A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step - Lao Tzu |
I was leaving in less than 3 weeks for my lifelong dream
trip to trek in the Himalayas, and my right calf was so irritated that I couldn’t
even walk uphill to my San Francisco sublet.
Based on the trip leader’s guidelines, I should have been wrapping up at
least 6 months of hard training by now.
This was not good.
From the first time I read about the Himalayas in National
Geographic as a girl, a passion to see the world’s highest peaks grabbed hold and
never let go. In my 20s, I heard about friends’
trips trekking in Nepal and began thinking about my own adventure there.
But the onset of an autoimmune condition in my early 30s
left me limping with debilitating Achilles tendinitis and plantar fasciitis,
sedentary and depressed.
After slowly
regaining strength and stamina over several years with the help of my physical
therapist Mary, I made plans to celebrate a milestone birthday: 3 weeks in Bhutan, with a rigorous trek.
I planned to spend all fall and winter hiking in the
foothills and skiing in the Cascade Mountains as training for the spring trek. But
crazy deadlines kept me working long hours at a desk job, with numerous
Seattle-San Francisco trips.
Didn't happen that winter! |
And then my Achilles tendinitis flared again, seizing up my right
calf muscles as well.
After much agonizing, I called the trip leader a month before
the trip and cancelled...but I just couldn't give up that easily. The next day I called back and rejoined—I’d chill
in town while the rest of group was trekking. It wouldn’t be the dream trip, but at least
I’d be in the Himalayas.
Ten days before departure, I finished the last deadline and
returned to Seattle. At Mary’s urging, I scheduled almost daily physical
therapy, massage, and acupuncture treatments.
“You need to get out and walk," said Mary. “Just go walk
around Green Lake.” So I did.
Green Lake, a flat 3-mile loop in Seattle, near sea level—is
not where people go to train for hiking
in the Himalayas. But it felt good to
walk outside.
Mary told me to pack my hiking gear and sleeping bag, just
in case. So I did.
When I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac in Bhutan, I
shed tears of joy. After years of anticipation, there were the Himalayas! Sweet
fresh mountain air filled my lungs, and the sunshine made me squint. Green
forest-covered hills rose up close beyond the runway, bracketing the small
airport.
For the warm-up hike the next day, our destination was a small 400-year-old
Buddhist temple perched on a cliff. I tagged along, figuring I could handle a shorter hike. Inside
monks were chanting in the wood-beamed, candlelit room, where sweet incense
smoke wafted upward in delicate tendrils. I felt transported back to an earlier and
simpler time, so blessed to be there.
Then the magic started to happen.
After a couple days in Bhutan, the tendinitis stopped
bothering me and my calf relaxed. I realized clearly: There’s no
way I’d travel halfway around the world to the Himalayas and not go trekking. I had to try. And whatever happened, I’d deal
with it.
With the group’s encouragement, I joined the trek. The first day was a fairly level route alongside
a river up a forested valley, past villages, occasional clumps of fluttering prayer flags, primitive farms, and rhododendron
groves. I arrived at our campsite
feeling good after 9 miles of trekking.
By the third day, I hit my stride. I wasn’t lagging far
behind the strongest of the group along the rugged mountain trail.
For 3 days at base camp, heavy dark clouds hovered low in
the sky, obscuring Jhomolari just above. This 24,000-foot+ mountain near the Tibetan
border is sacred to the Bhutanese, who don’t allow climbers on her summit. As I scrambled on hikes above camp, I
begged her to show herself. I’d traveled
so far, in many ways, to gasp at the splendor of a Himalayan peak up close.
Jhomolari obliged on our last morning as we rose early to
pack and leave. While I shivered in fleece
and Gore-tex in the shadow of lesser peaks rimming our camp, she shimmered in
snow and ice, ribbed with massive rock walls and contorted, crevassed glaciers tumbling
down her impressive shoulders.
She was stunning.
Jhomolari |
As we trekked back the next 3 days, I felt fantastic and savored
how wonderful it feels to hike all day in the mountains: like my best and natural self, strong and unstoppable.
On the last day of the trip, I easily hiked 3,000 feet up
and down a steep trail to Bhutan’s most famous destination, Taktsang Monastery
(commonly known as Tiger’s Nest) on the edge of a sheer rock cliff. As I stood
quietly on a terrace at the monastery and gazed at the narrow valley below and
the forest-covered mountains beyond, I felt a sense of well-being that I hadn’t
experienced for years.
Back home, the tendinitis started bothering me again while
hiking the Cascades. Not bad. But I
figured I shouldn’t push my miracles for the year.
I can’t explain what happened in Bhutan and why I was so
free of the foot problems that have plagued me for years. Was it sheer willpower? The oxygen levels in my blood from the high
altitude? Or, simply, a magical blessing?
No one can answer for certain, although I’ve asked physicians
and physical therapists.
What I do know is this:
With determination, and perhaps a mysterious something extra, longheld dreams
can come true.
7 comments:
Jill,
I think you had 2 dreams come true....your dream trip to the Himalayas and your commitment to overcoming obstacles.
Think of climbing a mountain as leaving obstacles behind (in your wake so to speak).
I'm proud of you. Congratulations for accomplishing your dream.
Martha
It was the pray flags that helped you Jill.lol..Hope to see you and Matt next year on the water.
Peter.
Ah sweet Martha, love your perspective, thanks. Yes, need to remember to apply that same tenacity to everyday life.
Peter, yes, hope to see you too! Those prayer flags were all over and very cool.
Kuzugzangpo, Jill.
Wow. What an adventure and what a story! I'm so glad you were able to pull it off:)
WOW, so happy for you. You should have moved there, you continue to amaze me, Mary Lou
Mary would have loved this.
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