Packing it on.

This weekend I went on a backpacking trip with my Father. Master planner that I am, I am still in the habit of deferring to the judgment of my parents in their particular areas of expertise. If I am going through and emotional struggle I call my mother for perspective and if I am going on an outdoor trip with my Father I let him plan it. The fact that I cannot walk today (2 days after the conclusion of this latest trip) is surprising to me only because of my own stubborn refusal to learn from experience.
My Father has been doing this my entire life. At 3 years old I was expected to carry my own clothes and a large bag of M&Ms for 3 to 4 mile hikes. If I were to complain the M&Ms would be taken away. Oh, the torture. At 6 years old I was expected to endure 3 day cross country ski trips. At 8 I began leading sport routes in rock climbing. When I was 11 I rode the Seattle to Portland. . . in one day (at least I was on the back of a tandem.) At 14 I was given a road bike and after riding it twice, I cried my way over Blewett pass; yes, a mountain pass my third time on the bike. At 16 I disappointed my Father by refusing to finish climbing Mt Adams with a black eye and no depth perception.
My father’s limitless expectations have, in many ways, helped me to achieve great things. I think that my refusal to roll over and play dead is mostly due to his pushing me. I love that about myself and I would not change it for the world. Still, as I sit here grinding my teeth through every Charlie horse, I wonder if this is still necessary.
This last weekend we were going to hike into the Enchantments (eastern side of the northern Washington cascades) and camp at Leprechaun Lake. We were going to climb Prussic Peak and Boyfriend and I would hike out Sunday. My Father and his 2 buddies were going to stay for a week and do some more climbing. This sounded fine to me. The problem was I did not look at what a hike into Leprechaun Lake would entail. The hike into Leprechaun Lake is a little over 11 miles with a 6,000 ft elevation gain. That is almost 500 ft per mile. Factor in that I have been at a calorie deficit for a month and that my newly sedentary lifestyle awards me about 5 hours of physical activity a week and you have set the stage for disaster.
The hike was beautiful but I barley had time to stop and look. The men were ahead of me the entire time so I was hiking alone and under pressure to catch up. When we hit the last 4 miles the hike became less of a hike and more of a series of scrambles connected by small patches of trail and marked by piles of rocks. For those of you who do not hike or climb, this means that I was pulling myself up rock faces, often needing hand holds, with no rope and a 40+ lb. pack on. Add to this, the fact that everyone in my party was so far ahead I could not see them and the sun was beating down on the treeless mountain side. To make a long story short (and to spare you my humiliation) we will just say that I barley made it. In fact, I only made it fueled by my own anger. I refused to go climbing in the morning because I was sure I would not make the hike out by nightfall if I was tired from climbing already. I think my Dad knew it was all too much because for the first time in history, he did not try to talk me into it. I think we have all learned some lessons here. Next time I want a close look at the itinerary.