You know those moments in life when a memory floods back into your stream of consciousness with no warning or expectation? Those memories that come back and bridge your past experience with your current activity in a way that lets you appreciate the beginnings. I had one of these several days ago, about good ole Bobby Lockhart -- Mr. Lockhart to me back then.
Mr. Lockhart was the athletic director, English teacher, and economics teacher at my high school, the J. Frank White Academy, and he also coached tennis and basketball. In my mind, Mr. Lockhart was a man of knowledge, insight, and experience, and he was always accessible, relatable, and friendly. I follow his Facebook updates, and I'm just as likely to see some commentary on Kentucky basketball, or a recent race he'd run, as I am to read an insightful musing on moral substance or social issues. Beyond being an administrator in my school and a coach for my teams, Mr. Lockhart is a runner, a member of the Hilltoppers, a running group named after his alma mater. The summer I turned fifteen, 2006, He invited me to come on their annual road trip out west to hike, run, and camp.
Now, I was raised by all women and didn't have very much consistent social interaction with grown men at this point in my life. Beyond that, I was grossly overweight, out of shape, and inexperienced in the ways of the wild. But, the sense of adventure tugged, and, with the blessing and funding of my family, I joined this group of men on a journey west of the Mississippi. Johnny, Jake, Joe (one of the most memorable men I've ever met), Dave, Mr. Lockhart, his son Christian, a few others, and myself all piled into two Astro vans and laid tracks across the US, making stops to hike, camp, and run (they ran, I toured coffee shops) in South Dakota, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, and New México. I had an external frame Kelty pack, an Esbit stove that I didn't know how to use, and a new pair of boots. And, once again, it becomes important later to remember that I was seriousy out of shape.
The memory that struck me a few days ago occurred during an ascent of several thousand feet. Halfway up, I all of a sudden realized that I had been ascending for quite some time but hadn't had to stop yet for a rest. It was as if walking uphill with my heavy pack was a completely normal thing to do now, rather than the dreaded part of my hiking experience that it used to be. This jerked me back the the memory of our overnight hike in Yellowstone back when I was 15. The hike from the trailhead to the campsite was pretty tame -- mostly downhill and enjoyable. This of course means that our return was mostly uphill and, for me, some kind of sick hell. I remember that I was only able to walk about 30-90 seconds before having to stop and catch my breath. I would repeat this process over and over again, desperately trying to catch up to Joe, who I think was in his 50s, as he disappeared up-trail. Mr. Lockhart stuck behind with me, stopping every time I did, and encouraged me that as long as I kept moving after catching my breath, I was still moving forward - and that that's what mattered. He would set his watch for 90 seconds, and we would walk until it beeped. Then we timed a 30 second rest, after which we started the cycle over. 120 seconds at a time, we made it up the hills and descended to the vans.
Mr. Lockhart could have left me behind, thinking what most folks might have thought: "He'll catch up eventually," or, "What the hell was I thinking inviting this kid along?" But, instead, he set his stopwatch, gave me crystal light to make my over-iodined water more drinkable, and walked with me all the way up. An inspiration in ascent. That experience could have been discouraging, but thanks to Bobby it was empowering...for me anyway. I don't have to stop every thirty seconds when I ascend anymore, maybe now every 30 minutes just to take a drink of water, regain my breath, and carry on. But, whether its every thirty seconds or thirty minutes, as long as we keep pushing to the top, that's what matters. A few feet at a time.
Thanks Bobby. Had you not walked with me and empowered me in that moment, I might have written off hiking as something I just wasn't cut out for.
Happy Trails, Warmup Mile
Posted with Blogsy
No comments:
Post a Comment