Entry #3 on my May Journal Challenge is an easy one... in short, I'm proudest of myself physically when I do something I convinced myself I couldn't do, and mentally when I act with integrity.

My proudest moments since the Great Transformation are 95% hiking and 5% obstacle course races. High amongst those are the hikes I got to re-do after shedding the Old Me. And I got to do two of them, Iceberg Lake in Montana and Angel's Landing in Utah, with my sister.

Nothing like the feeling of burning quads and lungs with the sweet, sweet payoff of fragrant forest and stunning vistas. As I've said before, it still bugs me that I'm the slowest on the mountain, but I'm still there and most aren't, so fuck 'em.

I'm having trouble articulating my integrity victories. Hmmm..... will have to ponder why that is. Imposter syndrome? Unwillingness to dig deep? I'll leave that to another post.

Day 2-ish and 4-ish of of my Journaling Challenge. I wrote this the other day, but there were elements that were too personal to put on a public-ish blog. Plus it mentioned other people, which isn't fair. So, I've distilled this down to what I know about myself.


* I have a definite continuum of stress symptoms

* What stresses me out: being overwhelmed. Whether at work, at home, or a Grand World Problem that I take to heart.

* Ultimately, what stresses me is two-fold: when I procrastinate, and when I feel like too much is out of my control. Coincidence? i think not.

* Stress (the bad kind, because some stress is good and kicks me out of ennui) begins with a generalized anxiety, which I often ignore, which makes it worse, which gnaws at me like a hunger, which I think is hunger, which I literally feed, which covers up my emotions, which gives me a false sense of wellness. Follow me so far?

* I don't often recognize this as stress. When I do, my shame spiral gets triggered. This can last from a nano-second to several days, where I berate myself for not having more insight into my psyche and letting the stress overwhelm me

* I try to turn that frown upside down and do something positive. My house is never cleaner than when I'm in the second stage of stress. My correspondence is updated. My bills are paid. I exercise! 

* If that doesn't work and I continue to sublimate, let's just skip to the red flag end of the spectrum: total shut-down. I've mostly learned how to recognize and excise this stage, but sometimes I spend minutes to months just staring at the work that needs to be done, and feeling physically and mentally unable to even begin. Total overwhelm. Then I get embarrassed by that, because I'm a competent and capable human being. 

* Case in point: my damned taxes. Never in my life have not filed my taxes either on time or within a month of the deadline. Back in the day, my mom would pull out the pencils, calculators, and coffee, and off we'd go. Thank god for modern tech that does all the calculations for you! Then comes 2014, I move, use my RRSP for the first-time home buyer's loan. Come tax time, I think I figure out how to do that, think I file, then hear nothing else. Not only did I not hear back from the CRA, I don't bother to follow up, don't file in 2016, or 2017, or.... well, you can fill in the rest. WTF is my problem? I either get a refund and the Canadian gov't is earning my interest, or I owe money, and I'm about to owe extra money. 

Taxes couldn't be simpler in the internet age. And my couldn't be simpler. A T4, a couple of T-whatevers for some charity donations and union stuff, and an RRSP that I now put towards paying back the homeowner loan. And yet they remain unfiled. I don't even mind throwing money at the problem and taking everything down the street to my local H&R Block. Yet I don't! wtf is my stupid problem? 

My visual for this post is the hidden message in my nephew's math homework. It's an important one, and will probably explore this is future posts. 

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 I have many fine qualities, but consistency with just about anything is not one. I start with great intentions, then fizzle. Writing is no different. I love the therapeutic value of putting cyber pen to cyber paper, and occasionally surprise myself with a new insight or witticism. However, I lack the discipline to maintain and hone. This blog being Exhibit A. I think I'm averaging a post and a quarter per year?

May is Mental Health Awareness Month. As I am aware of my mental health, and having come across this through the #wehiketoheal hashtag via one of my favourite Instagram pages, Unlikely Hikers, I vowed I would write a little bit every day. I haven't. So, here's a 3-for-1, since the first ones are somewhat related. 

I feel most beautiful when...
I feel sexiest after...
I know I'm happy when...

The middle one I'll leave for my personal writing, but beautiful, sexy, happy... those are mostly the same emotion. In the spirit of just write the damn thing and don't obsess because that's just an excuse for not getting the job done, here's my first draft, barely-edited response.

I feel the most alive when I'm totally engaged and mindful of myself and my surroundings, when I feel a sense of flow. a sense of purpose, and sometimes a sense of altruism. I say sometimes because most often I find myself truly happy when I'm doing a solo pursuit--mostly hiking or kayaking. I'm completely reliant on myself, everything is up to me. There's no asking someone else what they want to do, trying hard to keep up with another's pace, stopping when I want.

Having said that, I don't shy away from company now that I've relegated my depression to a tiny corner. Reflecting on the happiest moments in the past year all comes back to the company I kept, but also mixed with the physical activity that brought me to those heights (pun intended). Mt. St. Helens, Lake Louise, Olympic Peninsula, Tough Mudder, Utah.... all shared with those I love.

Nature is the common denominator. Although I've felt great joy in my classroom and building my nest in the first home I've owned, to be truly happy I need to be outside. I am getting too old to sleep on the ground in a tent without waking up channeling Snap Crackle and Pop, a moment last year of true bliss was setting up camp lakeside, after a wonderful visit with friends, on a hot summer's night, and jumping in the glassy water at sunset. Snapped this picture afterwards, hoping it captured what I was feeling inside. It kind of did, but the miracle is that I willingly take pictures of myself now. No more erasing myself from my own story. But that's an entry for #17.

“A joyful life is an individual creation that cannot be copied from a recipe.”
― Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

Time does not heal all wounds. The first time I tried for Upper Pierce Lake, I turned around because I lost the snow in the trail. Full disclosure: I could have kept searching, but I was exhausted. Last year, I reached the upper lake, determined as hell because I kept chanting variations of “I’m never fucking doing this again. It’s too fucking hard!” But as soon as I reached the top, I said “next year when I do this, I’m camping overnight.” So I did. It was still really fucking hard.

Not doing as much strength training this year, I definitely felt the uphill more, but then again, I was carrying a much heavier pack.

By the time I had made 3000 rest-stops, the sun was sinking as I made camp. The sketchy dock held to the shore by a short piece of rope on a log made the perfect camping spot!

I had the mountain all to myself! That’s the first time I’ve been so remote and removed. The closest was the Stein Valley last year when the next campers were about 2km away. I had the deluded impression that being on the dock somehow gave me more protection from the critters. And animals there were! Although I had a surprisingly sound sleep, I was woken up several times by bizarre animal noises. Seriously no clue what most of them were. One baby something crying, some possible coyote-like howls. Definitely one owl. No visitors on my dock.

Day two dawned with beautiful blue skies. The whole province is blanketed with horrendous wildfire smoke, worse than last year. Chilliwack isn’t as bad as other parts, but visibility has been low and brown, except for the 36 hours around my hike.

The lower lake is really swimmable. Cool, but refreshing. I would have spent hours there, but the sun was setting. The upper lake, not so much! I managed to stay in a little longer than last year, but only for boasting rights.

I climbed a little bit up Mt. Macfarlane, but I was pretty tired and I don’t trust myself to scramble. Maybe next time? Wait...what?

"Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dropping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does."

~ Margaret Atwood, The Penelopiad

I have had a love affair with the Slocan Valley for 32 years now. My mother drove me up here for the first time in 1986 to start my job as the community swim instructor, and when we drove around the Cape for the first time and saw the expanse of the lake and the rugged mountains to the west, I felt the significance of the moment without realizing what it was. My mother knew. She had been up here for business many times, and said later she knew I had to experience it too.

The lake has Magical Properties. I’m sure of it. I love Nelson and Kaslo and the communities down the Valley, but I always return to this lake and this town.

The water is like velvet. Despite its frigid temperatures most of the year, I can’t wait to dip in at the very beginning of each visit.

How is the water this clear? More than that, how is it so diverse? This trip, I spent more time across the lake than I ever have. Made me wonder what I was doing all these years.

I fell in love all over again with the deep greens and cliffs that plunged hundreds of feet down into the depths of the lake and the small sandy beaches and the huge rocks to sun myself on post-swim. Here comes a big photo dump because I don’t know how to put into words what I feel when I’m there.

This one isn’t from across the lake, but I love it because I got to jump off cliffs with Olivia.

Thousands have lived without love, not one without water. ~ WH Auden

All the stress and obsession and panic and hand-wringing and annoying my friends and family for naught. Finally, the hysterectomy is done! (well, 18 months ago, but this has been sitting in my files gathering dust since then). The fibroid/endometrioma extravaganza I named "Georgette", the baby I could never have, is no more! Never having been through major surgery besides my laparoscopy and minor eye surgeries, I think the pain and the helplessness were my biggest fears.

Ultimately, I am glad my timeline got scrunched, as I couldn’t physically or emotionally wait another two months for my surgery date. The doc told me to go to the ER that weekend because she was on call and I was in so much pain and discomfort, but I got called at the end of the school day on Wednesday, October 12th with a last-minute cancellation for the next day. Poor students and colleagues who had to witness my complete and total breakdown. What a wimp I was!

Three kilos of gunk gone. A normal uterus is about 8cm and weighs about 100 grams. ONE of my fibroids was 28cm. I really like to live large.
So, I lost one uterus, 2 fallopian tubes, gained 16 staples and a 20cm scar, lost my horrible anemia, my hair stopped falling out, and I’m aliiiiiivveee!!! Three fewer cancers can get me, and I can fit my clothes better. I can drive over bumpy roads without screaming. I don't have a giant pregnancy-sized lump on my front. I don’t have a monthly visitor! It’s hard to tell from the photo, but I lost several inches from my middle.

I’m really happy my pain tolerance is more like my mom’s, who had Stage 4 cancer and was complaining of a “twinge” in her back. I’m not quite that hard-core, but happy I could just do Tylenol by the end of Day 2, as morphine makes me barf, and there’s nothing grosser than barfing when you have a 20cm incision in your belly.

I found it strangely comforting that everyone in the ER was a woman, except for the baby doc training to be an anesthesiologist. I swear he was still in high school, and got all nervous and shaky just asking me basic questions upon admission. Maybe it was his first day? Hope he’s found his footing.

Three weeks post-op. I miss my caterpillar! 18 months on, and only a faint line is visible, save for the top centimeter that went keloid.

My goal was to reach Lower Pierce Lake. My maybe goal was to reach Upper Pierce Lake. My shouldn't-do-it-but-would-be-nice-to-try goal was Mt. MacFarlane.One and a half out of three ain't bad.

Like last week's Flora Peak hike, the trail guide descriptions used lots of adjectives like "relentlessly steep" and "knee-knacker". The summit included Class 3 scrambles as well, out of my comfort zone and not in a good way.

Some hikers' reviews listed the cons as too much forest--no view for three hours. I'm in love with forest hikes, so this was a pro for me. The forest was ever-changing, too. Mostly ferns in some spots, huge tress and carpets of moss in others. Lovely smells in all. And steep! Although I'm getting stronger, I was about four hours in the forest, but getting closer to the trail guide estimates. Yay.

Someone queried if I ever get bored hiking solo. Never. It made me pause, though, especially today. Ten hours with no music, chatter, social media? I like listening to the forest. And my own thoughts. And my aching legs. And making deals with myself on the steep bits not to rest until I get to that next switchback or that downed tree or ten...more...steps.

Four forested hours paid off by emerging to this view. Lower Pierce Lake with Mt. MacFarlane looming above. I was a bit dumb-struck. Stood here for a good few minutes catching my breath from fatigue and awe. Met the first two hikers I'd seen, who said they ended up at the waterfall and couldn't find the route from there. I had been hearing waterfall-like noises for the past half hour, so on I trudged.

There was much criss-crossing of creeks, which also gave me a chance to test my new water filtration system. Glorious! A game changer! Water is incredibly heavy, which I only notice on steep hikes. Plus, it tends to warm up in my backpack. I chugged most of a liter of cold creek water in what seemed like 30 seconds.

The waterfall was beautiful, and where the marked trail ended. This was where I assumed the "may need some route finding" comment in 103 Hikes came in. It also didn't mention anything about a waterfall, and staying right in a "boulder-strewn gully." I didn't know if this was the gully, and the trail seemed to lead left. I also wasn't sure if what I was looking at was actually Mt. MacFarlane, as the area is littered with gorgeous peaks. Having stopped for a lunch/rest break, my fatigue level was announcing itself. I wisely turned around, after double-checking my Fitbit to ensure I beat last week's elevation gain. I'm competitive that way.

The book also mentioned "muddy sections". Yup. Good thing my Keen boots are amazingly tough and waterproof. Fourth summer of use and still going strong.

I liked the variety of wildflowers on this hike.

The last three kilometers were brutal. My knees were finished, my quads were burning, and I was doing frequent Fitbit-checking to estimate how much longer. i did spend a bit of the descent beating myself up for not continuing farther, but when I collapsed on my hot car, I knew I made the right decision. it's not like the mountain is going anywhere.

Got a new Fitbit badge for 40,000 steps. I'm so materialistic.

I have been trying to say yes more often, to break out of my self-imposed hermetically sealed lifestyle. Today I said yes to myself, so at least I was half way there. I completed my fifth of ten mountain climbs for My Peak Challenge, the steepest one yet. I tried to talk myself out of it....it's raining...it's cold...there won't be any view, what's the point. But then I said yes.

I've passed the trail head many times on my way to Lindeman Lake, and after reading the trail reports with adjectives like "brutal" and "relentlessly steep", I'd always just passed by. But, I felt ready and I was. The first few kilometers were the steepest, next to the final push for the peak, but the rest wasn't too bad. The trail is well maintained and taped, which really helped near the top.

The peaks of the Cheam Range and North Cascades were obscured by clouds for most of the day, as was the view of Flora Lake.

I chose to veer left and hoof it up Flora Peak. Even here there was trail tape to guide me to the top. I know my limits, and the rocks were loose and I'm a klutz. I called it quits for the uphill after climbing just over 4,000 feet, a personal best since climbing Panorama Ridge as a young gal of 20. I knew the stunning views would be denied by the clouds, so I wasn't disappointed in myself that I didn't quite make the peak.

The clouds were kind enough to lift on my way down. My favourite hikes include some ridge walking. There's something special about being above it all after emerging from the cocoon of the forest or descending through clouds.

I called this my "OMG look at that view" shot on Twitter, but the truth is I thought the picture was done and I was just airing out the sweaty pits.

Indian Paintbrush remains my favourite alpine flower.

Final pause to admire Chilliwack Lake before my determined descent. My knees really felt it. Especially the last kilometer. Now I'm off to soak in Epsom salts.

What should have been my fifth mountain climbed for My Peak Challenge (why can't I hyperlink anymore?) was thwarted by too much snow, but I'm not complaining. I had a fabulous hike.

One of the benefits of moving to Chilliwack (I still really miss Vancouver!) is I'm within an hour of four fabulous hiking destinations--the North Shore of Vancouver, Manning Park, the Coquihalla summit, and the Chilliwack River valley. Today I attempted to summit Frosty Mt. in Manning, as it was too darned hot to stay close to home. It was exactly what I needed.

The first 7 km rises through the forest, keeping me cool and giving the occasional view of Lightning and Flash Lakes, where the trail began.

The trail is surprisingly well-groomed, despite its back country status. It made climbing so much elevation seemingly easy(ish). The only obstacles were the victims of winter blow-downs, especially the ones affected by the mountain pine beetle. But, I just threw a nimble leg over and gently hopped down (you can be anything you want on the internet. Even graceful. I will not show you the holes in my leggings).

The terrain evens out in a meadow of alders, which are some of the oldest trees in British Columbia (some estimated to be almost 2,000 years old). According to the trip reports, early October is the season to go, when the leaves are changing. Something to think about, since it was a few kilometers past there that I had to turn around.

I lost the trail several times in the snow. I am a confident solo hiker, but I am not prepared for trail-finding, and a few times I had to choke down my fear and calm my shaking. I do NOT want to be that person who ends up in the news having to be rescued because of lack of preparedness. Kudos to Daryl from Kelowna, the only other hiker I saw that day, who happened upon me, turned me the right way, and blazed the trail with footprints to follow.

The trail was still visible here, but I soon lost Daryl's footprints.

I figured I only had about a kilometer to go before the promised exposed ridge with (hopefully) no snow to the summit, but I just couldn't do it.

I stopped for lunch at the nicest viewpoint thus far, congratulated myself for a hike well done, and descended back to soak my feet in the lake.

There are already a lot of wildflowers blooming. And a weird fungus that looks like coral or a sponge.

I am a sucker for Fitbit's flashing lights and badges at the end of a good day. I'm not fond of how it calculates active minutes. I was slowed down by the fallen trees and all the snow. With lunch, stops and the lot, I was seven hours on the trail.

I made a sarcastic post on Instagram  that I now have to amend. I said that it wasn't really camping if there was wifi and no bear warnings, and the KOA was an "adequate" place to rest my head.

Then I spent the night at Barton Park, about 30 min  east of Portland. The elderly camp host was that strange mix of friendliness and generational racism. His directions to my site were to find the "two Orientals" next to me. "They have kids, but seem pretty quiet." To be honest, that's how I found the site, because the numbers were misleading.

The locale was lovely, with treed sites and singing birds.

And now I understand why people hate camping.

I had the neighbours from hell on the other side of me, a group of four friends and their misbehaving offspring. By 2 am I was having murderous rages that threatened to bubble over.

First faux pas: They had quite a large campsite, yet set their tent up about 18 inches from mine. Their inflatable boats and other toys occupied the spacious part on the other side of the site, with no neighbours further on.

Second faux pas: The children, ranging from 3-8, were left to their own devices, shrieking and running through all three campsites. I had no problem with this, and was going to befriend them and keep us all occupied. But once the childless friend mentioned how bratty they were (his words), the parents starting shrieking and swearing. Divorced Dad (tm) was the worst. His 3-year old got an earful, consisting of "You know your mother would be in a heartbeat to pick you up. Do you want to go home with her or go camping with me." She wasn't understanding what he was saying, being three, so he yelled it three times until she started bawling and saying "camping, camping."

Third faux pas: Then commenced a night of smoking, swearing, drinking, yelling. Thing one would let out a war whoop every 20 minutes or so. Thing Two started every other sentence with "mother...". Thing Three shrieked at the children. Thing Four was the country-music-playing DJ until 2 am. Volume up, volume down, song skipped, song repeated.

Being a woman traveling alone, I sucked it up and suffered. I was hoping "the Orientals" or the elderly camp host would step in. Everyone remained silent.

That was my first experience with these kinds of neighbours. I realized that camping near a city would engender this. Camping in remote areas or National Parks would not (in my experience). The humble KOA is typically full of non drinking and swearing young families and retirees with their RVs, out for a quiet weekend or en route to other similar establishments.

My Sunday night was perfect--no neighbours on either side-- and I loved Portland, but I won't dismiss the KOA the next time I'm near a city.