Not Worth the Weight

The Mountain I Didn't Climb in Spain

2010-07-06T12:54:00.000-07:00

This post is an essay I wrote about some of my experiences in Spain. While the essay is not necessarily about food or weight, it relates.

Enjoy!
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THE MOUNTAIN I DIDN'T CLIMB IN SPAIN

I’ve discovered paradise. It’s the Costa Blanca region of Spain. The landscape spreads across the countryside like a green quilt polka-dotted with orange and yellow ripeness. Clusters of wild rosemary, thyme and lavender perfumed the air. Jagged mountains thrust limestone limbs out of clay colored earth and pine tree forests blanketed their mighty mountain feet.

You’d think that I would have been overjoyed to be standing in the middle of all this beauty. But I wasn’t. Not at first. For the first two days in Spain, I was mad as hell.

I went to Spain thanks to my graduate studies at Chatham University. Travel is a requirement of the MFA in Creative Writing program, which is a major reason why I chose it. The two week excursion counted as a three credit course and was designed to take us out of our comfort zone and inform our writing.

Eleven fellow student writers and I, under the guidance of our intrepid instructor Karen, made the nearly 24 hour trek (with layovers and time changes) from Pittsburgh to Spain. Our final destination was Alicante where Johnny picked us up. It was another 45 minute drive from Alicante to our base camp, an organic farm.

The farm was set high up on a terraced hill near the quaint village of Sella. It’s the best possible location for nature-lovers. There are miles of mountains and the Mediterranean is only a short drive away.

The farm was smaller than I imagined, but beautiful. The salmon colored main house and outbuildings were Spanish style stucco and there was a narrow front yard that plunged dramatically into the next terrace. Almond, lemon, orange, and olive trees dotted the hillsides. A sweet dog named Roxy and her playful pup, Luna greeted us as we disembarked.

I scored an outside room with a private bath with a fellow traveler named Alyce. The view from our room stole my breath away. The valley sat before me like a giant fruit bowl. The terraced hillsides encircled it and there was a tall jagged mountain that looked like it was a missing tooth in the distance. The air was clear and dry and I could breathe easily, something I could never say back home in humid Pittsburgh.

Johnny and his wife, Violeta ran the farm and played host to volunteer farm workers and adventure-seeking holiday makers in order to support their organic efforts. We were their first university group from America. The farm offered us cozy rooms, three homemade meals a day and a variety of extreme activities. Somehow I don’t think they were quite prepared for a group of non-extreme American writers.

Our first day began with an “orientation” hike that consisted of an eight mile trek, uphill both ways. I consider myself a hiker and am usually in pretty decent shape by the end of the summer. But it was only May and I’d been battling a recurrence of asthma all winter. I was also packing on some stubborn extra poundage; a fact that Johnny made sure to point out at every opportunity.

“You’ve let yourself go,” he said as I puffed my way up one of the numerous inclines.

For some reason he enjoyed pointing out my weight, like I wasn’t aware of the situation. Believe me – I was aware. I’ve been struggling with it since puberty and yes, lately I’d been loosing the battle. But he didn’t know the whole story. He probably thought that I sit on my bum in America stuffing my face with McDonald’s and watching TV. Which was not the not the case, at all.

Later on the same evening, we were helping Violeta shred some newspaper in order to make new sheets of paper. It was a recycling thing, apparently.

As I shredded, the next day’s activity weighed heavily on my mind. Rock climbing. The one thing I did not want to do in Spain. I decided to confide this lack of enthusiasm to Johnny as he bent down beside me at the end of the paper shredding fiesta.

“Hey, Johnny,” I said. “About tomorrow? I’ll come and help or something. But I’m not actually going to climb.”

“Yes, you are.” He said, fixing his intense brown eyes upon mine. The tanned skin around them crinkled.

I gawked at him. “What?”

“You are going to rock climb.”

“No, I’m not. You see, I had a really bad experience climbing in the past and I’m not doing it again.”

“Well,” Johnny said, clapping his hands together, “then you definitely have to climb. You have to conquer that fear. This is the thing,” he continued. “You set up a system and you have to decide, is this system safe? And you decide yes, this system is safe. So then you have to override those instincts that tell you ‘wow man, I’m in danger’. You have to think to yourself, ‘I’m safe’, take a breath and keep going. Right?”

My mouth went dry and I gulped. “But you see…my friend, she pushed me into it and…it was really bad.”

Johnny rubbed his knees and looked indignant. “Then you must not have gone with good people. You need to go with me and have a great experience and then you’ll like it. Yeah?”

I shook my head. My face burned crimson. Didn’t he understand? This was not something I wanted to do.

He patted me on the shoulder and stood up. “You will climb tomorrow,” he said, as if the matter were settled.

I let him go without contradicting him. I knew his type. My best friend from childhood was like him; hyper, over-confident and pushy. She was the reason I’d had bad experiences with climbing in the first place.

Shit, I thought. He’s not going to leave me alone until he gets his way.

I sat glued to the floor while my stomach churned unpleasantly. What was I going to do? I wouldn’t be pushed into climbing. Not again. Wasn’t it enough that I tried and hated it?

And what all about those other times? Like the free climbing at Shohola Falls, when I couldn’t get my foot into the same foothold as my best friend. It was a nightmare. She and her sister actually had to pull me up the rock face from above, all because I was a couple of inches shorter than they were. And then there was the time at Dingman’s Falls, when Matt had to pull me up an embankment because I was stuck and the only other option was to let go. And then there was the time when I fell through the trail in Honduras. Hadn’t I suffered enough?

I sank into my bed that night with a belly full of wine and dread. I stared at the ceiling. I knew that Johnny wouldn’t stop harassing me until I climbed the whole mountain. He would keep pushing and pushing. What was I going to do? Should I just suck it up and climb? Should I keep telling him no until my voice gave out? I worried that I would give in just to shut him up. I’d done that in the past and hated myself for it afterwards.

So why did I let people push me into things? It was probably because I grew up surrounded by strong women who expected me to comply without question. So I tended to back down when confronted by someone with a stronger personality. It was the way things were.

Well, no more. I thought. No more. Tomorrow I would stand my ground, literally. I would tell him no. He would not make me do something I didn’t want to do.

I shut my eyes. Confidence coursed through my veins faster than blood. My heart pumped passion, the passion to be who I was without apology or explanation. I felt alive. I felt strong. But behind this certainty, doubts still lingered. In the deepest corner of my mind, I feared that I would give into him. I feared that I would let myself be pushed into it. These doubts kept me awake for a long time. But eventually, after a lot of tossing and turning, I let the lullaby of nightingale song lure me into sleep.

*************************

The day of rock climbing dawned bright, but there was a slight chill in the air. Butterflies the size of eagles swooped around in my stomach, but I had a plan and I was determined to see it through.

We piled into the two vans and drove to an ideal spot for beginning climbers. There were already some adventurous souls on the Rhinoceros, as Johnny called the mountain before us. We carried the equipment up a short, rocky path to a landing and another stunning view of rugged mountains.

Johnny instructed us to find a partner, so I teamed up with Jess. I promptly let her know that I would not be climbing.

Then Johnny started hanging out harnesses and when he handed one to me he said, “Here, I think this harness is big enough to fit you.”

And if it didn’t? Well that would simple things up so much. But it did fit– dammit – and I briefly considered taking it off. But I knew that I needed it in order to belay, so I left it on. But that little victory would not win him the war.

Next we practiced knot tying and belaying with the extra ropes while Johnny came around to check our equipment.

When he got to me, he said, “Pull up your shirt.”

I hadn’t tucked mine into the harness like everyone else. I could feel my face burn, but I complied. He grabbed the slack on the harness and pulled it hard, tightening it. I couldn’t help but feel violated. He seemed to be enjoying it way too much. I wanted to punch him, but I swallowed the impulse and made my face a blank slate instead.

After checking everyone’s gear, Johnny scampered up the rock face like a spider monkey to set up two climbing routes. The routes were predetermined and there were steel pins in the mountain already. I stood on the sidelines, ready to belay when needed.

After a few people had scaled the mountain, Johnny called to me. “So you’re going to climb, yeah?”

My stomach flip flopped but I said. “No. I’m not.”

“Yeah you are,” he said, like he could make it so with his words and his will.

But my will was just as strong. “No, I’m not,” I said again.

Johnny scurried over to the rock and stroked it like a pet dog. “How about if you just climb ten meters?”

“No.”

“How about five meters?” He stroked the rock again.

I folded my arms across my chest where my heart was beating a tango beat. But then I thought of Frida Kahlo glaring at him from the picture on my tee-shirt. Her defiance gave me strength. “No.”

“How about you just climb as high as you’re comfortable?”

“No.”
“How about you just stand on the rock for me?” He slapped the base of the rock with his bare foot.

“No,” I said. My voice was calm, but my blood was boiling. I knew that one meter would lead to another and before I could say “Jiminy Cricket”, Johnny would be hauling my sorry ass up the mountain.

“So you’re not going at all?”

“No. I’m not.’ I said. “Final answer.”

Johnny’s face clouded with anger and possibly defeat, but he said, “Okay.” Then he turned on his naked heel and walked away.

The heaviness that I’d been carrying around since childhood lifted and I felt light enough to float up the damn mountain. I couldn’t believe it. I had been strong, assertive and decisive. I had done what was best for me and didn’t cave in to his stronger personality. If Johnny was my mountain, then I climbed it.

Nature and the Now

2010-03-07T18:56:00.000-08:00

Okay, so it's been a long time since the last post. And yes, I did try to give up soda. Did it work? Hell no. I just replaced fountain sodas with lots of non-fat iced mochas. Better? I think not. *SIGH*

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I always have to have that little something? A diet soda, a mocha, a handful of dark chocolate peanut M&M's? What happened to my discipline? Is life really so bad that I need a sugary caffeinated beverage to make it better? Probably not.

I know the solution...I know what makes everything better and soothes my starved soul - nature...that's what.

I did actually get to sit outside in the pale March sunshine for a whole 30 minutes today. Granted - it was only to wait for the AAA guy to come and fix my flat...but hey...it was fresh air and sunshine just the same. I can't for the snow to melt so I can start hiking again. Hiking is good.

As much as I do enjoy having a computer - especially for writing, typewriters are my worst enemy - sometimes I think it holds a world of empty promises. I'm always excited to read my email or check Facebook, but nine time out of ten all I have are forwarded messages or organizations begging for my non-existent money. And Facebook....well...it's only people sending me myheart requests or trying to lure me into Farmville...whatever those things are. Where are the connections they promise?

The only place I feel truly connected is when I'm in nature. This may not be true for everyone, because not everyone grew up in the woods as I did. But I think it may be true for most. I think that is what is missing in our lives. That connectedness to nature and each other. We are missing the things that are supposed to fill our lives -finding food, sharing food, talking, laughing, walking, dancing, singing, being outside. We eshew all these chores to have more spare time and then fill our spare time with worthless and unsatifying pursuits. It makes me ask...are we really better off?

Naturally, I enjoy showering and having clean water and being able to sleep under a sturdy roof in a comfy bed. But isn't there a way to enjoy a simpler life without giving up some of the basic comforts?

That is the question. That is kind of my life's goal...to live more simply and enjoy what I have instead of telling myself "I'll be happy when...". Because when I play the "I'll be happy when game"...I lose. Because there is no when, only now.

There can be a year of Mondays, yet I may never start that new heathly lifestyle. There is only now. There is only the choice to treat ourselves better now. Because treating ourself to empty calories is not a treat at all, it is a trick. It will not make us happy - only sad and ashamed. So right now I will put down the f'in M&M's and fill another glass of water. Right now, I will get off my a** and go move around. Right now...at 10:10 on a Sunday night. Not Monday, not next week.

NOW.

They Put Crack in McDonald's Fountain Drinks, Don't They?

2009-06-03T19:44:00.001-07:00

They do put crack in McDonald's fountain drinks, don't they? I think they do. Why? Because although I have given McDonald's up on principle, I can't seem to boycott them entirely.

I love their fountain soda. The taste of a Diet Coke from McDonald's is so much better than anyone elses. Why is that? It's the crack! Okay maybe it's not crack, but it's got to be something. Sugar, maybe? It's just too damn tasty to be entirely diet.

So this is my problem. I like the bad stuff. Soda is bad. There is nothing good about it. There's a rumor that coke can take rust off a bumper. That may not be true, but there may be some truth in it. I'm sure it's eroding my stomach lining as we speak. Literally. There is a 32 ounce diet soda from McDonald's sitting to left of this laptop as I type. I went through the drive through specifically for the diet soda and nothing else. I have a problem!

The truth about soda, even diet soda, is that it is unhealthy. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Some studies suggest that eating non-caloric food confuses the body, rendering it incapable of judging how many calories its ingesting. Other studies suggest the pavlovian effect of intaking sweetness causes us to release insulin even when no calories or sugar has been ingested. Scary.

So this is the tip of my food iceberg. I often substitute the diet soda for other things I might be craving. Things much higher in calories. So what do I do? Will going off soda for a week mean I'll replace it with something worse?

When I quit smoking, I started using food as my primary motivator/reward. Out one bad habit, enter five more.

So my challenge to myself - and to those readers out there (assuming there are any) is to give up soda for one week and see what happens. I will keep a "soda journal" and will post the findings here in one week.

You're encouraged to do the same.