SHT Day 2

Note: Pictures are going to be a bit sparce during this trip since I can only post those taken on my cell. I'll post some from my camera when I get back to Seattle.

Starting my 22 mile hike today was rough. 

I said goodbye this morning to the nice woman who shared and payed for my camping spot and I immediately got lost. Even though I had walked my exact route in reverse last night, I managed to go off on a side trail for 2 miles. I'm a sucker for "shortcuts." 

Once I found the correct trail I had a 7 mile walk along the St. Louis River. I was glad I had packed a few extra liters of water this morning because the St. Louis River is disgusting. It's the color of a UPS truck and it smells like moldy socks; I know the smell of moldy socks well after my last major hiking trip in the cascades.

After hiking 9 miles, I started getting a burning sensation in the Achilles of my left foot. The burning became a sharp pain that was focused at the very base of the tendon. I've felt this pain before. In fact, it got pretty bad on my last hike and I have been going to physical therapy for weeks to try and help it heal before this trip. Something about an insanely tight calf preventing dorsiflexation and causing small tears in the tendon.

After limping another mile or so, I decided that I had to stop, eat, take some ibuprofen and elevate my foot. I found a bench to lay on and used my sleeping pad to prop up my foot. 

At this point I was getting pretty upset. I was disappointed that my foot still hurt despite the physical therapy and 3-times-a-day stretching. I was frustrated that my pack was so heavy and I had underestimated the amount of steep ascents created by the many rivers in the area. I was also worried that if I could barely make it 10 miles on the first day, how could I expect myself to hike 20+ miles a day for the next 15?

I stumbled and limped for a few more miles before I really felt like I could just give up, hitch a ride back to the airport, and try to move my flight up. My foot was in so much pain and I didn't see any other way out of it. Regardless of this newfound determination to quit, I was still in the middle of a trail and had to hike at least 3 more miles to make it to a main road. To get through those three miles, I decided to try walking meditation.

I've been meditating for almost a year and it has given me many tremendous gifts. Why not try it now? I breathed consciously while I walked and tried to take a step back from my thoughts.

For those of you who aren't familiar with vipassana or mindfulness meditation, the goal isn't to quiet the mind or stop thought altogether (that's impossible), the goal is simply to see thought for what it is.

While we Americans consider ourselves to have 5 senses (sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell), many Buddhists believe that we actually have a sixth sense, thought. While this might seem like a minor shift, it's actually incredibly powerful. They see thought as another sense door and we often see thought as part of our identity. 

In mindfulness meditation, we try to relax and pay attention to our thoughts, keeping in mind that our thoughts, like other senses, are often out of our control. My current dharma teacher, Rodney, describes the practice as allowing us to, "disassociate ourselves from our thoughts, allowing our thoughts to inform us, but not control or define us."

It didn't take long for me to realize that the stories I was telling myself (I'm uncomfortable, I don't want to do this, I can't do this) was causing the majority of the pain I was experiencing. Sure, my foot hurt, but that was something that I could handle with attention, stretching, and ibuprofen. It was the narrative I was creating about why it hurt, how long the pain would last, and what the pain meant for my trip that was causing me to suffer.

As I walked, I remembered that a favorite dharma teacher once advised,"ask yourself what it really feels like to believe this narrative, then to ask yourself what it would feel like to let go of it." It reminded me of this quote from Rumi...

I must have been incredibly simple or drunk or insane

to sneak into my own house and steal money,

to climb over the fence and take my own vegetables.

But no more. I've gotten free of that ignorant fist

that was pinching and twisting my secret self.

The universe and the light of the stars come through me.

I am the crescent moon put up

over the gate to the festival.

It might sound crazy to those of you who don't enjoy this zen stuff (as my friend Janet called it), but just taking a step back and realizing the suffering that was being caused by my self-limiting narrative really changed something for me. In fact, I passed the bench in the picture below and I started to cry.

I'm not sure why it happened. For god's sake it's the most cliché Irish saying that exists, but it reminded me that Rumi isn't talking about a simple hike in that poem. He's talking about all of life. He's talking about believing thoughts that, as Tsoknyi Rinpoche calls them, are "real, but not true." This bench and that quote just took me from 0 to metta and it led to a great and necessary moment.

Anyway, the ibuprofen (and the joy) kicked in and I felt like I could run the next few miles. I was so joyous, in fact, that I wasn't paying attention to the trail markers and got lost again. DAMNIT.

It took me an hour to get back to the trail this time and I was overjoyed to find this beautiful blue trail marker.

In a few more miles I got my first glimpse of Duluth and Lake Superior.

The last few miles took me through a ski resort, through many more gorgeous views of Duluth, under a highway, and right to the edge of the city. My dad was sweet enough to help me get a motel room (he didn't like the sound of me illegally camping under a freeway) and here I am!

Now all of my stuff is out to dry, my phone is charging, and I can be clean and rested for an even longer day of hiking tomorrow.

Goodnight!

Rob