The surprising gift of not “trying your hardest”

The gift of not “trying your hardest”

It was only the second day of our coast-to-coast walk when I woke up exhausted, looked at Eric with teary eyes, and quietly admitted, “I’m sorry, I just...I can’t do it.”

The day before, we’d hiked a tough 15 miles with 3,000 feet of elevation gain. Strenuous, but doable. Especially given the perfect weather.

And day two was set to be about the same, but with constant rain. All day long.

I’ve done strenuous. I’ve done rainy. I’ve done go hard or go home.

But that night, I was haunted by images of misery: a cold 8-hour hike in the backcountry with no place to rest, no café in which to warm up, no bus to catch if you’ve just had enough. This is the kind of dread that renders sleep impossible.

We had flown across the planet to come do this hike, and rest days are normal on long treks, sure, but not on day two.

But I felt...fragile. Which just felt gross.

Who even am I anymore? What value do I have as a strong woman, a capable woman, a fiercely independent woman, if I am suddenly fragile?

Those fears muscled their way into me and nearly won, nearly caused me to put on my big girl pants and power through.

Because sometimes I do things just to avoid the shame of not doing them.

But that morning I shut up the bullying voice in my head and let the softer one speak.