr. Fitz would not take whining.  He wrapped up that part of his introduction by saying, "You're a student, it's your job, just do it."

Silverwood Lake. We would,
of course, swim.

This was about 8 years ago.  I still remember his talk.  When I need to do an enforcement contact at the park that I dread, I tell myself, "You're a ranger, it's your job, just do it."  On the trail, it's, "You're a thru-hiker, it's your job, just do it."  It doesn't work for everyone, but I am a tough-love kind of person.  It works for me.  And whining does not.  Legitimate complaints and comments are welcome, but a pure whine?  Only if it is three seconds long and followed by a possible solution.  Crying, on the other hand is totally permitted.  What is there to cry about?  Plenty.  I have been thinking about this all week.  Here are the reasons I have come up with.  (And by cry I don't mean bawl, but tears running down the face, under the sunglasses, and quickly wiped away.)

We cry because we are in pain.  20 miles a day on the PCT is tough, and it hurts.  Pain mixed with exhaustion, fear, and/or frustration in any combination will make you cry.  I cried four times when my stomach pain radiated to my back and had me doubled over.  Mostly, because I didn't know what to do.  And I wanted my mom.  And she wasn't coming.

We cry because we are scared.  We are, at some point, pushed to what we believe is beyond our skill set.  This is extremely scary and can produce tears.  It hasn't happened yet this trip, but on my 77-day Outward Bound course, I remember crying before a whitewater rapid I was expected to run in a solo canoe.  I was sure I would be maimed if not killed.  I ran it and was fine.  I still look back 13 years later and know I overcame something that afternoon.

Heck, yes!

We cry because what we were able to run from in the regular world, catches up to us out here.  There is no hiding from anything on the PCT.  When Kindergarten Cop and I hiked together, amidst talking about everything from yoga to bacon, he asked me something about my dad.  I don't quite remember what because I instantly burst into tears.  My dad was going to do this section of the hike with me, but he has had some health issues they're still trying to figure out.  He's okay; it just isn't resolved yet.  And apparently, I am pretty upset about it -- I was just able to block it out before

We cry because we are happy.  Joy can be overwhelming, too.  It may come in the form of trail magic, stunning beauty, an accomplishment, or a kind word.  When my great aunt visited us in Big Bear and shared stories of my grandmother, I welled up with happiness.  And then hid my tears behind my giant iced tea.

Penstemon. Beautiful.

We cry because we are crazy.  Seriously, we can get a little crazy.  Spend a few weeks in your own head, and you can make up some pretty wild things.  I was hiking one day and realized my mate was supposed to have summited Mt. Hood around that time.  And then I realized that I had been out of cell service for days.  And then I wondered if something had happened.  How would they get ahold of me?  How would I get home?  What would I do?  In ten minutes, I had worked myself up into tears.  It took another twenty to settle myself down.  Hollywood impressive, isn't it?  Nothing had happened.  Everything was fine.  I completely made it all up.

We all tear up occasionally in our regular lives.  Something out here, perhaps the intensity of every moment, makes life a little more raw, brings the tears a little closer to the surface.  It makes you feel a little like an emotional boob, but I do think it amounts to growth over time.  You just have to embrace it.  And get good about stealthily wiping your eyes and boogers before anyone notices.

This bug (beetle?) is everywhere - usually
with its rump in the air and face in the sand.
Now on Gumby's pants.