jeudi 1 mai 2008Today was beautiful - the sky was blue, sprinkled with creamy whte clouds here and there, the air smelled freshly green from the lush vegetation. Didier had planned a trip to the top of Mont Veyrier nearby Annecy. "It's an easy walk to the top, no problem," he said.
In general, I'm not too much of a mountain person; I don't go camping or mountain biking nor do I hike on trails more narrow than my arms extended. But I thought it would be fun to have a leisurely walk and enjoy the beautiful view surrounding Lac d'Annecy. Yes, fun.
First problem - mountainous roads. To get to the starting point of our "easy walk," we drove about 15 minutes up the mountain. My genes tell me that I suffer from fairly severe car sickness, especially on tortuous roads like the ones today, and my stomach believes everything my genes say. To make the twisted story short, by the time the car reached its destination, my breakfast had made its journey up toward my throat. Luckily, after ten minutes or rest, I was feeling better.
Second problem - it rained last night. Within 30 seconds of our walk, I was stepping in mud. Since I hadn't brought appropriate shoes, I was wearing my white Diesel sneakers; you can imagine what they look like now. With my baton (stick) in hand, I carefully traversed through the muddy terrain. Unfortunately, another 30 seconds later, I slipped and fell heavily onto my butt, which, thanks to all the feasts I've enjoyed along the trip, cushioned my fall fairly well. But my jeans and jacket were now coated with mud. Not good for someone who doesn't even like to sit on dry grass.
Third problem - my fear of height. After a three-minute walk in the mud, the path started to get better and not so wet, but by that time, I realized this wasn't an "easy walk." What Didier had meant was a hike. And it wasn't a typical hike. Oftentimes we walked on trails barely wider than a foot, and the slightest slip meant a tumble at least 30 feet down - it was steep. Several times I came to a very narrow path and just couldn't get myself to cross it. I told myself, "go ahead, it's okay, you can do it. Even the 70-year-old French woman ahead of you passed easily." At the same time, my mind envisioned a long and painful fall down the muddy and bushy slope. I guess what the mind sees is stronger than what it hears, since my body just wouldn't move, especially if I thought about the journey back down. Many times I wanted to stop and turn backward, but two things prevented me - one, not knowing how to even hike down the steep hill, and two, not wanting to quit.
I know I've had a relatively easy life compared to most people, and I am grateful for that. I also admit that oftentimes in the past, whenever something didn't go so easily as I had hoped, my first instinct was to give up and simply do something else. So, as my easy and fickle life flashed before my eyes each time the fear of height prevented me from moving forward, I recited the mantra "I cannot quit again" and very slowly moved on, with the encouragement of Didier and Alim, who, by the way, each slipped a few times themselves.
I was elated after reaching the top at 1,400 meter altitude one hour later, but honestly, I was very concerned about how I would get down. The mountain was definitely gorgeous. The snow-capped Alps were within sight, and I knew I would be there tomorrow (not by hiking, so promised Didier).
Thankfully, there was another route down, so we took the route more travelled, and it was much easier. At one point, Didier admitted that he must have taken a wrong turn on the way up and ended up taking a very difficult route. At that moment, I was able to practice several French words and phrases I had learned but seldomly used, most of which included the word "merde."
To bring the hike back to a full circle, I managed to slip again on the way down and ended up with more mud everywhere. I guess I got the mud bath I had always wondered about, and it was free!
So, at the end of the day, I am happily alive with just a couple of new scrapes, my clothes are in the washer, my white sneakers are still caked with mud after a good cleaning, and I can say I've taken roads both less and more travelled. Did I conquer my fear of height? I don't think so; I am certain that the same feelings would return if I were to return. But at least I know that the next time I encounter something of which I am fearful, I can convince myself to take little steps, to hold on to my supports, and to count on my butt to brake my fall so long as I keep eating. It doesn't hurt much, really.
