My Mind Wanders More Than My Feet

My mind never seems to stop. I wish there was a way to physically show you all the thoughts simultaneously spinning through my head.

I’m currently thinking about what I should have for lunch, what I should wear tomorrow on my first day at a new job, will people like me at my new job, how disappointed I was with the car wash I got yesterday, and thinking about the message I heard at church encouraging social justice (am I doing enough?).

My friend once told me her husband’s mind is like a dresser. He is able to open one drawer at a time and focus on the items in the drawer and then close it before opening a new one.

My mind is more like an overstuffed closet. Everything is on display all at once, plus all the things I should’ve gotten rid of are crammed onto the overhead shelf or in boxes on the floor. Not to mention there is a flickering light I should’ve fixed a few months ago but instead I just reflect on how annoying it is while doing nothing to change it.

Instead of focusing on one thing at a time, I swirl everything together at once.

One of the reasons I enjoy hiking, is because it often requires my mind to focus. I can’t be thinking about too many other things when I’m trying to figure out how to cross a mud pit without losing my boots.

My simultaneous thoughts are all related to the hike: How long will those flies continue to buzz around my head? How much farther until I get to the next road crossing? Where did I put my water bottle? What kind of animal scat is that?

Even preparing for my trips requires focus and lists as I calculate mileage and plan exactly where I’ll park, where I’ll drop off my bike and how I’ll get from one point to the next. I plan out if I have to pack a lunch or if there is a place I can stop nearby. I’ll plan out exactly what I need to wear and what I should bring along just in case.

A few weekends ago, I went hiking with my sister-in-law and niece. It’s rare for me to hike with other people and this was a welcome break to my solo adventures. We hiked over 17 miles together from St. Croix Falls to Luck, Wisconsin. On the second day of hiking, my 13-year-old niece came up with a game for us to play to pass the miles. We had to name a song that started with every letter of the alphabet and sing as much as we could. The letters K, Q, and X nearly stumped us; however, I’m quite proud of coming up with “Zippity Doo Da” for our finale as the car came into sight. This hike was one of the fastest I've ever done. The miles seemed to fly by.

When I’m on my own it’s more challenging to come up with mental games. My focus tends to be on my sore muscles, the incessant buzzing of bugs, or my frustration with muddy sections of the trail.

Sometimes I’ll narrate letters I want to write or stories I should put on paper. Unfortunately, by the time I’m home, showered, and in front of paper, I’m usually too tired to write anything out.

This past week, I went on a 4-day solo hiking weekend. The trail conditions were less than ideal. So. Many. Bugs. There were a lot of detours around swampy pits and fallen trees. I had to cross numerous unsteady log “bridges” to keep from drowning in mud. And because of the recent rainfall, I was very much aware of the fresh bear tracks that I hiked alongside. Some of my hikes ended in tears, as I felt claustrophobic from all the waist-high underbrush that crowded my every step and the bugs that swarmed my head.

By the time I arrived home, my mind was more exhausted than my body.

Yesterday after finishing chores that had been neglected while I was gone, I sprawled on my couch to watch a movie and woke up 6 hours later.

I think it was my mind’s way of simply saying, “stop.”

Absolutely Nothing to do with Hiking

Over the past several months it has come to my attention that I am the target of a workplace bully.

I’ve decided to write about it and make it public because I’m tired. Tired is too simple of a word. I’m exhausted. 

I also wanted to take an opportunity to educate people on bullying in the workplace so that if anyone else is experiencing this – you can be re-assured that you are not alone and maybe learn from my mistakes!

An article I found online (The Street, May 2014), identified 7 traits of bullies. My colleague (whom I will refer to as The Bully) regularly exhibits these traits.

Sign #1: Ignoring, isolation and exclusion

This form of abuse could involve the perpetrator:

• Deliberately ignoring or avoiding a target;
• Purposefully excluding someone from group meetings, discussions or decisions;
• Or intentionally making someone feel isolated from the team.

The Bully has not spoken to me in over 2 weeks. She is congenial and friendly to others who come into the office or she speaks to on the phone, but when I ask a question or try to start a conversation, it is met with grunts, sighs, or abrupt comments like “whatever.” Since our desks are literally right next to each other, it’s isolating and lonely. I often feel like I’m being punished, but can’t prove it.

Sign #2: Minimization

This form of abuse could involve the perpetrator:

• Discounting or diminishing someone else's views or concerns;
• Making someone else feel useless or underused;
• Or only delegating the worst of tasks or responsibilities.

Prior to when The Bully started to ignore me outright, she would talk to me about current events. Whenever I expressed an opinion different from hers (i.e., I do not believe refuges are lazy, or that Latinos are criminals, or that former President Obama is the reason we have racial violence in our nation), she has flat out told me that I am wrong, stupid and/or naïve. In work-related instances, she has commented to our bosses that I have done something wrong and “not the way she would’ve done it.” Often these are cases where it didn’t matter how something was done as long as the work got done.

Sign #3: Creating hostility among colleagues

This form of abuse could involve the perpetrator:

• Purposefully causing hostile competition between employees;
• Intentionally creating conflict;
• Fostering a hostile team environment;
• Encouraging backstabbing;
• Or publicly ranking employees.

The Bully is a gossip. She claims that she simply “tells it like it is.” She talks to other staff about people she disapproves of. She once came into work angry because a fellow colleague did not say hello to her in the hallway. She ranted to me for several minutes about how much this person thinks she is beneath him and how disrespectful he is. In reality, he didn’t see her. To everyone on staff she is kind to them in person, but the moment he/she leaves the room she tells me horrible thoughts about them (e.g., cheated on spouse, doesn’t deserve the promotion, dresses like a slut, etc.).

Sign #4: Undue criticism

This form of abuse could involve the perpetrator:

• Constantly giving unreasonable or non-constructive criticisms;
• Fostering feelings of shame or guilt in employees;
• Or making employees feel as though their work is unworthy or inadequate.

For this example, I have a story.

One Friday afternoon I compiled a binder with all of the scheduling information my brand new supervisor would need for her first week of work. The Bully looked at my binder and informed me I was treating my supervisor like a child. I calmly told The Bully not to worry about it. She had her own supervisors to take care of, and I would look after mine. She started to aggressively flip through the binder and told me it was a joke that I used post-it notes and paperclips. The Bully slammed the binder on my desk. Again, I remained calm and told her I would take care of my boss and not to worry about my supervisor. The Bully told me I was wrong and that I was ridiculous. A third time, I mentioned that my supervisor was my concern and I would take care of her schedule.

The Bully returned to her desk but continued to tell me my supervisor was not a baby and she couldn’t believe how ridiculous I was. I remained calm and even as I told The Bully that I really needed her to back-off right now so I could finish getting ready.

The Bully exploded in rage. She yelled “How dare you?!” and told me I was disrespectful. She was “done with me.” I was “nothing to her.” She stood up from her desk and stomped around yelling how disgusted she was with me. We were the only ones in our office. This continued for 3-5 minutes while I sat at my desk staring at my computer screen.

She then leaned over my desk at me and yelled “No wonder no one wants you! No wonder your previous boss got rid of you!” I picked up my cell phone and walked out of the office without comment.

I tried to call our representative from Employee Assistance Programs however there was no answer. Instead I spoke with a friend who calmed me down. After I regained my composure and returned to my desk, The Bully hugged me. She told me how much she appreciated me and that she understood I was under a lot of stress. The rest of the afternoon she was kind.

I’ve been afraid of her ever since.

Sign #5: Projection of blame, taking credit

This form of abuse could involve the perpetrator:

• Using an employee as a scapegoat for work mistakes;
• Blaming others for their own mistakes or faults;
• Or assuming credit for work that is not their own

The Bully has access to everyone’s calendars and prides herself on her scheduling prowess. She’s often shifting, moving meetings for my supervisor and not telling me. When my supervisor has questions about the meeting and why it got moved, The Bully is quick to declare that I must have made a mistake.

Sign #6: Deception

This form of abuse could involve the perpetrator:

• Lying or deceiving employees;
• Omitting information;
• Or willfully giving incorrect information.

The Bully tells stories about how she is a victim of road rage. She would tell me the play-by-play, but to others she omits that she caused the road rage by driving slow in the left lane or pulling up next to people and reprimanding them. Instead of sharing the details of how an incident was caused, she discusses how a “Mexican” threw a Starbucks cup on her windshield and explains everything that he had done wrong, leaving out the fact that she drove slow in front of him and when he pulled up next to her at a stop light, she rolled down her window and yelled at him.

Sign #7: Manipulation of employees' roles

This form of abuse could involve the perpetrator:

• Purposefully blocking progress of work;
• Falsely promising projects or career progression;
• Removing responsibilities without justification;
• Or shifting expectations or guidelines without cause.

The Bully is constantly changing the “office place” rules and I can’t keep track. She is not my boss, she is my equal, but because she has worked here longer, she dictates the rules (e.g., Currently, I’m not allowed to leave my desk for more than 15 minutes at a time, however, in the past she has encouraged me to take breaks). My first week in the office I was suffering from allergies and every time I sneezed, I did not do it properly: I was always too loud, too stifled, too disruptive.

Why Me?

According to the Workplace Bullying Institute (WBI), typical traits of targets include those who are:

• Independent (bullies seek to enslave targets and when targets take steps to preserve their dignity, their right to be treated with respect, bullies escalate their campaigns of hatred and intimidation to wrest control of the target's work).
• Targets are more technically skilled than their bullies. They are the "go-to" workers to whom employees turn for guidance. Insecure bosses and co-workers can't stand to share credit for the recognition of talent.
• Targets are better liked, they have more social skills, and quite likely possess greater emotional intelligence. They have empathy (even for their bullies). Colleagues, customers, and management (with exception to the bullies and their sponsors) appreciate the warmth that the targets bring to the workplace.
• Targets are ethical and honest. Some targets are whistleblowers who expose fraudulent practices. They tend to be guileless. The most easily exploited targets are people with a desire to help, heal, teach, develop, nurture others.
• Targets are non-confrontive. They do not respond to aggression with aggression. But the price paid for apparent submissiveness is that the bully can act with impunity (as long as the employer also does nothing).

For the past several months, I’ve been assuming I’ve been doing something wrong. That if I was only a better employee or had better personality traits, my coworker wouldn’t be so mean to me. This is the third toxic work environment I’ve encountered in the past five years. Clearly this situation is my fault.

It was a friend of mine who put a word to what was happening. I am being bullied. The sweetest, most helpful words I can hear are "It's not your fault."

I'm not a saint. I make plenty of mistakes and make bad decisions, but the derision and isolation I'm experiencing is not only inappropriate, but unfair.

What's Next?

One of the studies I read, indicated that in situations of workplace bullying, the target loses his or her job 82% of the time, whether by quitting or termination. This does not bode well for me.

I have a supervisor who supports me. She was once a victim of workplace bullying and recognized the signs almost immediately. Within the past few months, she has gone above and beyond to encourage me and show kindness. This angers The Bully. As a matter of fact, the more supportive my supervisor is to me, the crueler The Bully is. I’ve asked my supervisor to stop complimenting me or offering to pick up a Diet Dr Pepper for me when she is out of the office.

The kindness she offers, is not worth the retaliation I receive.

I recently asked my supervisor for help. I needed to get out of this toxic work environment. I’m frequently ill and tired, I have panic attacks on Sunday afternoons, I’ve been binge-eating, I have zero interest to be around people. The only joy I experience is when I'm hiking by myself in the woods.

We met with our HR director, who informed us that the next step would be to have one of The Bully’s supervisors address her behavior. We also discussed a plan to move me to a different office space and provide me with other tasks I could work on (that could not be sabotaged). This sounded great to me since I’m often bored and would love to take steps to advance my career.

Unfortunately, The Bully’s supervisor does not believe there is an issue.

He will not be speaking with The Bully about her behavior.

I will not be moving to a different space.

I will not be taking on additional tasks.

As a matter of fact, he’s disappointed in me. He believes I’m making waves.

If I just sucked it up and stopped being so sensitive, then there wouldn’t be an issue.

He suggested that I find a new job.

So here I go again.

-- UPDATE --

Since writing this blog (on May 3), I hid it while doing my job search (advised by some of my friends who work in the HR field). I've since found a new job. I start next week.

When I told The Bully, I was leaving, her response was unexpected.  She told me I needed to give her the ceramic owl I made in my pottery class last fall.  I suck at pottery. I love this owl. It's the only good thing I made. I brought it to work to hold all my pens.

The idea of giving The Bully anything was ridiculous, and the idea of giving her my favorite thing was preposterous. The idea that she demanded I give it to her was dumbfounding.

I took this photo the day I took all my personal items home. I've titled it "The Closest She'll Ever Get."

Clearly I kept it.

On my last day, she told me that she heard from people that the place I'll be starting on Monday has had a lot of people leave because of the terrible work environment.

Such a ray of sunshine, that one.

I remained silent while she went on to tell me, "that's not what I think, I'm just telling you what other people are saying about your new job."

I just stared.

She continued, "I'm sure your new job will be just fine and you have nothing to worry about."

I feel it was appropriate that she said that to me moments before I never have to see her again. It was a good reminder of why I was leaving.

No looking back.

700 Miles

Today I logged my 700th mile of the Ice Age Trail.

Two years ago, I had heard of the trail, but I certainly didn’t understand the scope of it, and I never dreamt of hiking the whole thing. Now here I am with 423 miles left and I’m obsessively pouring over maps and planning ahead to determine where I can stay and how far I should try to hike every weekend.

There is an unsettling rattle to my car when I drive and I may need to take it in to get looked at, but my worry isn’t about how that will affect me in my day-to-day life, but how it will affect my travel on the weekends. What if my car breaks down at the side of the road, will I have cell coverage and, more importantly, will I be able to still hike that day?

At work this week, my boss and my coworker were expressing their concern for me and this hiking endeavor of mine. They don’t like that I travel alone. They don’t like that I travel without a dog or a gun. They are convinced I’m going to die on the trail.

While I would've loved to be sarcastic or even point out that I've already finished 700 MILES mostly on my own, instead I decided to be more light-hearted with my response.

I reminded them that hiking is my passion. While there are certainly moments when I get frustrated, for the most part I love the solitude. I love the variety of environments I’m experiencing that I might not appreciate if I was with a group of people or hiking at a pace that wasn’t my own. Or trying to keep a dog out of poison ivy or from chasing squirrels. Or accidentally shooting myself in the foot because I don’t have the desire or knowledge to carry any sort of firearm when I hike.

I explained to my colleagues that if I were to die on the trail, then they could be comforted by the fact that I died doing something I love.

My boss looked at me thoughtfully and told me that if that’s how I think about it, then if I ever find her dead at a sales rack at Nordstrom’s then I can know she died happy.

My coworker chimed in, “If that’s the case, then if I were to die happy, I’d be cleaning my kitchen floors.”

To each their own.

As far as I’m concerned, thanks to my solo hikes I have a new appreciation for nature (who knew I’d one day be able to identify deer scat, wolf tracks, or the sound of sandhill cranes?). I’m staying active and seeing so many things I never would have even dreamt of: breathtaking sunrises, remote lakes, babbling brooks, trees so tall they kiss the sky.

So everyone who keeps telling me they wish I wouldn't go, are unfortunately not going to get their wish.

I have 422.9 glorious miles to go and I can’t wait.

Keeping My Head Above the Water

In a recent conversation with my brother, we spoke about taking risks.

I am so determined to try things on my own and not let others stop me that whenever I do make a mistake or find myself in a dangerous or scary situation I’m hesitant to tell people. What if my friends and family see it as a sign that I can’t take care of myself?

My brother used my niece and nephew as an example for me to follow. He estimates that over the last decade at least one of his children has broken a bone every year. Would he prefer them not to break their bones? Absolutely! However, he doesn’t want them to stop taking risks and determining what they are capable of. He doesn’t want to thwart their senses of adventure. So his children breaking their bones because of their activities and adventures is preferred to them sitting at home on the couch not living their lives to fullest.

My brother explained that he has noticed that when I make a mistake or take unnecessary risks, I learn lessons. I keep my head about me, make smart follow-up decisions, and at the end of the day I make it home.

He would hate for me to stop living my life out of fear.

He also told me my crazy adventures tend to make for great stories and once he knows I’m safe, he gets a good laugh out of it. So he hopes I continue to tell him about them.

So here it goes.

This weekend I fell into an icy river while out for a hike.

I was visiting my parents and decided to go for a short 5-mile hike about an hour away. It was in a public forest in a small, unincorporated town.

A few miles into my hike, the trail ended abruptly at a swiftly flowing but small river. There was no bridge and the river was too wide to leap across. It was definitely shallow, and I could see the rocks below -- I would estimate it was knee deep; however, this was January.  There was no way I was going to wade across.

Not to be thwarted I started hiking along the embankment, searching for any sort of natural bridge (fallen trees, strategic rocks, thick ice) that could aid me across. The river widened and narrowed along the way, and sometimes debris caused natural dams with deeper water.

The hike was not easy and I often had to maneuver around tree trunks and slippery patches. Every once in awhile I would test some thick ice along the waters' edge only to immediately step back when I heard it crack.

I became overconfident in my adeptness along this snowy uneven ground.


Look at me! Amy, the Adventurer!

And then it happened.

I fell.

One minute I was on my feet and dry and the next I was thigh deep in freezing water. There is a shock to such cold that is impossible to describe.

The current was strong as chunks of broken ice and twigs thunked against me. I immediately lost my footing and fell backwards.

My one saving grace at this point was keeping my head out of the water. I was shoulder deep, cold, and raw.

I watched my hat float down the river. I imagine it’s on its way to Lake Michigan.

No time to dwell (I bought that hat that morning), I needed to move.

I stood up, made it to the shore and struggled with my wet clothes and heavy boots to climb out of the water. I kept shouting the word “shit.”  It was instinctive. Hopefully if someone else was in the woods on this cold, winter day they would realize I meant “help.”

Once I was safely on dry land, I kicked it into gear. I needed to keep moving. Don’t slow down.

I headed in the direction that I thought would take me to the road (falling in the river temporarily disoriented me), and tried not to dwell on the water sloshing in my boots. I checked to make sure all my pockets were zipped. I still had my car key (thank goodness!), my camera was in a pocket filled with water (spoiler alert – my camera never recovered), and my phone was wet but not soaked. The battery was almost zapped so I tucked it away (spoiler alert – I had to get a new phone). My Garmin watch had apparently shut off when I went in the water. I had no idea if would still work (it does).

This is when it began to snow (son of a...).

When I made it to the road, I decided if I saw anyone I’d flag them down and ask for a ride. But how would I explain what happened? How do you start that conversation?

This is when I stopped saying “shit” and started to repeat the phrase “I fell into the f-ing river.”  Except every time I said it I changed the emphasis:

I fell into the f-ng river.

I FELL into the f-ing river.

I fell into the F-ING river.

You get the idea.

I began the fastest walk I could muster back to my car. It was at least a mile and a half away. Naturally I never saw another soul and never had an opportunity to blurt out that I fell into the f-cking river.

Thankfully the wind was at my back. While I rapidly made my way along the country road, I began to realize how much my hands hurt. They were covered in dozens of micro-abrasions.  All these minuscule little cuts and scrapes that had the tiniest amount of blood. The scratches burned. I suspect it was from grabbing onto the clumps of frozen snow to get out of the water.

About a half-mile from my car, my legs stiffened. It was hard to bend my knees and my thighs ached.

Don’t stop. Keep moving. Don’t slow down.

My boots were concrete blocks.

Cleary, because I’m sharing this story, I made it back to my car, which is where I promptly dropped my car key and it skittered under my car. (Come on!) I had to crawl on the cold pavement to reach under the car, cursing the f-cking river, and snatched my key.

Once my car was on, I grabbed all my spare items of clothing: extra jacket and hat, one pair of ankle socks, one t-shirt, one pair of hiking boots. (Notice, I didn’t say pants.) I had some blankets in my car, so I set one on the ground for me to stand on as I struggled to remove my boots and socks. Unfortunately, my shoelaces had frozen into icy fists. I was a moment away from cutting them off, when they finally loosened.

I put on every spare, dry item I had and wrapped a blanket around my waist to drive home.

I did it. I survived. 


How was I going to explain this to my parents when I showed up on their doorstep in a blanket? I did the grown-up thing and said nothing.

It's just like my brother said, the most important thing is at the end of the day I make it home.

A hot shower and a nap were next on my list. The most therapeutic and healing shower and nap I've ever taken.

As the adrenaline wore off, my muscles shouted at me in rebellious fury. For the next several days my body felt like I had been hit by a truck.

Now that a week has gone by, it feels like a misadventure that was had by someone else.

Of course, my brother keeps bringing it up. Apparently, he uses me as an example to the Boy Scout troop he leads.

Going the Distance

Here’s an update on the progress of my Ice Age Trail hike: I have currently trekked 626.2 miles with only 496.7 to go! The miles are starting to fly by. This weekend I’ll be driving another 200+ miles across the state just to tack on a few more.

Speaking of going the distance – lets talk about the Cubs…

(see what I did there? practically a seamless transition!)

It’s time to tell you a little bit about why I watched the Cubs these past few weeks. 

(me = someone who doesn’t typically pay attention to professional sports)

I am one of those people who are mostly indifferent during regular seasons. I will watch playoffs and championship football games if required in order to interact with friends (but it is not my first choice of activities). I rarely watch any games on television and I never listen to them on the radio. There are too many other things I’d rather be doing than watch sports.

When asked about my favorite professional football, hockey and basketball teams, I simply don’t have an answer.

However, if anyone asks about baseball, it has always been the Chicago Cubs.

I grew up in East Central Wisconsin, in Neenah to be exact, where almost everyone I know is a Brewers fan (including my dad). And yet, my brother Jon and I grew up cheering for the Cubs.

I recently asked how that came to be and Jon attributes it to WGN (of course, it also helped that our mom is from Illinois and took him to his first baseball game at Wrigley Field, and I, throughout my youth, idolized my brother and his interests).

It’s funny because until he associated it with the Cubs, I always remembered WGN as the The Bozo Show channel, where kids would throw ping-pong balls into numbered buckets for prizes at the prompting of Bozo the Clown (for the record, now when I see images of bozo and his sidekick "cooky," it scares the crap out of me). The kids were average – dressed in scout uniforms or play clothes. They had bad hair and scraped knees and lisps and big glasses. They were just like me (not like the people we typically see on television). I always cheered for them to win the grand prize and dreamt about what I’d do with the money (usually around $20). Incidentally, the only other show I remember watching as zealously as The Bozo Show throughout my youth is the Price Is Right. I would bid on the Showcase Showdown as if I was actually playing (tell me I am not the only one who did that).

My brother used to come home from school and watch the Cubs on WGN. They didn’t have night games in Chicago, because the stadium didn’t have lights back then (that was quite the controversy when that finally happened – I was only 12 at the time but I remember the drama).

Jon collected their baseball cards, wore the jersey, and knew all the stats of all the players. I know them because of him: Rick Sutcliffe, Andre Dawson, Jody Davis.

My brother recalls the first time he went to Wrigley Field. He kept his ticket as a keepsake. I, on the other hand, don’t remember specific games. To me, Wrigley Field and the Cubs were simply a part of our collective family history. We used to go to one game every summer during our annual Chicago vacation.

I remember the ballpark with the big red sign. 
It smelled of fresh popcorn and beer.

I can still hear the sound of Harry Caray’s voice calling out plays.

Back then he was as famous to me as a movie star. 

I had a crush on Ryne Sandberg. 

He hit a homerun every time I was at Wrigley Field 

(of course he did it for me). 

FYI - When the camera scanned the crowd at Game 4 of the World Series, I knew it was him before they ever said his name.

Having a crush on a baseball player I never met may sound silly, but this weekend as I listened to my 13-year-old niece talk about Kris Bryant and Anthony Rizzo, I was reminded of middle-school me.

Our yearly Chicago trips involved iconic destinations like the Shedd Aquarium and Museum of Science and Industry. I stared in slack-jaw wonder at the towering downtown buildings from the backseat of our two-toned station wagon. We ate hot dogs and pizza and soaked in Chicago like the tourists we were.

As our childhoods faded and that dreadful thing called “adulting” happened, the family trips to the Windy City ceased and my knowledge of the Cubs disappeared. I no longer had Jon educating me on the stats. Instead I had books to read, movies to watch, trails to hike and friends to hang out with. My ears perked up when the Chicago Cubs were referenced and I kept tabs on how the seasons ended (typically not very well).

I rooted for Sammy Sosa in the late 90’s when he went head-to-head against Mark McGwire in a race for the home-run record (and I believe Sammy when he says the drug accusations are false).

Sadly, in 2003, I watched when Steve Bartman and a dozen other fans interfered with the infamous foul ball.

And ten years ago, I lived with a friend whose love for the Cubs paralleled my brother’s. So for a short time I was transported back to my youth – wrapped in the excitement, anxiety, hope and disappointment that comes with being a Cubs fan. We named one of our pet frogs Mark Prior (in unrelated news, the frog died within 48 hours of bringing him home).

The past several weeks I have been swimming in nostalgia as I have screamed and jumped and cheered and paced and bitten all of my finger nails.

Sitting by myself on my couch on Wednesday night, I felt like I was surrounded by family when they announced the Chicago Cubs won. (for real, I don't think any cub fan could possibly feel alone in that moment.)

Thank you for going the distance this year and taking me back to my childhood. I will always cherish these moments.

Hiking and Depression

I know this is a blog about hiking, but really, it’s about me. And to talk about me means talking about one of the biggest challenges in my life: depression (I know how much everyone loves hearing about sadness…I guess I could always talk about the upcoming election instead, but I just have depression, I don’t hate myself.)

Let me also take a moment to note that the irony of identifying as "Amy, the Happy Hiker" is not lost on me.

I thought I’d share some self-portraits to help people recognize what it looks like when I’m depressed (please note, I forgot to draw my glasses, so the drawings may not be accurate):

Yeah, so sometimes I can appear just fine. Outwardly, I can be smiling or joking or hiking or contemplative, but the thing is, internally there’s a numbness, an irrational fear that life will always be a struggle. My motivation wanes and my soul aches and it takes everything within my power to get out of bed.

I’ve been battling depression on and off for 15 years. I have a very clear memory of my first bout because I was consumed with inconsolable despair and I remember the desperation and hopelessness. Now, when I recall that time it’s like I’m watching it happen to someone else. I can’t imagine ever feeling so lost again (even now when I’m not exactly little miss sunshine).

I attribute this to my friends (I have the most awesome friends), family (I have an incredibly supportive family) and faith (I am loved beyond measure). Not to mention, over the past several years I have also developed an arsenal of tools for when I feel the darkness settling in: art, therapy, a sun lamp, medication, meditation, watching episodes of “Parks and Rec,” and of course hiking.

The most frustrating part is knowing that I can’t just make everything instantly better. I promise you, if I could eliminate depression I would. It hurts when people tell me to “snap out of it” or “cheer up” as if it’s a switch I can flip or a choice I’m making. I know it’s confusing, because I can feel absolutely fine for days, weeks, even months, and then suddenly I’m not.

When you think about me having depression, don’t think of it as a choice I’ve made to be sad, instead think of the choice I’ve made to fight to get better instead of giving up.

I began hiking in the spring of 2015 for a myriad of reasons. One was because winter was fading, but my seasonal affective disorder was not (side note: SAD has to be one of the cruelest acronyms for a mental illness). 

I wanted to find a way to get fresh air, explore the state, see beautiful things, get inspired and feel better about myself.

Hiking is an incredible resource for all of these things.

I started by visiting state parks, forests and trails. I’ve been to quite a few (83 out of 108 in Wisconsin).

For a while I combined my exploration with my joy for writing and created articles for my (now former) employer regarding the best scenic places to visit in each county. Unfortunately, after I left, my former boss told me “they’d rather go in a different direction” than allow me to freelance for their website (…it's possible they were not happy about my resignation…).

While working on these articles I explored the counties first-hand and wrote about the places I saw, photographed beautiful scenery, and loved every minute of it. During my exploration of Sauk County, I started to learn about the Ice Age National Scenic Trail.

Granted, I’d heard about it before, but this was when the interest first sparked a light in me. A trail that wound through some of the most scenic, beautiful places in the state? Tell me more!

Even though the idea of hiking over 1,000 miles sounded daunting, that spark happened. It was a tiny flame of motivation.

After a long dreary winter of sadness, any spark is a good spark. While it may have looked like a mere flicker of interest, it felt like a freakin’ blow torch.

I researched the trail more and a plan began to form. I could do this. Like, for real. And now I am.

It’s been 17 months and I’m still hiking during every available opportunity.

I make notes of places to revisit when I’m done and have a list of ideas for when friends ask.

Hiking the trail is challenging and rewarding and frustrating and exhausting, and most importantly it gets me out of bed whether I want to or not.

This adventure has turned out to be one of the best things for me (just ignore my whines about hills and wind and rain and bugs).

Of course, my depression continues to ebb and flow. How annoying, right? But it’s manageable. I’m not disparaging or hopeless.

I’m hanging in there and I continue to make the choice to fight it (albeit one step at a time) instead of giving up.

P.S. I wonder if anyone at work will wonder what happened to all the yellow post-it notes...

Family First

Fall is my favorite season to hike. The warmth of hiking offsets the crisp coolness of the air. The bright colored trees are mesmerizing. There are fewer mosquitoes, little humidity, more deer and wildlife. I even love the smell of fallen leaves and the sound of the crunch beneath my feet.

From the last weekend of September to the third weekend in October, I plan out my weekend hiking trips with zealous detail. I map out the exact locations to maximize the changing seasons in the best weather. I actually already have several itineraries mapped out to explore various parts of the state that should be aglow in fall foliage. 

Last year at this same time, I hiked over 50 miles of the Ice Age Trail and I’ve been thinking of little else in the early weeks of September as I’ve prepared for my autumnal outings. One weekend last year, I rented a cabin in the Northwoods and explored some of the most colorful vistas I’ve ever seen in the state.

But this past weekend, plans changed. Rather suddenly. My dad got sick and had to have surgery. Instead of hiking I spent the day in the hospital trying to make him laugh, while meeting with doctors and nurses and learning about recovery times and risks.

I couldn’t picture myself being anywhere else.

As I look over my itineraries for the next several weekends, they don’t have the same appeal and joy. My dad is going to make a full recovery and he came home from the hospital a few days ago, but he still has four weeks of recovery. How can I drive around the state hiking, when my parents need groceries and have laundry and need help getting things done?

There will be other years to do autumn hikes.

This year there is somewhere else I’d rather be.