Monday, January 18, 2010
I was posting some pictures of a hike I did late last summer on my spark page and started reminiscing about the day and how much of a metaphor it is to my weight loss battle.
We planned a trip through the back country to a beautiful alpine meadow at the foot of Mt. Cheam. My husband had heard about this hike through a hiker’s website, and was excited to go and explore. Now for all experienced hikers, this hike is probably a breeze, but for me the feet of climbing to the peak was daunting. Once we started to ascend, climbing the trails through the huckleberry covered hill, I knew this was going to be one arduous climb. I had 70+ pounds of extra meat on my body and schlepping it up the mountain was going to be a task. Stopping for many mini breaks, I continued on, one foot in front of the other. Groaning and moaning, I climbed higher and higher. As I looked back on my success at hiking another few meters, the snow covered mountain range in the back spoke to me, urging me to move on.
My hiking buddies, including my husband and dad, encouraged me the whole way. After two and ½ hours, I could see the peak. Tiny specks of people at the top were celebrating their triumph. On I plodded, higher and higher until I looked up and realized I was nearing the top and my husband was looking over at something below. I came closer to him and looked over the edge. My breath was taken away and I started to cry. Below me was the valley in all its glory and I was on top of a mountain, celebrating my accomplishment; a 360 degree view of lakes, the Fraser River, mountains and the farmland below. Wow! Raw beauty. Absolutely priceless.
Weight loss is like climbing a mountain. When you’re at the base, the peak seams to far away, so unattainable. And as you are climbing you look back and see how far you have come, but you look ahead and the finish is still so far away. But inch by inch, with every pound you lose, and every run, or weight you lift, you come closer to meeting that goal. And soon you find yourself standing atop that mountain. You’ve succeeded, and you stand proud in your accomplishment.
I drove along the highway towards the mountain this fall. I had passed it a million times before driving into the interior to visit family and never noticed it. A huge grey beast looming over the valley in all it’s wonderment. I turned to my husband and said, “that is OUR mountain”, and couldn’t believe I stood on top of it the summer before. I was so proud.