I was at about 9,000 feet in elevation, around switchback #15 en route to the Froze-to-Death Plateau in the Beartooth Mountains. This trail, which begins in the West Rosebud Canyon at about 6500 feet is one of the most popular approaches to Granite Peak. I personally had traveled the trail many times, but this time was different; this time I was running. I passed two climbers, each loaded with 40 lb packs as they slogged their way to Montana's highest peak. Under the misery of their large loads, they silently stared as I ran past, bearing looks that suggested that they had just seen an alien.
Though my time as a mountain-lover has been life-long, my career as a trail runner has truly only been a few years. Every year, my love and understanding of the sport increases. One of the most interesting, and at times embarrassing, components of trail running is my encounters with others. Like the two climbers that day near the Froze-to-Death Plateau, some people just stare... at times with pained looks on their faces. Others simply think something is psychologically wrong with me: On a separate run in the Beartooth Mountains, a middle-aged man once asked me if I was on amphetamines. How does one respond to a question like that?
Thankfully, aside from the awkward stares and remarks of a few, most people cordially say hi and look at me with a sparkle in their eyes, as if my choice to run mountain trails is something of note, perhaps even a bit inspiring.
You feel a bit bizarre as a Montana trail runner, especially one who goes deep into the mountains. Aside from the ultramarathon I ran last summer, I'm the only trail runner I've ever personally seen more than 5 miles into the mountains; and when it comes to ultramarathons, it's been estimated that probably less than 0.1% of Americans have completed one.
More than any other activity in which I have been involved, trail running clearly demonstrates to me just how different we all are. Running in the mountains is becoming a part of who I am, a necessary component of "me." Though it is often painful, it has a way of inspiring me with the simplicity of its motion and the speed of its exploration. It's a place of restoration and happiness for me. Though the masses may look to those who enjoy hours of running up mountains as pillars of discipline and fitness, most non-runners lack an understanding of just how simple it is; In my life, staying fit just happens... it's just what I do.
To no surprise, there is always a trade off. Though I'm gifted with a love of movement and exploration, I'm not gifted with a tolerance for long work days and massive "to do" lists. Not unlike those climbers who stared at me as if they'd seen an alien, I find myself doing the same with some of the teachers with whom I work. Somehow, they are able to teach all day, organize region-wide competitions, serve on committees, contact piles of parents a week, and then coach a club or sport for good measure. And they keep at it week after week! I try to pretend to keep up with them once or twice a year, but then I usually experience something resembling a nervous breakdown.
During one of my little breakdowns in the month of December, I had some discussions with myself that involved some heavy consideration on whether or not I would be able to continue as a teacher. I simply couldn't keep up with everything that I "should" be doing. I racked my brain for a couple of months, and right about the time I was signing-up for my next 50 miler, I had a little reality check.
I really enjoy quite a lot about teaching. I love entertaining the students, I love writing interesting and applicable activities, I love thinking about how to outsmart misconceptions, and I enjoy working in an environment with intelligent coworkers who care about what they do. To top it all off, I've had quite a lot of success. Why on earth would I not be teaching? Like mountain running, it's part of me as well!
It is so easy to fall into ruts of guilt and inadequacy as we struggle to keep up with all of the tasks and the other people around us. The teachers that can juggle all that stuff are beasts to me, plain and simple. However, just as a 5K runner shouldn't feel guilty for not having the necessary desire to train for a 50-mile run, I realize that I shouldn't feel guilty for being unable to juggle the tasks of a "super-teacher." I have a strong desire to teach math well, to help out a little extra in the school, and to run a climbing club. For some reason, I am also drawn to climb and to run in the mountains, and I can't allow myself to become so over-stressed from too much work that the mountains lose their meaning. All of it, from the teaching to the running, comprises "me". It's a shame for any of us to lose a meaningful part of ourselves to the overabundance of tasks which are constantly vying for our attention.
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