Measuring Up
/By Christine Reed, produced by Out There Podcast
Released on April 14, 2022
Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
(sound of breeze blowing)
JESSICA TAYLOR: This is Jessica Taylor, and I am the advertising manager at Out There Podcast, and I am actually in the middle of the Grand Canyon right now. And I’m out at Plateau Point, so I’m right above the Colorado River. And I’ve opened up my PeakVisor app.
WILLOW BELDEN: PeakVisor is one of our sponsors for this episode. Their app helps you figure out what you’re looking at when you’re out on adventures.
Let’s say you’re in a national park, and you see a mountain in the distance, and you want to know what it is. PeakVisor will tell you. It’ll show you the name of the summit, how tall it is, how far away it is... plus, other info.
JESSICA: It’s really cool to be able to see every single point and every single elevation of the entire canyon, all the way around me.
WILLOW: If you’d like your own personal mountain guide, check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
(Out There theme music begins)
Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
This season, we’re exploring the theme “Things I Thought I Knew.” Each episode we’re sharing a story about an outdoor experience that changed someone’s understanding.
Today’s story is about the expectations we set for ourselves.
As humans (and as hikers), we often compare ourselves to others. We worry about whether we’re too slow. We wonder if we can go longer, or harder, or faster, than other people.
It’s easy to get caught up in comparisons, to measure our achievements based on what other people are doing.
But how do you know what you should really expect from yourself? And what do you do when it feels like you’re always coming up short?
(theme music ends)
Christine Reed has the story.
CHRISTINE REED: So there’s this mountain in Little Rock, Arkansas — it’s really more of a hill, but it’s called Pinnacle Mountain. That’s where I learned to hate hiking.
(relaxed music begins)
The first time I went there was my freshman year of college. I had just moved to Arkansas from California, and I had this new boyfriend, Alex. He told me, “Everybody in Little Rock hikes Pinnacle. It’s a thing.” So there we were.
It was fall, maybe early October. I didn’t own any athletic clothing back then, so I was probably wearing something like layered cotton tank tops and denim shorts.
(music fades out, followed by the sound of a car door opening and footsteps)
Alex took off up the trail as soon as we got out of the car. I really tried to keep up, but within a few minutes I knew agreeing to the hike had been a huge mistake. I felt like I was dying. Going as fast as I could, and he was still way ahead of me.
(sound of panting)
Eventually, I just let him disappear around a corner so I could stop.
(heavy breathing gets louder)
I bent over with my hands on my knees. My heart was pounding in my throat, and I was gasping, coughing, and pouring sweat. Other hikers trotted by looking totally casual, so I just pretended not to see them. They did not pretend not to see me.
(sound of heavy breathing ends)
I just didn’t understand how everyone else could move so quickly, or why they didn’t look like their hearts were trying to leap out of their chests. I stood there for a few minutes spiraling into self-loathing, but then I continued trudging along.
(sound of slow footsteps)
I kind of hated that day. I definitely hated that trail. I hated that mountain. I hated hiking Alex, myself.
(sound of person gasping for breath)
I dragged my feet along in the dirt, and I tried to slow my breathing down. But I was really trying not to cry like a baby. And there Alex was, standing with his arms crossed, waiting for me to catch up. When he saw the way I was shuffling along, he laughed this big goofy laugh — right in my face.
He said, “This isn’t even the hard part.” Then I hated him even more.
(heavy breathing stops)
What seemed easy for others had always been hard to me. When I was a freshman in high school, I was the only one who couldn’t run a mile. In the fourth-grade, I told my classmates that I had asthma, because the other kids with asthma couldn’t breathe either. When I was in the first grade I never caught anyone else at tag. I would spend the whole recess chasing after the next slowest kid in class, kind of hoping they would trip and fall down, so I could just stop being “it.”
(sound of wind blowing)
From the top of Pinnacle Mountain there’s this really beautiful view overlooking the Arkansas River. But when we got there, I didn’t even really notice it. All I could think about was my failure.
(tense music begins)
Over the next six years, I came back to Pinnacle Mountain a dozen times or more. Some time would pass, and a friend or a new boyfriend would convince me to hike Pinnacle with them. Every time I would tell myself that it would be different. I wanted so badly for it to be different. But it was always the same. The same pounding heart, the same ragged breath, the same red face and disappointment.
(music ends)
But then, I stumbled upon a blog about the Appalachian Trail. I read peoples’ stories about how their lives had been transformed by the trail. And I thought, ‘Hey, if 2,000 miles of hiking can fix all these strangers on the internet, it should be able to fix me.’
The AT is an immersion experience. I’d be hiking EVERY DAY for months! How could you do something like that and not get faster and stronger? So I started planning.
(optimistic music begins)
For over a year leading up to my attempted thru-hike, it was the only thing I talked about. Every single person I met knew that I was getting ready to hike the AT. I researched and bought gear online. I practiced making backpacking recipes in my new camp stove at home. I studied the guidebook, debating the merits of different resupply towns. And I devoured blogs and online discussion boards about all things Appalachian Trail.
I finally stepped on to the AT in March of 2015. It was seven years after that first hike on Pinnacle.
(music continues for a few moments then ends)
I wasn’t surprised by the grueling first day. It was absolutely horrible. But that’s what I had signed up for: hard work, day after day. I knew eventually it would get easier.
(soft music begins)
The first few weeks, I watched as fit super-hikers blew by me on the trail. I thought to myself, ‘That will be me in six months.’ I fell into my sleeping bag, exhausted and aching, but not defeated, at the end of most days.
People commented that I would never make it to Maine at the rate I was going, but I held out hope. I’d read all about how thru-hikers got their “trail legs.” So I knew a day would come when my pack suddenly wouldn’t seem like such a burden, and my legs wouldn’t complain at the slightest uphill.
Each week on trail, I hiked a little farther, a little longer. I learned to tolerate the pain. I learned to ignore my pounding heart. I watched as other slow hikers got their trail legs — and left me behind.
(music fades out)
Seventy days passed, and I never got my trail legs. I pushed harder, but it never stopped being hard. My body was in a full-on revolt. In Tennessee, I got tendinitis in my Achilles so bad that I couldn’t put my heel on the ground for a week. I had a horrible UTI, that just wouldn’t go away. I was drinking so much water that it started to taste bad. I ate like hikers who were putting down 25- and 30-mile days, but I rarely made it more than 15. I was just as sweaty and red and slow as I’d ever been.
(subdued music begins)
After two and a half months, I broke down and quit. I had an excuse. Nobody blamed me for wanting to go home after my mom’s death. But wanting to spend time with my dad was a convenient excuse, when what I really wanted was to stop the daily torture.
Back in Arkansas, I sat on the couch with my dad watching Grey’s Anatomy. I cried with him because my mom wasn’t there. But then I would go to my room and cry alone because I had failed.
It all felt so unfair. Seventy days of hiking should have been enough. I should have gotten there. THERE — this magical place where I can walk uphill without feeling like I might collapse. A place where I can eat a snack and hike and breathe at the same time. I had seen a lot of people go from out of shape to there. But it just hadn’t worked for me.
(music fades out)
WILLOW: Hey, it’s Willow. We’ll hear the rest of the story in a moment. But first…
If you are thinking about a thru-hike — or even if you’re just a day hiker — chances are, you’re going to have to go to the bathroom outdoors.
ANASTASIA ALLISON: Toilet paper, it can be sort of messy, and you’re carrying all these extra bags with you to put the dirty toilet paper in…
WILLOW: That’s Anastasia Allison. She’s the founder of a company called Kula Cloth. Kula Cloth is one of our sponsors. They make luxury pee cloths for women and anyone who squats when they pee.
What’s a pee cloth? Well, it’s a reusable cloth that you can use instead of toilet paper, for #1.
ANASTASIA: I get messages all the time from people who say that it changed their life.
WILLOW: For 15% off your Kula Cloth order, go to outtherepodcast.com/kula, and enter the promo code outtherepodcast15 at checkout. That’s outtherepodcast.com-slash-K-U-L-A, promo code outtherepodcast15.
And now, back to the story.
CHRISTINE: After the AT, I convinced myself that I wasn’t trying hard enough. That hiking just hadn’t been enough. I had to find a way to push my body harder. That’s when I took up running.
(plucky music begins)
Over the next several years, I ran and I hiked — always slowly, always painfully, always alone. It was easier to not compare myself to other people if there were no other people around. For years, I waged a battle on my body. I resented it for holding me back, for always resisting and complaining.
But then just last year, my partner, Ryan, started running with me. He’s the type of person who just takes to physical endeavors and is naturally good at everything. So even though I’d been running for years, and he was only just starting, he had no trouble keeping up with me.
(music fades out and sound of footsteps running along a trail begins)
One day, we were jogging along at my slow pace, and he kept checking to see if his heart rate was still in Zone 2. He’d been researching heart rate training, and was obsessed with his new running watch. So he kept speeding up and slowing down to see how precisely he could control his body.
He would go a little faster until his heart rate crept up to 135, and then slow down just a hair so it would come back down to 130. The whole time he carried on about the science of heart rate training. He was hardly even taking a breath between sentences. And there I was, gasping and puffing along beside him, not even really listening. I barely had enough oxygen to say, “Cool”, let alone process his monologue.
Eventually he asked the inevitable:"What is your heart rate?” I’d been using a running watch for over a year by then, but never really paid attention to my heart rate.
I looked at my watch and read out 186. He stopped in his tracks.
(footsteps stop)
He said, “That’s way too high.” I immediately went on the defensive. I told him I just wasn’t in as good of shape as he was. He pointed out that I was the one who’d been running four days a week for months.
We stood there on the bike path in the middle of Denver, staring at each other. I couldn’t hide from him: he looked at my red cheeks, and the way I was gasping for air, like he’d never seen me before. His face was a mix of concern and confusion. But I saw Alex’s face — laughing, mocking.
Ryan was sure something was wrong. He told me I needed to see a doctor. He said I shouldn’t be running. I shouldn’t be pushing my heart to that extreme.
There on the bike path, Ryan lovingly offered me something I wasn’t ready to accept. Something I wasn’t even ready to consider. He suggested that there might be a reason for my body’s shortcomings. That it might not be my fault.
(quiet music begins)
I didn’t want to go to a doctor though.
What if it was something serious? What if the doctor said I couldn’t run? Or hike? I’d already invested so much time and energy and suffering. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if they said I had to quit, when I must be getting so close to THERE.
(music fades out)
It took almost a year for me to finally see a doctor. I sat on the table in one of those crinkly paper gowns, telling the nurse all about my life, and she wrote down everything I said. Then the doctor came in and took my heart rate and blood pressure. She made me lie down, sit, stand.
Then she handed me a folded pamphlet with POTS written across the top. It’s short for Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. I read the list of symptoms. The elevated heart rate, which had started this whole thing, was right there at the top. Followed by excessive sweating, headaches, dizziness, nausea. I remembered the chronic stomachaches I’d had as a child, and how the doctors never figured out why. But the last symptom on the list really made me laugh out loud. It said “exercise intolerance.”
(solemn music begins)
POTS is a condition that isn’t well understood, and doesn’t have a cure or really much in the way of effective treatment. It’s just something you learn to live with. Some people can live mostly normal lives with it, but more severe cases can be pretty debilitating.
The cardiologist was surprised by my hiking and running — she hadn’t seen many POTS patients able to run long distances.
I held it together while I was in the doctor’s office, but I cried the whole way home. I would never be the woman I had been working so hard to become. I would never escape or fix the body that was always letting me down. I would never get back the years I’d been wasting in a battle trying to get to a “there” that wasn’t even on my map.
(music fades out)
After two days of crying, I called my best friend. I needed her help to understand who I was. For so long I’d been living in this reality, that I thought I knew what was possible for my body. I’d been hiking and running in the quest to be able to call myself a rugged outdoors woman someday. But now I felt like the finish line hadn’t just moved farther away, it had completely disappeared.
I explained all of this to her. And she asked me a question: “What if you already are a rugged outdoors woman?”
(tentative, hopeful music begins)
She pointed out that I already do all the rugged outdoors things. I’m always pushing myself to the limit, and doing crazy stuff that most people would never do.
I really wanted to believe her, but I didn’t feel like it could be that easy. To just decide that the finish line had moved, and that I’d already accidentally crossed it without noticing. But it was kind of hard to deny her logic. For someone with POTS, I was as “there” as I was ever going to get.
(music ends)
Just this summer, I hiked more than 400 miles on the Colorado Trail. For the first time, I set out to do something hard for a different reason. I didn’t want to change my body, I wanted to try to understand it.
(cheerful music begins)
I still pushed up against my limits, but instead of being upset that they were there, I tried my best to just experience them. I really listened to the pounding of my heart, and felt my lungs pulling oxygen in. I smiled when other hikers passed by me going uphill. I nodded along when they told me about the 30-mile days they were pulling. I don’t have to compare my miles to their miles anymore, so I took the opportunity to take my shoes off, and put my feet in the water. I finally stood in awe of the magic of the mountains.
Now that I’m not always trying to get “there,” I can take my time and enjoy being wherever I am.
Back on the Appalachian Trail, I was sure that someday it would get easier. And it has, but not because I’ve finally put in enough miles. It’s gotten easier since I stopped carrying the weight of shame on my back.
WILLOW: That was Christine Reed. Christine is an author and storyteller living in Denver, Colorado. You can follower her on Instagram @ruggedoutdoorswoman, and you can check out her memoir and other work at aloneinwonderland.com.
(music fades out)
As Christine mentioned in her story, there isn’t a cure for POTS. But there are ways to mitigate the symptoms.
CHRISTINE: When I got my POTS diagnosis, one of the things that they recommended to help manage symptoms was to consume a ton of salt.
WILLOW: That’s right. Salt.
For POTS patients, big doses of salt can be really beneficial. Enter something called SaltStick.
SaltStick is one of our sponsors. They make products to help athletes meet their electrolyte needs. And one of their products — Vitassium — is designed specifically for people with POTS and similar conditions.
CHRISTINE: I took them with me on the Colorado Trail, and I felt so much better than I’ve ever felt backpacking before.
WILLOW: Christine says she takes SaltSticks every 45 minutes or so when she’s exercising. And the relief is immediate.
CHRISTINE: Like, I’ll start to get a cramp in my side; I’ll take a chewable; and within two minutes, I’m like totally better.
WILLOW: For 20 percent off your purchase at saltstick.com, enter the promo code OUTTHERE at checkout. That’s saltstick.com, promo code OUTTHERE (in all caps).
(soft music begins)
Coming up next time on Out There, we have a story about love, and loss.
PAUL BARACH: At every moment, Meredith was uncontrollably herself. She had this joyous belly laugh, punctuated by these bear-like snorts that would spread grins across a room. She was everything I wanted.
WILLOW: What happens when you lose someone like that?
Tune in on April 28 for a story that takes us to a beach in Washington state and explores how we move forward when the unimaginable happens.
(music fades out)
Before you go, I want to share a little update with you.
Last fall, when we did our listener survey, a lot of you said you’d like to hear what past guests are up to.
We thought that would be fun too. So each quarter, we’re catching up with someone who was on Out There a while back…and we’re putting together a little update about them.
These updates are available to Out There patrons who contribute $5 or more each month to the podcast.
If you’re already a patron at that level, you should have gotten an email a few weeks back about our first update on a past guest.
If you’re not yet a patron, it’s quick and easy to become one. Patrons are listeners who make monthly financial contributions to Out There, through a crowd-funding platform called Patreon. Small contributions add up when a lot of people participate. In fact, this is kind of surprising, but listener gifts make up almost HALF of our operating budget. Your gifts enable this show to exist.
To become a patron, go to patreon.com/outtherepodcast. I have a link in the episode description as well.
Speaking of patrons, a big thank you to Eric Biederman, Phil Timm, Doug Frick, Tara Joslin, and Deb and Vince Garcia. You all are the best!
(sound of wind blowing)
JESSICA: So I’m looking all around me…
WILLOW: That’s my colleague Jessica. She made this recording while she was backpacking in the Grand Canyon.
JESSICA: And I’ve opened up my PeakVisor app, and I’m taking a look at everything around me. And I can see down where Phantom Ranch is, where I’m going to be tomorrow. Then on the opposite side, I see Bright Angel Point. That’s where we’re ending in three days. And it’s such a cool thing to be able to use the augmented reality feature to be able to point out all the peaks, all the way around me.
WILLOW: Again, the app Jessica is using is called PeakVisor. They’re one of our sponsors. Their app has info on more than a million summits all over the world.
If you’d like your own personal mountain guide, check out Peak Visor in the app store. You just might love it.
(Out There theme music begins)
If you’re new to Out There, check out the Best of Out There playlist. This is a collection of some of our favorite episodes of all time — and it’s a great introduction to the range of stories we do on the show. You can find Best of Out There on Spotify, and at our website outtherepodcast.com.
Today’s story was written by Christine Reed. Story editing and sound design by me, Willow Belden. Out There’s advertising manager is Jessica Taylor. Our audience growth director is Sheeba Joseph. Cara Schaefer is our print content coordinator. Our ambassadors are Tiffany Duong, Ashley White, and Stacia Bennet. And our theme music was written by Jared Arnold.
Have a beautiful day, and we’ll see you in two weeks.
(theme music ends on a last whistling note)
