This week I was very excited. I was, along with two other graduate fellows leading backpacking trip in Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, along lake superior in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I love backpacking. I love knowing that all I need is on my back, that my feet are my transportation, and last but not least connecting the outdoors. Backpacking makes me feel very big, but yet very small at the same time. I feel most alive when I'm backpacking. This sport is rugged, it's a marathon not a sprint, and it requires you to look beyond the soreness and realize that the reward is so much greater when you've had to work for it.
I was on a five day trek which was easy, 7 miles maximum each day. We took our time, took long breaks, had naps at our lunch spots on the beach, we played log bowling, and gave kids time to be themselves. On the 3rd day I felt something was wrong with my feet. They were sore. Nothing out of the ordinary, it wasn't a blister, so I trudged along. I've been called a 'trooper' by more than a few people in my life and yesterday I was a trooper. Usually about 10 minutes into hiking whatever aches or pains you have go away and your feet and legs kind of become both numb and strong all at once. 2 hours in the pain had only increased, to throbbing with each step and I wanted advil. I have NEVER taken advil on trail. I took 3. In life, I usually take 2 and will take care of any pain I have. Advil didn't enough touch it.
By the end of our 7 mile day I could barely walk. I was going about 40 minutes a mile, I had also cried twice. I talked with my leaders and I had been holding up the group for the last 4 miles. I couldn't speak, I could only hobble, slowly. Aside from my own symptoms I had caused concern, fear, and anxiety amongst the group by the pain that I could no longer hide. I can honestly say that was the most amount of pain I've ever felt, and it lasted for hours. Turns out, I had bruised the whole tops of my feet. They didn't get black and blue, but they did swell and are still swollen 24 hours later. I can walk about 200 feet without them hurting, but more than that and I begin to limp. Bruised feet are no joke, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
My fellow leaders and I all came to the terrible conclusion that I needed to be evacuated. It wasn't a question of 'toughing it out' I had gone from a hindrance to hazard. My co-leader said to me 'if this was a kid we'd be doing the same thing. We know you're tough, but it's time'. Lucky for us though, the headmaster of the school I work at was visiting us that day and I had cell phone reception (a sign) at the lighthouse which we were having lunch at. I put my feet up on a pack and made the call to the school. I told the students who were very sad and thanked me for all that I had done. I cried again from the compassion that they gave to me. I told them all that I either wanted a high five or a hug before they continued down the trail to the campsite. They all gave me hugs. No hesitation.
This was by far the hardest decision that I've ever made as a leader. To take myself out. As a leader I feel that it's my responsibility to deal with a little more frustrations, to take a little extra weight, and to comfort and encourage my students. I am facilitating their experience, not the other way around. If that means that I am less comfortable, than so be it, I grit my teeth and bare it. But I knew I had made the right choice, because it felt right. I can't explain it any other way. I feel that when you make a decision you know it was a good or bad one by how you feel about it when you're done. If you have to justify it after you've made it, it was probably the wrong decision.
My Pepere (grandfather on my mothers side) once said to me 'every day, you're always learning'. This was great advice coming from someone who was two generations older than I was. I applied his logic to my situation. I learned when to back away. I've been further on hiking trips and carried more weight, but never had felt the pain that I was feeling. I was positively facilitating their trip by evacuating myself from it. Tough lessons usually suck the most, and so here I am in a hotel waiting for their trip to end. A favourite quote of mine is "The mountain doesn't give you what you want, it gives you what you need" and maybe this time, this is the lesson I needed to learn.
