Mental Gymnastics

Not every story starts with a mountain. Some start with fifteen steps to the bathroom, a foggy brain, and the quiet pull of a trail you've walked before.

Not every story starts with a mountain. Some start with fifteen steps to the bathroom, a foggy brain, and the quiet pull of a trail you've walked before. This isn't a story of high drama or heroic conquest. It's about what it means to argue with your mind and choosing to listen to the small voice propelling you forward. Sometimes the greatest shift isn’t reaching the top. It’s noticing how you talked to yourself on the way up.

If you happen to come across this piece and are open to being interviewed about a time you broke beyond, please reach out. I’d love to chat!

It was a Saturday morning. I blinked my eyes open, confused about the day and where I was. It was one of those mornings. I instinctively reached for my glasses hanging off the edge of my bed. I put them on even though my eyes were still taking long blinks, sat up in bed hunched over questioning my decision to wake up, and gave myself a little pep talk.

It’s a new day. We have no plans and can do whatever we want with it.

My mind told me we wanted more sleep. It always tells me that. Similar to most mornings, I reminded myself that I just needed to wash my face to feel awake. Those fifteen steps from my bed to the bathroom are often the hardest steps of my day. I love laying in bed. Yet, I’ve been lucky enough to take those steps every morning.

As I stood there brushing my teeth, I looked at myself in the mirror and evaluated my body. My leg muscles were so tight, they may as well have been guitar strings and my brain so foggy and slow, stuck buffering at 3%, not even coffee seemed like it could reboot it.

Something in me whispered that movement and nature might be the medicine.

We need to go on a hike.

And go we did. I decided on one of my favorite local hiking spots, Los Gatos Creek Trail. The area feels safe, it isn’t known for intimidating wild animals (you know, lions, tigers, and bears), and I am familiar with the trails. Win-win-win.

I nourished my body with a hearty breakfast, crispy hash browns, over easy eggs with a runny yolk, and the required Cholula hot sauce. My go-to meal when I don’t want to think about what to make.

As soon as I got to my car, I could hear the chatter of my mind start to do its thing.

Do we really need to hike? It’s so much cooler at home, it’s hot outside. We’ll sweat.

As if perspiration was a bad thing. I love breaking a sweat and being in the sun. But.. I also love sitting on the couch.

The hike started off easy. The first .75 miles were flat and shaded with trees, cooled by a creek running alongside the trail. It was beautiful, majestic, green, calm. My mind felt at ease with the gentle, flat terrain.

Then, came the climb. It was abrupt. And steep. I had done it many times before but that didn’t keep my mind from trying to stop me.

It’s getting hot. Our stomach hurts.

Something quieter pushed me forward though. As I approached the top of the climb, I was met with a beautiful meadow with countless trees, uncut tall green grass, and butterflies. Then, I realized my stomach was, in fact, hurting. No matter, I was determined to listen to that tiny voice and make it to the top. It’s a 5mi roundtrip hike with 1,000ft elevation gain. Not too bad.

The more I climbed, the more my mind was reminding me of how unwell I felt. I got the visual of a tiny angry elf twisting my intestines with a wrench. I continued to climb. I listened to the little voice that was telling me to keep going. Even though my mind had other ideas.

Let’s go home. We already got outside. Mission accomplished.

I was ready to give up every tenth of a mile. My mind even signaled to me that I might throw up. Commence, nausea. And just like that, I was deep in survival mode, planning for worst-case scenarios.

I found myself doing disaster math. Would it be better to throw up or pop a squat in plain sight with nowhere to hide on the trail? Vomiting wins. Always. I clenched tight.

We should just turn around and go home.

I took some deep breaths. I let my lungs and belly expand as much as I could get them to. I asked myself, “Why is this hike important to complete?”

To prove something to ourselves. To remind ourselves of what we can accomplish when we don’t quit.

Then, I gave myself permission to go as slow as I wanted. To take as many breaks as I needed. There is no rush to get to the top, I reminded myself. I’m not competing with anyone. I’ve passed people up, other people have passed me up. Some people are on bikes. Others are in groups. Many of us are hiking alone. I don’t know any of their destinations and they don’t know mine. We’re all going along our own paths as best we can. That’s all that matters.

The trail didn’t care how fast I climbed. No one did. I could feel my shoulders relax into this permission. Permission to just be me. To allow. To surrender. To not give up but continue at whatever pace my body would allow. I began to hear that little voice more clearly now.

On the other end, my mind was making up any excuse to be comfortable, including making me feel unwell. It wanted me to go home and relax. Not be sweaty outside in discomfort, struggling to hike an incline.

So, I made up a game to anchor my mind into the present moment. I focused my attention on the smallest things I could find. Like the ant line crawling alongside the trail. Tinier and tinier leaves. The only bright yellow flower bloomed among a scatter of browned out weeds. Dust particles left behind in the air by the bikers that went by.

My mind was occupied and present. I was fully immersed in my surroundings.

Then, came the shift. Subtle. But real. My stomach stopped hurting. The nausea went away. I didn’t end up needing as many breaks as I gave myself permission for.

The climb became bearable. Enjoyable, even. Each step lit a small match inside my leg muscles. Painful, but illuminating. Though, instead of using that as a reason to turn around, I found myself being grateful to have the ability to walk, to build muscle, to challenge myself.

Slowly, my pace picked up. Suddenly, I found myself jogging. I am familiar enough with the trail to know how many turns were left. Some part of me wanted to celebrate across the finish line to the top so that’s exactly what I did.

I made it to the top. By that point, I felt like I could climb another 1,000ft elevation gain. My body got the movement it needed and I felt the accomplishment and win I needed.

The little voice won. The part of me that knew I needed this hike. This accomplishment. The internal battle to continue. The reminder that I can do anything I decide I want to accomplish, regardless of what my mind tries to convince me of.

It wasn’t easy. The mental gymnastics I had to go through to get to that point were nearly unbearable. Yet, I overcome. Slowly. Sweaty. And ultimately, smiling.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. Your attention could have been on any number of other things but you chose to spend time with my story. Subscribe or follow to keep up with this journey.