exertion

A few years back, we did a study of future teachers and about their view about teaching science as well as being effective with students of color. Most striking was how strong their confidence was about their competence -- on the first day of their only course about how to teach science. Since then, I have valued the potential for self-doubt and uncertainty as powerful mechanisms to promote learning and change. I am usually untroubled when someone expresses frustration because I have a tendency to believe that such discomfort is the very force that will propel them forward. On the other hand, I recognize that confidence and persistence have great power and this power comes from successful experiences. Therein stands the tantalizing tension somewhere between the already-done and the yet-to-know.

Yesterday this became especially clear as we prepared to hike a section of the Appalachian trail on snowshoes. It was an out-and-back trip of about an hour but the temperature was really cold. Plus, we had not been able to do genuine backcountry snowshoeing in five or more years. We had all the necessary equipment and believed we were sufficiently fit. Plus, the altitude was about 10% of what we had flourished in when we kicked powder in the Wasatch Range. Nevertheless, the bindings were awfully cold, our first attempt to ascend was far too steep, and snow was creeping into gaps in my clothing. One finger was especially cold and I was sure that if I removed that glove, it would be the color and consistency of lead. But we found a trail going the opposite direction that was open to hikers, skiers and snowshoers. Someone (and it looked like only one) had blazed a trail. Because the blaze markings on trees were white, our unknown guide must have been familiar with the route.

We were finally underway having established a comfortable stride. The sky was overcast at 10 a.m. and there were no large breaks through which we could absorb spectacular views. Now we’d found our groove which coincided with the path cut into the deep snow. Toes and fingers warmed. It became fun and comfortable. However, because of the conditions, the cold could begin to creep in if we dallied in place. While the gloves were almost too warm, taking the off was not an option because of the recent memory of dull metallic flesh. As long as we pushed forward, we could deal with the elements. Having hiked far enough uphill, we broke new trails coming back down. There were several moments where the platform of the snowshoe floated on the snow’s surface so I many steps were more like glides that clomps. And I did get moving too fast, once grabbing to a tree trunk that noted my presence with a heavy dumping of snow on my head and into my collar.

It occurred to me that what made this excursion so fun was a combination of boldness and caution. First, rather than become too worried about my cold extremities I literally plowed forward. The excursion itself, in the face of bitter and indifferent surroundings, generated the heat to keep me going. And yet when there was insufficient exertion, the cold and emptiness and gray pressed in on me. All of which suggests that we have to keep moving to stay warm and alive. The trick, I suppose, is to not exert so heavily that we exhaust ourselves. But moving at the right pace is necessary to remind and ensure us that we are living.