One of the things I hear quite frequently from people who have little to no education on chronic pain or fatigue is this question: “What if you just push through it?” This is by far one of my least favorite configurations of English words ever and I think we’ve held off on answering this question so here’s a bit of an answer. Or at least my answer.
September 13th, 2015 was my fifth day in New Hampshire this fall. Day five of Gap, day two of our “Orientation Backpacking Trip” (what a curveball) and by far one of the most painful days I’ve had in years. You see, Day 5 was Summit Day (yes, this deserves CAPS trust me).
I can proudly say that I summited Mt. Adams aka the second highest mountain in the Northeast standing a wee 5,793 ft in elevation. Ok, it’s no Everest but it’s also no joke.
Seriously. This hike is more like a climb for a good 2-3 miles. I’m talking near vertical rock scrambling at times, and when it’s not nearly vertical it’s still almost all rocky uphill terrain. This mountain also boasts three false summits, meaning that not once, not twice but THREE TIMES do you reach a summit that feels like the summit but isn’t. I’m lucky enough to have backpacked in Alaska as well as Costa Rica which is comprised solely of hills that have it out for you. Climbing Adams was harder than Alaska (not overly intense where I was) and Costa Rica put together.
(One of the less-steep parts of the hike)
You see where I’m going with this? No one told us that a few nights after arriving in New Hampshire we’d be on the side of a mountain in windy, slightly rainy conditions.
Completing this hike with fairly serious chronic pain and fatigue was nearly impossible. I was actually holding one of my roommate’s hands when we summited (last I might add). That’s how done I was. Yes, of course it was amazing to make it to the top, even a bit emotional but it was hard. Not just getting out of bed in the morning at 6am when you don’t want to hard. This was “how the hell am I going to finish this without breaking?” hard.
(This was either at the summit or close. I’m in the black rain coat sitting in from of that boulder.)
I think the main thing people often forget about the aftermath. The thing is, that yeah of course I can “push myself” to my absolute physical limit and climb a freaking mountain, but I pay for it. I pay for it for days if not weeks afterward. I couldn’t climb stairs standing up for about three days after that climb because my knees were so inflamed. I had to scoot down on my butt in front of strangers at Grey Knob because I couldn’t climb down standing up. Fun. For the next week and a half I had bouts of full body pain so agonizing that it made me nauseous. These episodes often lasted the better part of the day.
Oh, and of course let’s not forget the exhaustion. Bone tired is the best description I can come up with. This exhaustion is so deep it feels as if your bones just want to nap all the time.
So if you were wondering, this is it’s what it’s like to “just push through” chronic pain and fatigue. Can we do it? Well, sure. Or at least I can. Do I pay for it for weeks afterward? You betcha! We pay for everything though. It’s a system of give and take that has no easy answers. And no, I’m not planning on climbing any more mountains any time soon.
Time check: 11:22pm January 23rd 2015
What They Don't Tell You 