The Colca Canyon near Arequipa, Peru is the second deepest canyon in the world. Whether it's trekking to the bottom and back up, touring the rim, or chasing condors, people come from all over the world to experience its grandeur.
My plan was to do the 2-day trek. I really had no idea what that would involve, and specifically had no idea what it would mean to me. But I just figured, "Hey, I like hiking, and I could use some alone time out in nature - why not?!"
I had no idea that the two days I spent exploring this giant crack in the world would be some of the hardest of my life.
I had no idea that in these two days I would come to a deeper understanding of pain than I'd ever even imagined
I had no idea that those two days would draw lines in my mind between the concepts of power and strength, control, weakness and asking for help, autonomy and humanity.
We left early Tuesday morning - breakfast was small and I'd slept barely 3 hours the night before. But I started out hopeful.
As we neared the trail head I decided that I would spend the trek down exploring the reasons for my pain - what exactly it was that had so profoundly affected me.
At first I seemed to make no headway at all.
But then things started coming together... I knew it pertained to the loss of control and feeling completely powerless over the things taking place in my life. But why did this hurt so much?
As we descended further and further into the canyon, the painful realizations seemed to come thick and fast: when someone takes something from you that you would never willingly give, or does something to you that you would never willingly choose, they effectively say that your wishes, your desires, your choices, mean nothing. You, as a person, are worth nothing at all.
It's like someone looked you in the eyes and said, "You are not human. You are stripped of your personality, your heart, your character, your mind, your will, your soul, your individuality - in short, you are stripped of your humanity."
And recovering from that is truly daunting because you truly feel as if that was true!
It's not true, of course. I know that. But something this traumatic has affected every part of me, and although I know I still have all of those components of myself, they are all somehow different. And this is another large portion of the pain - feeling like you don't even know yourself anymore.
As the hike continued, these thoughts flooded my brain and my heart. The sun beat down on me and I began to wonder what my next step could possibly be. It wasn't a difficult question. My knees were aching and nearly all my mental strength was being put toward taking another physical step.
When I finally reached the bottom I sat down and my mind and heart felt completely empty. I indeed, felt exactly like the canyon into which I had just descended.
As we began a small descent up the other side toward the place we would finally eat, the hard truth set in: I was in no physical shape to be able to complete the trek. Almost four weeks of intense stress and all my energy going toward remaining mentally and emotionally strong had left my body in the worst shape it's been in in years. I had nothing left to give.
The guide was helpful and the others in my group were kind. In time I recovered enough to make it to lunch and felt a bit better for the food and the shade.
But the hike wasn't over for the day.
The next three hours we climbed, descended, climbed, walked, and then climbed some more.
I can safely say that I have never felt so weak before in my life. So many times I thought to myself, "I can't do this..." And even now I have no idea where I found the physical strength to continue putting one foot in front of the other.
But even more than that, feeling like I simply could not complete the trek triggered again all of the emotions that I had just attempted to sort thru earlier in the day. The physical powerlessness, the lack of control over my own body, the feeling that resistance was utterly useless all triggered the feelings of intense worthlessness I'd just o recently identified as the source of so much pain.
I somehow kept walking even when I felt like I couldn't - because I knew that staying where I was was simply not an option.
The guide was kind, waited for me, treated me like a normal human being - albeit an obviously unprepared one. I couldn't help but notice and intensely appreciate his humanity in the face of what I felt was my own lack of it.
In time we reached our lodgings for the night. It was a beautiful place.
I spent a long time just trying to figure out how exactly I was going to climb the 3000+ meters back out of the canyon. In the end I determined that all I could do was put one foot in front of the other.
And I tried. I climbed up more than I even thought I could, but I was still a good way behind everyone else hiking up that trail that morning.
The option was the "donkey of shame" for those who couldn't, or didn't want to do the hike up, they could pay the additional charge, and ride up. As I contemplated the option I nearly cried. What was wrong with me?? Hadn't I been so strong over the last month? Why couldn't my mind will my legs to do the entire climb? Why couldn't there just be this ONE THING that I could do right?!
Our guide, Rafael, had stopped and was sitting waiting for me.
As I approached he asked me calmly how I was, if I was sick like yesterday, and finally, if I thought I could do the climb.
I knew what my answer would be, but it still took me a minute to get it out...
"Me gustaría pensar que si. Pero...la verdad es que no puedo." (I would like to think that I can, but really, honestly, no - I can't.)
He just smiled slightly and nodded. Let me talk a little more, then offered to arrange the ride for me so I didn't have to explicitly ask. I nodded.
He sat and waited for the donkey with me and we talked. We talked about the last few weeks of my life, we talked about traveling, work, what we'd like to be doing in a year, tourists, and our hobbies. Then my ride arrived and he set off to catch up with the rest of the group.
I spent the ride up thinking about asking for help. Not only is it hard and humbling to admit you need help, but it's difficult to know how to ask for it, who to ask, and most times, it's even difficult to know what to ask for.
The view from the top was incredible, but I was consumed by my own thoughts, emotions, and experiences of the last 24 hours.
I felt exposed, empty, weak, embarrassed, confused, sad, tired, and as always, hurt.
The ride back was a mix of trying to forget the trek, trying to figure out what I should have learned from it, and trying to appear as if I wasn't crumbling inside.
Also we stopped at a few places and I had some nice chats with the other hikers, some nice time alone, and the chance to build a "dream tower" as I've done in countless places all over the world.
Usually I wish "that the adventure never end."
This time I wished to be happy again some day.
And again, I felt that this canyon was a metaphor for myself at the moment. That the only way to heal is to fill the canyon inside of me, but that all the positive moments of the last few days were like throwing a handful of marbles down from the rim and expecting to see a change in the course of the river at the bottom.
And yet, just like I'd had to realize on the afternoon hike the day before - as useless as it feels to try to move on, as hopeless as it seems to throw marbles in a canyon expecting to fill it up, I have no choice. If I stay here I will die.
The last couple hours of the ride back were peppered with conversation, a few short blissful moments of napping, and vacillating back and forth between freezing from the wind coming thru the open window, and getting sunburn from the sun coming through the closed window.
When we finally made it back to the city, I was sore, hungry, and overwhelmingly tired.
I will never, ever forget the kindness, sincerity, and acceptance of that moment.
No comments:
Post a Comment