Fighting Failure While Failing In The Mountains
What does it mean to fail? Failure is different for every person. For me, it means that the thing I set out to do didn't happen. It didn’t go as I wanted it to. Or I didn’t do it all. As a life long perfectionist. Raised to never make a mistake, to never fail, to never quit. Failure was not an option. If I failed, it reflected poorly on others. This has left me constantly rethinking conversations, beating myself up for a simple mistake and feeling shame on a daily basis. Larger mistakes would linger for months, even years and affect how I live my entire life.
Not reaching my goals was detrimental to my mental health. Failing to finish a trail, having to turn around, an adventure overall not going as I had envisioned would take me out for a week to months and seep into every other aspect of my life. “I can’t do this”, “I’m not a badass”, “I’m a terrible person”.
I’ve recently learned that when things don’t go as planned, it doesn't necessarily mean you fail. While exploring a potential trail as a trip option, I learned this first hand and was able to completely reframe my thinking. I was hiking the West Branch Trail in the Rawah Wilderness. A 6 mile trek in, 12 miles round drip. I had hiked the first portion before and remember it being a pretty good climb but not overly difficult. I started in the early afternoon, with my hiking pace normally being about 2 miles/hour, I figured I would have plenty of time to explore and find a good site. However, 2 1/2 miles in I was wiped, my hips had been giving me trouble for about a year and I had yet to lose the 30 pounds I put on during COVID. I realized this was not going to happen and that if I couldn’t do this hike, this was not a good option for the business and my clients.
I pulled over on the trail, unstrapped my pack and plopped myself on a large rock. As I ate my peanut butter and Ritz crackers, I contemplated my next move. In the past I would have made the drive all the way back home and cried the whole time and then would negative self-talk for the next week. “Why did you even start this business?”, “You’re too fat to do anything.” and on and on. This time I decided to hike back down to the campground that was next to the trailhead. With the goal of this trip, being the exploration of this trail, to find out if it was a good fit for the business and to also enjoy a weekend to myself in the woods. I had, in reality, completed what I set out to do. My expectations for tonight's sleeping arrangements just looked a little different than what I had planned. I could still spend the night in the woods, I could still camp, I could still cook dinner over my stove. Heck, I could have a campfire this way! And I wouldn’t have to shit in a hole, there were pit toilets. What a dream! The hike back to the car was much lighter than it would have normally been.
I managed to snag a spot in a part of the campground that no one else was camped at, nestled beneath some pines with the sound of the river in the background. I pitched my little tent, unloaded my pack on the picnic table and took a deep breath in. A smile inched across my face and I said out loud, “You’re still doing it”. And I was, I was a solo woman, I was sleeping in my cozy little tent. I was enjoying nature. I pulled out my journal and a mini bottle of wine I had packed and wrote “This used to be failing. I couldn’t reach the ‘goal’, so I would just go home. I’ve learned to pivot. And while I’m not on the side of a mountain, I’m still in the woods, sleeping in my tent. Isn’t this what it's all about? Being outside? I’m solo, on my own. I hiked 5 miles, solo. I’m camping, solo. This isn’t failure, it's finding a way to thrive.”
Later, I went to the river, I washed up like a feral outdoors woman and filtered water. I soaked my feet. I made a campfire with the few pieces of wood I could find laying around and cooked dinner. I drank more wine and reveled in the peace and quiet with my favorite book “Woodswoman” while watching my little fire.
I crawled into my sleeping bag that night at peace with myself, listening to the quiet conversations of distant campers and the roll of the river. I woke in the morning well rested, a few birds chirping. I poked my head out of my tent and take another deep breath. It’s a beautiful brisk morning, my breath escapes in small puffs. The sun shines in bands through the trees, a few clouds pass overhead. I hear the sounds of other campers starting their morning, camper doors shutting, low voices and dogs barking. As I get up to start breakfast, I think to myself, if this is what “failing” looks like, I’m okay with that.
