Overcoming Obstacles

I wish I could come up with a really clever metaphor for life, but instead I’m going to use a cliché: Life, like hiking, has unexpected obstacles and detours. Even using maps, I’ve gotten lost, misread a visual cue, or had to backtrack several miles.

Over the past 15 months, I’ve tripped over roots, slid down the side of a cliff, crossed swirling rivers using fallen logs, plucked over 30 ticks from my legs at one time, and got stuck up to my waist in a snowdrift. I’ve cursed and screamed at my surroundings in frustration. Hiking shouldn’t be this hard!

That time I was stuck in the snowdrift was on a trail that bisected a farm field near Coloma. I was exhausted, wet, and irate. After hiking 5 miles through wintery conditions I wasn’t prepared for, the road home was less than 10 feet away and I was stuck. I raised my arms to the sky, angry tears streaming down my face with my hands clenched in fists around my trekking pole, and bellowed “I am a f@%#ing GODDESS!” My primal yell bounced around the countryside as an echo, and when the sound of my voice finally faded, it was answered by the deep, resounding moo of a neighboring cow. I started laughing, pulled and pushed my way out of the drift and eventually plowed through the remaining 10 feet of snow to the road.

When overwhelmed by my surroundings, I forget that I’m stronger than I think.

Over these same 15 months of hiking my mother became seriously ill, I’ve changed jobs, battled depression and anxiety, developed a binge-eating disorder, worked through two rotator cuff injuries, avoided friends and church and writing and anything else important to me. I essentially spent months screaming and cursing at my surroundings in frustration. Life shouldn’t be this hard!

But then I remembered. I remembered the landscape has always been challenging; life was never promised to be easy. And I’m stronger than I think.

I began this 1,121-mile mission to accomplish something that not everyone can or will do. This hike was an opportunity for me to be active, get outdoors, explore the state, and alleviate stress.

(Of course, in retrospect “alleviating stress” seems kind of paradoxical.)

To date, I’ve logged more than 500 miles on the Ice Age Trail. Despite all the obstacles, it’s been worth it.

I have hiked through golden forests raining leaves,



walked through open fields filled with thousands of happy flowers,

chatted with sandhill cranes looking for company,



been awed by the delicate beauty of nature,




and experienced moments of incredible pride. I feel stronger every day.



This hike, along with my life, isn’t going to be easy. But I’m stronger than I think. I will keep moving forward.

Otherwise I’ll just be stuck screaming my head off at a bunch of cows.