Given the immutable laws of astrophysics, we are all only going in one direction – in circles at extremely high velocity. Despite the appearance of sociopolitical regression, this is only a figment of our collective imagination when viewed from our particular vantage point in space-time. Onward we march, frequently at a glacial pace, sometimes despite significant friction, often without knowing exactly in which direction we are headed. It is the journey that we did not request, but for which we must be thankful. Permanent repose may be peaceful, but also likely incredibly boring – even if heaven is a perpetual paradise, a little spice is necessary now and then. So, we go until we can no longer.
I was laid out cold yesterday with a stomach bug that robbed me of my usual indefatigable stride. As I drooled facedown on my pillow, trying to summon the energy to even lift my head, I acutely felt the weight of not only my present malady, but of the relentless efforts that had presaged my inevitable sickness. Relying heavily on momentum to get through each day, as we all do, the abrupt stop to which I came had me struggling to start again from scratch. As the new day dawned, I felt like I needed herculean inputs in order to restart my work and personal life.
My backcountry partners and I refer to this as the “ten minute problem.” When you stand at the base of a mountain, when you are at the trailhead, when you stand on the lip of the pool, anytime that you are about to embark on an adventure or a workout that you know is going to hurt, the mental fortitude necessary to take that first step is gargantuan. And that is because it is not just the first step that hurts. Even five or eight minutes into your skin or bike, it is hard to imagine having that level of exertion for the next hour or eleven. It is not until the momentum kicks in at minute ten or so that you get into your flow, find your groove, shut off the demons and just move.
The problem compounds not when you are in motion, but when you stop, for a lunch break or to fix a glopping skin or because someone forgot something critical in the car. Each time you halt, the momentum is lost, both mentally in that your rhythm is interrupted and physically in that lactic acid begins to creep its way into your limbs. So, the cumulative effort necessary to reach your goal becomes that much more daunting. And there is not a little resentment that can build in a group if you are not on the same page as to pacing, frequency of rest, and the other related factors.
Perpetual momentum is neither possible nor desirable and I am sure that I am doing myself a significant disservice by moving inexorably forward without giving proper space for rest or contemplation. Hence, for example, why the bottom dropped out on me yesterday. At the same time, when I take mild bits of respite, I find that they may not be worth the effort necessary to get back into my professional and social routines. That is why our extended sojourns to Europe have proved so fruitful: despite not being a true break from work, there is such a significant shift of perspective that it feels restful while still maintaining that all important momentum.
I should sit more, worry less about perpetuating my momentum, I am aware of that, not least of all because I am not setting a spectacular example for Violet. She is similarly full gas, with school and friends and team sports and climbing and the general stress of being an adolescent. I want her to enjoy this blessing of a life and packing everything in is not usually the best strategy for such. Still, she will have to cull what she can from my lead and take her own path, figuring out what works best for her as she holds on for dear life as this earth revolves and rotates without end.