“Embrace the Suck”
For those hearing this phrase for the first time, it would seem a simple command that you would expect to hear from a no-nonsense therapist. Or perhaps a US Marine. For those already familiar with these 3 words, chances are you’ve done some hiking. And by some, I mean a few hundred miles worth.
Or a few thousand.
There is an evolution that comes with “Embrace the Suck”, and although we all experience this in our own intimate way, the order of it is all but guaranteed to be the same across the board. First, it’s just something said when you experience your first few hiking hardships. Things like blisters, bugs, and bonus miles (but hopefully not bears). Second, it is a phrase spoken between hikers who are newly accustomed to the mind games that come with pushing through exhaustion and sleep deprivation and pain. You know, the interesting stuff. And third, it is something said between grinning friends who know exactly what they are getting themselves into, who know exactly how much stronger they will be afterwards, who look forward to telling some crazy stories when they return.
Day hiking on well maintained trails won’t get you that experience. Car camping won’t get you that experience. Remaining close to your cubicle* and your house won’t get you that experience. You have to go to places only reachable by walking. You have to abandon a few comforts. You have to get dirty.
My own understanding of “Embrace the Suck” starts with a simple mind game I started playing while doing miles long road runs in high school. Our gym coach was fond of having us run every day, because according to him, every day was a great day to run. We ran in the rain. We ran in the snow. And since this all took place in Ellensburg Washington, we ran in the wind. I hated it. Because it was stupid.
It was stupid because it took so damn long. All that time spent huffing and puffing and going nowhere. And arriving there in no hurry. No music, no conversation, just the sound of my stupid breathing and my stupid shoes hitting the stupid road.
But I found that I could break up the monotony by picking out way points and trying to reach them. Can I make it to that telephone pole without stopping? Ok, can I make it to that tree? Ok, can I make it to the stop sign? Ok. I stopped thinking about the entire distance and tried to focus on the smaller piece I was working on in the moment.
And I started to get faster. The game worked.
I never set any records and I never ran cross country or anything, but I no longer hated running. Because even though it sucked, I had figured out how to Just Keep Going. Thru hiking, as it turns out, would be much the same.
Fast forward to 2015, and Epic is back from his eye opening journey along the PCT, and promptly plans to drag me out on a thru hike so I could have a similar experience. In July of 2016, after all the prep and gear testing and planning and training, we stood next to train tracks at the southern edge of Glacier National Park, with the Empire Builder Amtrak speeding away. I was very far from home. After 1 night in a hostel, we began our trek across the Pacific Northwest Trail. The first day was easy.
The second was absolutely not. We went up Stony Indian Mountain and it SUCKED. With every step. No amount of training would have prepared my legs for this rude awakening.
Switchbacks suck. They especially suck when you’ve gone through 15-20 of them (ok maybe only 6 or 7) and the pass at the top doesn’t seem any closer. There is a point at which your legs are absolutely on fire and attempting a dual mutiny. It was about 10 minutes into this pain that I realized it wasn’t going to get better until I reached the top and got to rest. And so the mind games began. I tried everything to make the lactic acid in my quads and calves seem like it wasn’t real. I did everything I ever did before to try and mitigate the stupid fire in my stupid legs. After another couple of switchbacks, I knew that nothing was going to work. There was no escaping how awful it felt. So I stopped for a moment and looked up. There was my brother Epic, huffing and puffing along just ahead of me, and there was Stony Indian Pass, still at the top. And a funny thought went through my head:
Am I going to stop?
Well, …………… no…….
And so I just kept plodding along as fast as my flaming rubbery legs would escort me. And I accepted that the pain and discomfort I felt was normal. This was how things were. With every step I acknowledged how much I didn’t like it. I didn’t bother trying to distract myself from the SUCK, and as I made that decision, a quote from the movie G.I. Jane started blaring at full volume, in Viggo Mortensen’s voice, relentlessly in my mind.
YOU KNOW THE BEST THING ABOUT PAIN?
IT LET’S YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT DEAD YET!
I hated it. Because it was right.
So I made my way up the mountain, reached the top of Stony Indian Pass with Epic, and when I turned around to look across the valley, I knew I had earned that view. Actually EARNED it.
Then later, after going through the town of Eureka, came Webb Mountain, which sucked even more. But there was a lookout tower at the top. The view was worth the pain.
I started to think that the whole idea of trying to escape the pain was silly. There were obviously times when the hiking wasn’t strenuous and I listened to music or let my mind wander, but I was figuring out what Embracing the Suck really meant. It meant allowing yourself to be inevitably anchored to the current moment, to be totally locked into the experience of being a tiny creature in the grasp of nature. To truly know, beyond any doubt, that you are alive, simply because you are experiencing inconvenience or discomfort.
That was just my first thru hike. There were very many short outings and adventures afterwards, but my understanding of Embrace The Suck became more cemented in place on my next 2 thru hikes. First came the Tahoe Rim Trail, with plenty of sun and switchbacks and exhaustion. But the whole thing was packed full of interesting people and amazing views. It was hard work, but it actually felt like a vacation. Kind of.
Then came the Ouachita Trail.
It did not feel like a vacation.
At no point was the trail actually flat enough for you to take a step and have your foot flat on the ground. There were rocks and roots and boulders and when it wasn’t dangerously camouflaged by dead leaves, it was covered in moss. My feet, in their thin-soled, zero drop Altras, hurt most of the time. My sleeping pad had a slow leak. Epic and I had to engage in water conservation tactics. We came across venomous snakes. Due to the old forest growth, direct sunlight was a rare commodity. Spiderwebs were not. We took turns being in front, using a trekking pole to cut through webs which crossed the trail. The webs weren’t empty and we had to brush off passengers more often than not. And walking stick insects got everywhere.
Everywhere.
With about 5 days left on trail, we had some crazy torrential rain. Going uphill. In the mud. Stumbling over rocks. It sucked. And so I voiced my opinion of the situation very loudly. With phrases like “MAN I LOVE SOAKING WET SOCKS!” and “WHO NEEDS A NICE WARM BED, THAT’S FOR LOSERS!” and “SUNLIGHT IS STUPID!”, I had the two of us laughing to the point of tears. Which made the Suck a little more bearable.
Sometimes that’s all you can do.
So my Embrace the Suck evolution was fairly typical. I said those words when things were inconvenient, then I said them in reference to the mind games and the endurance, and now I say them when I know it’s going to hurt, and I know I’ll just keep trudging right along.
On July 16th, Epic and I will be hiking 108 miles across the Olympic peninsula. Day 2 has us gaining 6,000 feet elevation, day 4 has 8,000. I’m going to voice my exhausted discontent towards the dirt and the trees and the sky. It’s going to suck. And I’m going to love it.
Get out there and get dirty.
* cubicles aren’t real.
