I tried to hike Old Woman today. By myself. It didn't go as planned.
The last time Alanna and I hiked Old Woman, there was ice. Not too much, but enough that I knew I would need to bring ice cleats and trekking poles. This morning, when I got to the mountain, I realized even with my ice gear I might not be making it up to the top today. The trail was a thick sheet of ice. Being a tiny bit stubborn, I decided to give it a try anyway. Climbing up a sheet of ice actually isn't that rough. I made it quite a ways up before I realized that coming down might be a bit harder and more terrifying than going up. I turned around and took a few steps down to test it out.
Terrifying. I began slipping right away. What took me only seconds to go up took minutes to come down. I was frustrated, knowing I wasn't going to make it to the top of the mountain today. I spent another 15 minutes working my way down the mountain, but I only covered a few feet in that time. Every time I tried to step, either my trekking pole or my cleat would slip and I'd have to grab the flimsy branch of an alder bush for support. I still had at least 50 yards to go before I reached the grassy part of the trail at the base of the mountain and was off the ice. That was going to take forever. My only other option would be a luge style descent without the actual luge. I sat on my butt, gave myself a tiny push, and went FLYING down the side of the mountain. I couldn't stop screaming as my little tailbone crashed over ice covered rocks. I tried to slow myself by putting my hands down, but that did nothing except jam my thumbnail. After sliding uncontrollably for about 25 yards, I crashed into some alder bushes and came to a stop. I layed still for a moment, before attempting to stand back up. As I laid there, a terrifying realization came over me. I could smell...the barf ice.
Let me pause my story to tell you about the weirdest ice phenomenon I have ever heard of. The ice here, under weird circumstances, starts to smell like rotten barf. Some people say it has to do with worms in the grass under the ice. Some people say it's the decomposing grass and leaves under the ice, but there is some scientific reason that I have yet to fully look into or understand that makes the ice stink like someone barfed up a dead bird. So, if you slide on it, play in it, or touch it at all, your clothes smell like it. Your skin smells like it. You carry it around with you wherever you go. I learned this the hard way after I let all of my students play on the ice during recess. Our classroom has smelled like barf ice ever since.
So when I got up after my own ice sliding adventure, I knew immediately that I smelled like barf ice too. At this point I was just pissed. Not only did I miss out on summiting my mountain, I bruised my butt, jammed my thumb and smelled like death. By this point on the trail, I was at least close enough to the woods at the base of the mountain, that I could get off the ice and wander through the woods back to my car. I hadn't ever gone this way before because I always stuck to the trail. This part of the woods was actually really pretty. The sun had recently risen, and the light coming through the trees was beautiful. I stumbled upon a little wooden swing that someone had hung from the trees.
I love swings.
I couldn't help but think that this morning was a nice parallel to how life has felt over the past few months. From September to November, I struggled a lot with depression. I read somewhere that having depression is like being locked in a prison but also being the cruel, tormenting jailor. It's so true. You feel trapped by your negative, awful thoughts. They immobilize you. I stopped hanging out with friends and doing group activities. When I did hang out, I cried from exhaustion afterwards. I doubted myself, thought awful things about myself, and ultimately became apathetic or bitter about everything. Then the cycle continued. Until, as with many cases of depression, it just stopped for a while. Life got normal again, and my brain started thinking lovely thoughts rather than hideous ones. Out of the blue, last Sunday was really hard again. It came out of nowhere, and I panicked that I was going to slide back into this depressive hole I had found myself in. I had a couple of small moments this week when I couldn't shake it, but it didn't feel anything like it did this past fall, which I am grateful for.
When I am struggling with my depression, I get so frustrated because there is no way I am summiting any mountains. I can barely emotional energy to go to work. Dreams, goals, friendships, normalcy all suffers during these times. I can see myself wanting to overcome it, wanting to live loudly the way I usually try to live. But today, I realized that during my depressed times, God has graciously shown me to the swing in the woods. He has given me incredible, supportive friends with whom I have developed even deeper relationships because of the depression. He has taught me how to appreciate simply joys. He has reminded me over and over, that He is more than enough. I am learning more and more what it looks like to love the swing.
I think you've told your Galley Tables story.
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