I can hear myself breathing

When I started running cross country in high school, my coach told me rather critically that I should not breathe so hard while running. In spite of my best efforts, I could never manage to regulate my breathing and so was fated to sound like a roaring lion whenever I raced. This memory flashed in my mind this past weekend on a delightful and mildly perilous hiking trip I took in Poblacion, Kabayan, roughly five hours north of Baguio. Exactly a year ago, I was in Kabayan, to visit the same friends—the family of one of my nurse friends in Naperville—and to hike the second highest mountain in the Philippines—Mount Pulag. Since I had already conquered Mount Pulag, I ventured onto a more local route—steep and winding—to see the mysterious mummies, unique to this region of the Philippines and some of the only remaining mummies in the world.

More than any other outdoor activity, I adore hiking the most. Something about the majesty of the mountains and the closer proximity to heaven impress me every time. Nothing but a spiritual connection could identify my affinity for the tranquility of the mountainous expanse. In a world where people seem to have claimed every inch of free land, it is comforting to know that there remain little swaths of land untouched by commercialization and harmful modernization. On this occasion, I was most intrigued by my breathing, punctuating the calm like a bread knife, calmly slicing the silence in a rhythmic cadence.

As my muscles contracted and burned with the effort of traversing a 45 to 75 degree angle for a couple of hours, my breath reminded me of the solemn beauty of the pain in life. There is something so enigmatic about the pain we encounter in this journey called life on earth. I cannot explain why we feel this sentiment and why some people undergo a great deal while others float almost blithely down life’s river without so much as a section of white rapids. I trust that no matter how hard my breathing becomes down the path I have chosen my Father God is there to take away the profound piercing that threatens to overwhelm.

Interesting to remark the barometric nature of my breath, which was not altogether accurate, I must confess. True to an assuming nature, when the sound of my lion roar deluged the placidity of the moment, the path was steep and precipitous without fail; however, my breath knew not the treachery, which lay in the downhill tracts. Although my lungs were not strained, every other part of my body was taught with tension. While wincing in pain over the bruising of my big toes and the detrimental crunch of my knees, I thought of the insidious nature of the downhill. You would think that going down is much easier than going up, but I find the reality and honesty of the uphill is much preferable to the deceit and promise of the downhill. I suppose that is why the old adage “slippery slope” holds so true: you may think it is easy to take the fast decline but quickly the sloping gets the best of you until you have no control over the matter.

True to form, this experience in the ethereal mountains of Kabayan was a thought-provoking escapade. My friends were so welcoming and hospitable, feeding me fresh fish and vegetables and other delicious treats. We all had a good laugh over the hike I took, which no other tourist had ever undertaken. I reached the summit of Mt. Timbac, the home of several mummies, in two hours and 45 minutes. (They had told me that it takes four to five hours but that I could probably manage it in three. Three was my goal, so I was overjoyed with the fact that I reached the top sooner than expected. Not being overly competitive, I thoroughly revel in these moments where I can dare my body into submission.)

From the peak, I requested that my guide take me along the ridge down to a small village where we would pick up a bus to take back to Poblacion. What I did not realize is that my guide had never taken this route and did not really know the condition of the trails we would take. In fact, there were no trails for roughly three hours, so we were following the ridge in the general direction of our destination, trampling sere waist-high grasses that concealed the uneven ground below. I must have tripped a dozen times, which did not bother me as much as when we began our descent and I felt as if I may not make it.

You know that sinking inevitability that threatens to inundate the senses, rendering one incapable of advancing. Well, I almost lost it, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. I said, “Kelsey, don’t cry! You are too strong to cry! Buck up. God says do not be anxious about anything, so don’t worry.” I kept repeating this until my tears made a stealthy retreat without prevailing upon me. I noticed that my guide was using the grasses as a means of steadying himself, so I followed suit and turned my body around (because my big toes were so bruised at this point that it literally ached to lean forward) holding onto the grasses as I made my descent. It worked! Finally I was able to enjoy the adventure upon which I had embarked because I knew I could make it. Amazing that we need only know that we can achieve something to feel like we can proceed. Now, aware that I am physically capable of quite a lot, I am ready for an even more demanding and grueling hike!