I knew it was coming, yet it was still a disappointing shock when it arrived…the inability to physically do something I wanted to do.

It’s been a long time since that has happened to me, and if I’m honest I had gotten a little cocky (and complacent) that I’d never experience that reality again. In fact, the impetus for this blog was about exploring my journey from being physically unable to follow my dreams to living my best life (see My Aha! Moment).

I’ve written a bit about this before. Biking through Vietnam and hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu were both poignant and triumphant experiences where I was able to accomplish a physical feat that, until then, would have been impossible.

Yet I have found myself back in that limiting place again.

Not back to where I started, but I’ve certainly regressed enough that I can’t suck it up or somehow fake my way through a physical challenge I wanted to do.

As our trip to Argentina grew closer, I began to experience a low-grade panic that I would be unable to do the various hiking excursions we had planned. I reached out to the company arranging our travel to get more details on our planned outings in terms of distance and difficulty. Did I need to pre-emptively cancel some of those endeavors?

In the end, it was impossible to discern what it would be like until we got there and gave those adventures a go. Rather than modifying our itinerary, Glenn and I ramped up our daily activity in a desperate bid to regain some of the physical conditioning we’d lost during our largely sedentary road trip across Canada.

On balance, things went much better than expected. I was able to comfortably hike long distances, including up and down steep grades and over large boulders. However, I ran into a few challenges that I just couldn’t overcome.

For example, our first adventure in the Patagonia region of Argentina was a trek to the Cagliero Glacier. A part of the excursion involved scaling large walls of rock via ferrata (which means “iron path” and involves the use of metal hooks, rungs, and cables).

I had climbed via ferrata before in Peru where Glenn and I ascended to our glass hotel room hanging off the side of a cliff (which Glenn lovingly called the “pods of death”). I had an easy time of it in Peru and assumed this glacier trekking experience would be similar.

I was wrong.

This via ferrata route was less like climbing a ladder (as we had experienced in Peru) and more like legit rock climbing with some safety gear in case you fell. The route required a significant amount of upper body strength. The only upper body workout I had done recently was lifting French pastries to my mouth on our Antarctica cruise.

What started out as a fun challenge quickly became a physical ordeal. After about an hour of this climbing our guide pointed high up on the horizon and informed us that we had about another hour of via ferrata to go before reaching the glacier…at which point we’d turn around and come back (via ferrata) the way we came.

My heart sank.

I stared at the stunning landscape before me and came to terms with the fact that I just didn’t have it in me to keep going. My arms and legs were shaky noodles at this point and, if I continued, I’d likely get hurt and spoil the rest of our trip.

We abandoned our effort to reach the glacier and turned around as the rest of our tour group (of young, physically fit folks…bless their hearts) continued without us. I knew we had made the right decision, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed in myself. There was a time, not that long ago, when I would have been able to continue and complete the adventure I had set out to experience.

I had a similar experience a few days later when we set out on a multi-day backpacking trip through the stunning mountains of Patagonia. The goal was to spend much of the first day hiking to our camp at the base of the famed El Chaltén (a.k.a. Fitz Roy).

After a bit of a rest in camp we’d do a side hike up to Laguna de los Tres, one of the most iconic and picturesque places in Patagonia with its blue lagoon against the backdrop of the huge needle-like rock formations that make the region famous.

From a distance our guide pointed out the trail we’d be taking.

It went straight up a series of switchbacks climbing 1,300+ feet in less than ½ a mile (~400 meters in .8 km). While I knew I could probably power through and get myself to the top, the return trip would be treacherous and could easily result in injury (which happens with some regularity on that route even among fit and experienced hikers).

By the time we were set to do this hike it was pouring rain and the entirety of the mountain range was socked in with fog, making the trek to the lake pointless. We opted to snuggle down in our tents with some hot tea and a book instead.

The following morning, we awoke to beautiful weather and cloudless blue skies. Our guide asked if we wanted to make a go of the Laguna de los Tres hike. I had come to Patagonia hoping to visit this famous viewpoint, but I knew I didn’t have it in me to do this strenuous side hike and cover the miles we needed to do that day to reach our next campsite. With a heavy heart I told our guide we’d have to pass on the opportunity.

Yet another grand adventure missed.                

When in Buenos Aires I did a bike tour of the city. After about three hours my guide mentioned that we had another two hours of the tour remaining. Ugh! It was exceedingly hot, the sun was baking down on us and I was exhausted from pedaling a heavy three-geared cruiser bike with semi-flat tires across the urban landscape. I was quickly approaching the moment when I’d no longer be having fun and I wasn’t in the mood to fake it. I told my guide I didn’t have it in me to continue and that I’d much rather spend the next two hours enjoying empanadas and a beer. He was more than happy to oblige.

At the end of our trip, we visited an estancia (a South American cattle ranch) a couple of hours outside of Medoza. I’ve loved riding horses since I was a child and the idea of riding them in the Andes mountains was a dream come true. Although the horse would be doing all the hard work in this instance, I still found myself anxious about the experience.

I was worried that carrying my weight could be unsafe for my horse in such terrain and at high elevations. The estancia hosts assured me that their horses were strong and surefooted and could easily handle carrying me. Yet, I found myself wracked with guilt as “Patria,” my sweet horse, huffed and puffed his way up the mountainsides so I could take in gorgeous views of glaciers and the valley floor.

I dreaded the act of getting on and off the horse as I didn’t have the strength to mount/dismount without flopping around like a beached seal. Although I took advantage of ample opportunities to go for a ride each day of our visit, I struggled to truly relax and enjoy the full experience because I was preoccupied with the realities of being an obese out of shape person trying to ride a horse safely, much less gracefully. This dynamic inevitably dimmed what could have otherwise been a bright and brilliant experience.

No doubt the last couple of years have taken their toll.

The physical, social, and emotional disruptions from the pandemic, various physical ailments (plantar fasciitis, sciatica) that seem to take forever to recover from, the manifestation of any number of peri-menopausal symptoms that generally make me feel disconnected from my body, the realities of living in a 50-year-old body, the extra ~35 pounds I’ve packed on in the past 9 months…the list goes on and on.

I honestly thought the opposite was going to be true at this point in my life.

I’m not working, so I theoretically have all the time in the world to be focused on my health. However, losing the structure of a workday has meant that “I can prioritize activity and mindful eating whenever!” began an inevitable decline toward “hardly ever.” I no longer have defined windows of opportunity around my work schedule and the open-endedness of that seems to have invited more indifferent shoulder shrugs than push-ups.

Some people seem to be wired for a natural state of constant motion. Others, like me, are quite the opposite. It takes a lot to get me inspired to move and it’s easy to lose the momentum needed to keep me in that frame of mind. Left unperturbed, my natural state of being looks more like lounging on a comfy couch with a cheesy romance novel in one hand and a cupcake in the other.

I am in a constant battle to keep out of that rut and of late I have found myself on the losing end of that dynamic. The interconnected realities and complexities of the last two years (pandemic, loss of structure and socialization after leaving my job, etc.) has had a chilling effect on my momentum.

As counterintuitive as it may seem to some, my happy place is nestled snug inside of a morbidly obese body (said with no shame or judgement). I am most sincere in this assertion. I’ve often contemplated writing a blog titled “what I miss most about weighing 300 pounds.”

Trust me, the list is long.

However, my reality of living inside of a body that size means that the adventures I love to pursue become more difficult, and by extension less enjoyable.

The reflections I am sharing here are not about a need to lose weight, or diet or fit into a certain size pair of pants. The toxic culture around those ideologies is complete bullshit and are not something I want to put my energy toward. (Although, admittedly, I do still occasionally bump into remnants of my own internalized fat-phobia.)   

I absolutely believe it is possible to be both fit and fat.

I know this to be true because I have lived that reality many times in my life. This isn’t, however, my current reality. I have lost the fitness and conditioning needed to move through the world with confidence in my abilities to follow my dreams, regardless of the number on the scale.  

My body is beautiful and amazing in all its various shapes and sizes.

In Argentina, my body took me to breathtaking places and let me experience spectacular adventures. However, for the first time in nearly 10 years, I hit the upper limit of what I could physically accomplish. Going into our trip I was awash with a sense of dread and self-doubt and ultimately what I feared most, the inability to do some of the activities I deeply desired, came to pass.

I guess that’s what life is about, right? Things constantly change, requiring ongoing renegotiations with our mind, body, and spirit.

Our trip to Argentina was a wakeup call and drove home the fact that I’ve arrived at a crossroads.

I need to decide which way to go. In one direction I’ll dial back the types of experiences I want to pursue to be more in line with what my current body can achieve. In the other direction I’ll dig deep within myself to rekindle the spark I’ve lost and regain the health and fitness needed to pursue the adventures of my dreams.

I’m not ready to give up on living a life more extraordinary. I’ve hit a few speed bumps and roadblocks on that journey these past two years, but I’m ready to find my way over, around and through them.

There’s still a lifetime of epic travel and adventure ahead of me!