Mountain climbing and weed whacking

Back in 1997, I had the great fortune to be able to hike to the top of Mt. Elbert, the highest point in Colorado at 14,443 feet. This was my first trip of two that I have taken above 14,000 feet. I was part of a rather large group that included newbies like myself and experienced mountain climbers. It was a very rewarding and emotional day and something I will never forget. That evening after the hike, we all met for dinner back in Leadville. Among the dinner guests was a 7 year old girl that had also summited the peak that day. A number of adults failed in their attempt either because of altitude sickness or because they got a late start and were chased off the mountain by the Rockies' typical afternoon thunderstorms. But this 7 year old girl did the hike without complaint. One of the adults at the dinner asked her "So exactly how do you climb a mountain?". She replied in that simple innocent childlike fashion, "It's not hard. You put one foot in front of the other until you can't go any higher.". I've hiked to a few more summits since and hiked the hills of many different trails. Each time that I have encountered a steep trail climb, I think back to this little girl. There is no need to look up and ahead at how much is left to climb. All that one needs to do is just keep going forward until the summit is reached. Simple. This philosophy has freed my mind of much of the difficulty. It takes time out of the equation and allows me to just live in the moment instead of fretting about how and when I will make it to the top. The physical difficulty is still there, but the mental difficulty is a docile beast.

The funny thing about a job like weed whacking is that it is a tedious chore and as such, allows the mind to wander aimlessly. Our farm has over 1000 feet of road frontage. Fortunately I do not have to weed whack all of that, but today I decided to tackle a couple hundred feet of roadside ditch at the west end. It was hot and I am not as young as I once was. For a bit, I would stop and rest and look ahead. It was defeating. Then my mind wandered to that day back in 1997 and the words of that little girl. I picked the weed whacker back up and concentrated on not looking ahead. My job was only the 6 or so feet I could see right in front of me. Suddenly the heat and pain in my muscles lessened. I would rest as needed never looking ahead, but I found I really didn't need to rest as much. The ditch would end and I would know it when I reached it. And so that 7 year old who taught me more about climbing a mountain that anyone ever could saw me to the end of that ditch today. Out of the mouths of babes, eh?