About Those 800 Miles

     I dreamed the other night that I was following my father up a very steep hill. He was hurrying fast, carrying two very heavy suitcases, the sweat streaming off his face as he huffed and puffed, walking fast, struggling, and suddenly he keeled over backward and slid, head first, down the hill. I ran after him and picked him up—he was, then, like a four-inch piece of cardboard—and set him on my knee and said, mournfully, "Dad! Oh, Dad. Dad. You didn't have to work so hard."

    Now, my father died at the age of 98 1/2, in the puttering days of old age and retirement. He certainly did not die of overwork. 

    The dream, I think, was about me.

    I suppose it's possible I could keel over and die on a hike, but I don't think the danger is great. In the first place, I don't huff and puff. I measure my energy carefully and climb hills still breathing through my nose. In the second place, all doctors have proclaimed my heart strong, and, in the third place, I am not hiking 800 miles in ten months from point zero. I have been hiking for years.

    In the fourth place, I am well aware that my goal wouldn't be all that ambitious for some people. My friend who is a year older and lives in Colorado, for instance, hikes 1500 miles a year (but he says, "There are all those Colorado Mountains that need to be climbed"). My friend in California, several years younger, easily hikes 20 miles a week. 

    Anyway, hiking is not a competitive sport, and the hike itself is not a race. I'm not trying to beat anyone. I am just setting a goal and striving to meet it. If it's harder or easier for me than it would be for someone else, if someone else gets to the top of the mountain before me, so what? 

    Nonetheless, the dream affected me enough that I took a few days off from strenuous hiking. 

    Then, feeling well rested, as my yoga instructor used to say, I put on a 22-pound pack and hiked up Stein Butte. That was a tough one. At the top, sweating but not huffing, I thought, "Diana, you don't have to work so hard." 

    But there is something satisfying in working so hard. As long as I'm not in danger of keeling over and ending up flat as a piece of cardboard, I think I'll keep on doing it.