A week from today I will hopefully find myself at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. 

I say “hopefully” because, until recently, I wasn’t sure I’d have what it will take to reach that goal. 

I’ve decided to write this blog post in two parts…one part before my adventure, and one part after. 

The thoughts and emotions I have before a big undertaking typically become muted over the course of the experience. A “new me” emerges from the ashes of my adventure, and the “old me” fades into the background. 

In this case, I want to capture the “before and after” in hopes that it will serve as inspiration for my future self. That I’ll have something to ground me when self-doubt begins to creep back in. 

If all doesn’t go as planned…well…then…I guess…I’ll have a cautionary tale to remind my future self to think before I leap!?!

Not long ago, Glenn and I were lamenting how much harder physical activities are now compared to a decade ago. The challenges of my aging fat body are making themselves known with determined regularity.

We had just finished a trail half-marathon where we were the last two finishers…by a long shot. We crossed the finish line a good 45 minutes after the runner in front of us. 

We’ve never cared about our pace and have finished at the back of the pack more times than I can count. While running 13+ miles has never been easy, this race was a whole new level of challenging. 

The “maybe we shouldn’t do this stuff anymore,” sort of challenging.

We started contemplating if our days of longer runs and big hikes were behind us. Was it finally time to start scaling back our visions of tackling adventures that required significant physical exertion? Did we need to start looking for more sedate forms of entertainment?

It didn’t take long for us to decide we weren’t ready to give up just yet. We adopted a “it’s now or never” mantra and filled our calendars with laughably difficult, if not impossible, physical challenges and adventures. 

This is how I found myself agreeing to join my friend Sayuri on a trek into the Grand Canyon. 

Sayuri and I had just finished hiking Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch, and her eagerness to tackle another backpacking trip together was something I just couldn’t refuse.

Normally, when I sign up for difficult adventures, I’m adrift in a sea of naïveté because I haven’t done it before. This creates a bit of a shield behind which my inner “I can do anything” optimist can bloom. Unfortunately, in this case, I knew exactly how difficult hiking the Grand Canyon can be. 

I did it over 30 years ago and it almost killed me. 

I was maybe 20 years old and on a college Spring Break field trip with my fellow Geology majors from the University of North Dakota. I hadn’t done any real hiking before and had no idea what I was getting myself into. Beyond rollerblading across campus with friends, regular exercise was a foreign concept. 

My memory of climbing out of the canyon is a miserable blur of sweat and tears. 

I was beyond the point of giving up, and it took everything in me just to get up to the next switchback…and then the next switchback…and then the next switchback. As I finally limped atop the canyon rim, I swore I’d never. Ever. Ever. Do it again.

Famous last words. 

This time around I knew how important conditioning would be, so I set out with an ambitious training plan involving running, strength training, and hiking with a pack that would gradually get heavier. 

And then, about 6 weeks ago, everything got derailed. 

I pulled a calf muscle while hiking and it refused to heal. As soon as I thought it was recovered, I’d pull it again doing the most mundane of activities (like taking out the garbage). I lost about 3 weeks of training while I waited for my injury to heal. 

Then, once I was back in action, a series of events (crazy weather, family medical issues, sick pets, etc.) meant I didn’t have the time to complete my weekly activity goals. I felt like I was failing in my training, and by extension, doubted my ability to do the Grand Canyon hike. 

I seriously contemplated cancelling.

Then, last week, I was captivated by an epic challenge my friend Mirna was doing. Together with 9 other women, she was endeavoring to run as far as she could over 6 days as part of the lululemon FURTHER event. 

I was glued to Mirna’s Instagram feed as though it was the best damn daytime Soap Opera that ever existed. 

In addition to videos of her running, there were videos of various behind the scenes happenings. One of those videos was of Mike, Mirna’s running coach, who was asked how he had helped Mirna prepare for the ultra-running event. 

What Mike said changed everything for me. 

I don’t recall his exact words, but he basically said that the key was consistency. That it didn’t matter if Mirna was running, lifting weights, doing the rowing machine, biking, or skiing. 

What mattered was that Mirna was consistently being active. 

In doing so, she was banking fitness in her “fitness jar” that she could pull from as she endeavored to essentially run a marathon a day, for 6 days in a row. (For the record, she ended up running 146.2 miles! Just, wow.) 

In that moment I realized that for months I had been as active as I could be, given my circumstances, and that in doing so I was filling my own fitness jar. That even if my intended 2.5-hour training hike got cut short, I had still banked physical activity that would serve me well in the canyon. 

I had met Mike in person (along with Mirna and Sayuri), while running over a volcano in the middle of the North Atlantic (you can read about that crazy adventure here).

I sent him a message expressing my gratitude for his wisdom, and it wasn’t long before Mike gave me an unexpected call.

He said that both Glenn and I are “more active than your average Joe.”  That we are at about 75% of our top fitness year-round, so we don’t have to do a ton of intense training to get ready for a big challenge.

Even with my recent setbacks, he believed I’d be able to pull off the canyon hike.

Mike is an exceedingly funny, sweet, and gentle man. As a coach, he meets you where you are at, sincerely validates your efforts, and pushes you to stretch for more.

Mike doesn’t seem the type to offer false flattery, and so his confidence in my ability to get myself down into (which is going to be the hardest part for me) and then back out of the Grand Canyon helped put me back on my feet. 

And so, with a week to go…I’m feeling more eagerness and less trepidation about the trek. My trust in my body’s ability to do hard things is growing, and my inner “I can do anything” optimist is peeking her head out from around the curtain.

Lastly, the universe has a funny way of showing herself sometimes. 

As it turns out…by random chance…Coach Mike is hiking the exact same trail into the Grand Canyon at the same time I am. So, if I need another pep-talk, I’ll look to find him around the next bend on the trail!  

Holy guacamole that was hard. But I did it! In fact, this trip into the Grand Canyon was considerably easier than my trek 30+ years ago. 

Although my old(er) lady hips and knees would beg to differ, I’m in much better physical shape than I was when I was in my twenties. That, combined with subsequent decades of hiking and backpacking experience, made for a much smoother and more enjoyable adventure.

However, I was plagued with subtle…yet persistent…self-doubt for most of the trip. 

It was as if I was hesitant to fully claim confidence in the abilities of my body for fear that doing so would somehow jinx the outcome.

Thoughts like “Holy cow, I’m doing this, and it isn’t as devastatingly hard as I expected it to be,” were quickly followed by “What the hell are you doing? This could all fall apart at any moment and someone is going to have to rescue your happy ass” ruminations.

It took us about nine exhausting hours of down…down…down…hiking to reach our first camp. Many sections of the trail involved switchbacks traversing steep steps, uneven boulders and treacherous loose rocks that were begging to sprain my ankle. 

It took a tremendous amount of energy to hold back my heavy lumbering body and pack. I’m not sure how I kept myself from careening down the trail and landing at the bottom in a bloody mangled mass. 

The slog back out of the canyon four days later was equally as challenging. 

Although it was going well, I secretly wondered at what point my legs were going give out and I wouldn’t have the strength to climb up the next set of looming boulders and switchbacks.

I had a lot of time to contemplate the “Yes, you can? No, you can’t!” refrains that were ping-ponging around inside my head. 

I’ve concluded that those thoughts were borne from various life experiences that have firmly taken root in my psyche.

For example, as a kid I was never good at sports. 

I tried playing basketball in 7^th grade where I was barely able to secure a position on the “C-team” – which was as low as one could go. I was so bad at track and field events that the coaches eventually just relegated me to the shotput pitch where I was quickly forgotten.

Similarly, I was compelled to participate in road bike racing across Colorado for weeks on end as a young teenager. It was a family “mandatory fun” affair. Being a chubby teenage girl forced into wearing spandex in public aside, I absolutely hated it. I was always at the back of the pack just waiting for the whole nightmare to be over. 

Which is to say…

I never experienced the bodily confidence-building magic that many have gained from participating in youth sports. If anything, those experiences only confirmed for me that I wasn’t meant to engage in such activities.

Another part of my self-doubt stems from when I found myself in a body that struggled to do almost any physical activity. 

I’ve been overweight my entire life. 

But, starting in my late twenties, my weight started to steadily creep up year after year after year. By the time I turned 40, I weighed well over 300 pounds and was largely inactive. It took great effort just to get in and out of the car, much less climb the steps to my front porch. 

I’ve previously written about the things that transpired that have led to where I find myself today. You can read about that journey here, so I won’t belabor it.

However, the 300+ pound non-exercising version of myself still lives inside of me. 

She is warmly embraced and welcomed to take up residence in the corners of my soul. I love her dearly as she is a huge part of who I am today. She is cherished.

But…sometimes…she needs to keep her thoughts to herself!

Her lived experience is that of inhabiting a body that can’t tackle difficult physical challenges. So, when she gets wind of the crazy things I am about to undertake, she taps me on the shoulder to let me know it’s too much. 

She gently whispers to me that I’m too old. 

Too slow. 

Too fat. 

Too out of shape. 

Too (insert your favorite perceived limitation here).

This doesn’t come from a place of sabotage, and she doesn’t seek to deflate me.

It comes from her loving desire to protect me from injury and shield me from disappointment. Once I acknowledge her concerns, she typically quiets down…albeit with a slight “don’t come crying to me when this doesn’t work out” air about her.  

Through the whole Grand Canyon experience, I felt a deep and acute tug-of-war between the two sides of myself. One that was confident I could do this…and the other that was pretty sure I couldn’t. 

When we were at the bottom of the canyon – with our feet dipping into the Colorado River – we were invited to participate in an exercise of writing something down on a little sheet of paper.

We could write either something we wanted to leave behind, or something we wanted to invite in. Then, together as a group, we would throw our little scraps of paper into the river. (Don’t worry, the paper was environmentally friendly and designed to harmlessly dissolve in water.)

I’ve heard about people doing such things.

Manifesting their desires or intentions through ceremonial acts with fire or water. I’ve never been drawn to doing such things myself but decided to make the most of the moment.

“I release my self-doubts about what my body is capable of,” is what I wrote.

To my surprise, throwing my little scribbled piece of paper into the river was profoundly cathartic. 

In that moment, I could feel my insecurities loosening their grip, unwinding from my heart, and floating away down the river. My uncertainties about if I was going to be able to hike out of the canyon could no longer find purchase. 

“I left my self-doubts at the river. There’s no place for them here,” gently flowed through my being throughout the rest of the trek.

I feel deeply blessed to have been in the company of so many incredibly strong, capable, and adventurous women on this trip. Their belief in my abilities was unwavering, even when I wasn’t so sure myself. 

And, even though I never bumped into him, it was a comfort to know Coach Mike was with me down in the canyon somewhere and that he, too, had no doubts in my abilities. 

I’m always going to be getting older; I’m always going to be fat; My pace is always going to be slow; Big adventures are always going to be arduous. 

But my body has proven to me – over and over again – that it can do hard things. That it can take me to amazing places. That it can help me create memories that will last a lifetime. 

I love my body, in all its forms, and am so grateful for what it can do.

I’m endeavoring to bottle up the essence of this transformative experience so that I can carry it with me into the future.

Alas, I’m already starting to have doubts about some of the crazy things Glenn and I plan to attempt later this year. I’m only human after all. 

Luckily, most of my self-doubts are currently enjoying their own adventure as they float down and dissolve into the Colorado River.

Happy trails to them, as I’ve got more important things to focus on now!

Huge thanks to Women Who Explore for curating the most empowering and epic adventures, and to Backcountry Found for being such a phenomenal guiding service! 

To the women at my side on this trek – Sayuri, Melissa, Missy, Jodi, Shanon, Kaylee, Vanessa, Diane, Caitlyn and Tia – you are all so inspiring and badass. Thanks for having my back. Much love!