Hiking Inspirational Quotes

You need mountains, long staircases don't make good hikers.

And I can imagine Farmer saying he doesn't care if no one else is willing to follow their example. He's still going to make these hikes, he'd insist, because if you say that seven hours is too long to walk for two families of patients, you're saying that their lives matter less than some others', and the idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that's wrong with the world.

It must be around forty, when you're "over the hill." I don't even know what that means and why it's a bad thing. When I go hiking and I get over the hill, that means I'm past the hard part and there's a snack in my future. That's a good thing as far as I'm concerned.

We don't stop hiking because we grow old - we grow old because we stop hiking

Succeeding, whatever that might mean to you, is hard, and the need to do so constantly renews itself (success is like a mountain that keeps growing ahead of you as you hike it).

The thing about hiking the Pacific Coast Trial, the thing that was so profound to me that summer -- and yet also, like many things, so very simple -- was how few choices I had and how often I had to do the thing I least wanted to do. How there was no escape or denial. (69)

I would never have started this trip if I had known how tough it was, but I couldn't and wouldn't quit.

I did it. I said I'd do it and I've done it.

Jesus was a hiker. The wilderness was His retreat.

Travel is the discovery of truth; an affirmation of the promise that human kind is far more beautiful than it is flawed. With each trip comes a new optimism that where there is despair and hardship, there are ideas and people just waiting to be energized, to be empowered, to make a difference for good.

She introduced people to the A.T., and at the same time she made the thru-hike achievable. It didn’t take fancy equipment, guidebooks, training, or youthfulness. It took putting one foot in front of the other—five million times.

I will never go home, I thought with a finality that made me catch my breath, and then I walked on, my mind emptying into nothing but the effort to push my body to the bald monotony of the hike. There wasn't a day on the trail when that monotony didn't ultimately win out, when the only thing to think about was whatever was the physically hardest. It was a sort of scorching cure.

For over millions of years, social work and philanthropy have been practiced on a large scale. If we talk about India, then in this developing country this number is on a terrific hike. Social workers and philanthropists like Aman Mehndiratta are leaving their footprints on this path which is surely inspiring for all of us in every manner.

El camino es el que hace las preguntas y el camino es el que da las respuestas, así que escúchalas siempre, porque somos tan solo parte de un escenario donde se sigue representando la misma obra pero con otros actores, esta vez nosotros…

Never quit on a bad day.

There is of course a deep spiritual need which the pilgrimage seems to satisfy, particularly for those hardy enough to tackle the journey on foot.

I’m forever hopeful,” he said. “That’s what friends do. They hope. They have faith in each other.” “Well, I have faith that she’ll forget,” I said, hiking my backpack up onto my shoulders. “You have to be a realist with Caro.” “I’m a hopeful realist,” Drew said. “I’m a healist! Like those guys on TV late at night that cure people of cancer.” He grinned down at me.

Trails enabled me to better see the world, to notice fine aspects invisible from an airplane, the most basic things we miss. Seeing life at a pace at which you can actually observe nuance, the speed of stepping, the beautiful inspiring texture of “plain” reality becomes visible—God smiling in the detail.

when someone doesn’t feel valued or heard, their desire to participate in a job or relationship disappears.

Trekking means a travelling experience with a thrilling excitement.

For each of you who dream of a favorite experience anywhere in the world: go out and do it, live it, love it, immerse yourself in it, right now.

Getting into action generates inspiration. Don’t cop out waiting for inspiration to get you back into action. It won’t! Before I take a hike, I leave you with this thought: It’s not a compliment when someone tells you you’re a survivor. It’s bullshit. We’re all survivors till we die. Get out there, go for it, don’t be afraid. Be a winner—that’s what it’s all about.

We are more than a speck of carbonic flesh flung upon an unimportant hulking mass of earth. Within each of us is the godhead we so desire to know, or as may be the case, wish to forget.

...observers, by nature, had to create a story to understand why one would set out on foot, leaving the shelters we build to plant us in civilization and set us apart from the world, the cars and houses and offices. To follow a path great distances, to open oneself to the world and a multitude of unexpected experiences, to voluntarily face the wrath of nature unprotected, was difficult to understand.

True enough. I say this all the time. Trez looked at his hands. “I didn’t ask for this.” “No one asks for life.” The executioner hiked iAm’s body up higher. “And sometimes they do not ask for death...

This time, there’s no question of freeing yourself from artifice to taste simple joys. Instead there is the promise of meeting a freedom head-on as an outer limit of the self and of the human, an internal overflowing of a rebellious Nature that goes beyond you. Walking can provoke these excesses: surfeits of fatigue that make the mind wander, abundances of beauty that turn the soul over, excesses of drunkenness on the peaks, the high passes (where the body explodes). Walking ends by awakening this rebellious, archaic part of us: our appetites become rough and uncompromising, our impulses inspired. Because walking puts us on the vertical axis of life: swept along by the torrent that rushes just beneath us. What I mean is that by walking you are not going to meet yourself. By walking, you escape from the very idea of identity, the temptation to be someone, to have a name and a history. Being someone is all very well for smart parties where everyone is telling their story, it’s all very well for psychologists’ consulting rooms. But isn’t being someone also a social obligation which trails in its wake – for one has to be faithful to the self-portrait – a stupid and burdensome fiction? The freedom in walking lies in not being anyone; for the walking body has no history, it is just an eddy in the stream of immemorial life.

After more than two thousand miles on the [Appalachian] trail, you can expect to undergo some personality changes. A heightened affinity for nature infiltrates your life. Greater inner peace. Enhanced self-esteem. A quiet confidence that if I could do that, I can do and should do whatever I really want to do. More appreciation for what you have and less desire to acquire what you don’t. A childlike zest for living life to the fullest. A refusal to be embarrassed about having fun. A renewed faith in the essential goodness of humankind. And a determination to repay others for the many kindnesses you have received.

Some days I even think, Maybe being a witch isn’t so bad. When they were burned at the stake it was for being independent and strong-minded, for knowing how to cure illnesses with herbs, for hiking around in the woods to collect said herbs, and for being sexually uninhibited. Independent, wise, vigorous, outdoorsy, and sexy. I aspire.

Mountains are different and unique from anything else you will face in life in that they are the truest, cleanest representative of life’s challenges in physical form. There is no mistaking the end goal, and there is no mistaking who got you there. You have to count on you, and your arrival at the summit is the simplest and most honest achievement for your soul that you can experience.

That evening around dusk, she hiked up to Maryland Heights and sat on a cliff looking down upon the picturesque little town of Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. One hundred seventy years before, Thomas Jefferson called the view “one of the most stupendous scenes in nature.” In a book first published in France, he wrote that the scene alone, the passage of the Potomac River through the Blue Ridge and its crashing merger with the Shenandoah, was worth a trip across the Atlantic.

AUTHOR’S NOTE Dear reader: This story was inspired by an event that happened when I was eight years old. At the time, I was living in upstate New York. It was winter, and my dad and his best friend, “Uncle Bob,” decided to take my older brother, me, and Uncle Bob’s two boys for a hike in the Adirondacks. When we left that morning, the weather was crisp and clear, but somewhere near the top of the trail, the temperature dropped abruptly, the sky opened, and we found ourselves caught in a torrential, freezing blizzard. My dad and Uncle Bob were worried we wouldn’t make it down. We weren’t dressed for that kind of cold, and we were hours from the base. Using a rock, Uncle Bob broke the window of an abandoned hunting cabin to get us out of the storm. My dad volunteered to run down for help, leaving my brother Jeff and me to wait with Uncle Bob and his boys. My recollection of the hours we spent waiting for help to arrive is somewhat vague except for my visceral memory of the cold: my body shivering uncontrollably and my mind unable to think straight. The four of us kids sat on a wooden bench that stretched the length of the small cabin, and Uncle Bob knelt on the floor in front of us. I remember his boys being scared and crying and Uncle Bob talking a lot, telling them it was going to be okay and that “Uncle Jerry” would be back soon. As he soothed their fear, he moved back and forth between them, removing their gloves and boots and rubbing each of their hands and feet in turn. Jeff and I sat beside them, silent. I took my cue from my brother. He didn’t complain, so neither did I. Perhaps this is why Uncle Bob never thought to rub our fingers and toes. Perhaps he didn’t realize we, too, were suffering. It’s a generous view, one that as an adult with children of my own I have a hard time accepting. Had the situation been reversed, my dad never would have ignored Uncle Bob’s sons. He might even have tended to them more than he did his own kids, knowing how scared they would have been being there without their parents. Near dusk, a rescue jeep arrived, and we were shuttled down the mountain to waiting paramedics. Uncle Bob’s boys were fine—cold and exhausted, hungry and thirsty, but otherwise unharmed. I was diagnosed with frostnip on my fingers, which it turned out was not so bad. It hurt as my hands were warmed back to life, but as soon as the circulation was restored, I was fine. Jeff, on the other hand, had first-degree frostbite. His gloves needed to be cut from his fingers, and the skin beneath was chafed, white, and blistered. It was horrible to see, and I remember thinking how much it must have hurt, the damage so much worse than my own. No one, including my parents, ever asked Jeff or me what happened in the cabin or questioned why we were injured and Uncle Bob’s boys were not, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Karen continued to be my parents’ best friends. This past winter, I went skiing with my two children, and as we rode the chairlift, my memory of that day returned. I was struck by how callous and uncaring Uncle Bob, a man I’d known my whole life and who I believed loved us, had been and also how unashamed he was after. I remember him laughing with the sheriff, like the whole thing was this great big adventure that had fortunately turned out okay. I think he even viewed himself as sort of a hero, boasting about how he’d broken the window and about his smart thinking to lead us to the cabin in the first place. When he got home, he probably told Karen about rubbing their sons’ hands and feet and about how he’d consoled them and never let them get scared. I looked at my own children beside me, and a shudder ran down my spine as I thought about all the times I had entrusted them to other people in the same way my dad had entrusted us to Uncle Bob, counting on the same naive presumption that a tacit agreement existed for my children to be cared for equally to their own.

Oh . . . I'd been getting pretty sick of the office. It made me feel dead inside. Finally, the week-ends weren't long enough to get it out of my system. I couldn't read poetry or listen to music. It was like being constipated. Well, I got a holiday and went to Kent for a week's hiking. And for the first two days I felt nothing at all, just a sort of deadness inside. And one day I went into a pub in a place called Marden and had a couple of pints. And as I came out, a sort of bubble seemed to burst inside me, and I started feeling things again. And I suddenly felt an overwhelming hatred for cities and offices and people and everything that calls itself civilisation . . . . "Then I got an idea. I sat down at the side of the road and thought about it. I'd read somewhere that the Manichees thought the world was created by evil. Well, it suddenly seemed to me that the forces behind the world weren't either good or evil, but something quite incomprehensible to human beings. And the only thing they want is movement, everlasting movement. That's the way I saw it suddenly. Human beings want peace, and they build their civilisations and make their laws to get peace. But the forces behind the world don't want peace. So they send down ertain men whose business is to keep the world in a turmoil - the Napoleons, Hitlers, Genghis Khans. And I called these men the Enemies, with a capital E. And I thought I belong among the Enemies - that's why I detest this bloody civilisation. And I suddenly began to feel better . . . .

Make exercising fun. The same old routine at the gym can be a drag. It’s good to mix it up. In addition to dancing I also enjoy hiking and swimming. And when you work out, do it someplace you find inspiring: a hike that brings you to a gorgeous view or a workout in the sand with the surf in your sight, even a small grassy spot in your backyard or a serene, uncluttered corner of your apartment. Recreational team sports also add variety to the mix: they put the focus on the fun of the game rather than the pain of the effort.

On August 25, she hiked to Lafayette Campground, then walked back a little ways on the highway for a good view of the Old Man of the Mountain, a set of granite outcroppings on a mountainside in the shape of a man’s face. The great orator and statesman Daniel Webster once said about the outcropping, “Men hang out their signs indicative of their respective trades; shoe makers hang out a gigantic shoe; jewelers a monster watch, and the dentist hangs out a gold tooth; but up in the Mountains of New Hampshire, God Almighty has hung out a sign to show that there He makes men.” The

The trail was designed to have no end, a wild place on which to be comfortably lost for as long as one desired. In those early days nobody fathomed walking the thing from beginning to end in one go. Section hikes, yes. Day hikes, too. But losing yourself for five months, measuring your body against the earth, fingering the edge of mental and physical endurance, wasn’t the point. The trail was to be considered in sections, like a cow is divided into cuts of beef. Even if you sample every slice, to eat the entire beast in a single sitting was not the point. Before 1948, it wasn’t even considered possible.

Many of you have dreams, a desire to do something different but are a little hesitant to follow them because they seem risky. OK, some dreams fail but I urge you to at least try. Persistence conquers skill, knowledge and qualifications. If you want something strongly enough and are prepared to live outside the system and chase it like you've never chased anything before in your life, you can do what you truly want to. Whether that choice is hiking a few thousand miles in the wilderness, sailing around the world, or forging a career as a graphic designer, it makes no difference.

It wasn't actually being on the trail that made me truly free. I don't want anyone to read this and believe that they have to hike the Appalachian Trail in order to find themselves. It also wasn't ending my marriage or leaving my career, though I do believe those things were a necessary part of my journey of change and rediscovery. The true key was the mindset I learned to adopt, one amplified by the trail. It was the ability to appreciate the current moment, the willingness to be in it, and taking it in at the speed the moment required.

Standing three hundred miles from Springer Mountain after hiking for three weeks, this work-in-progress version of me knew there was immense value in enduring hardship, pushing myself toward what I believed were my limits, and seeing myself burst through the other side of them.

The first man I dated was just the relief I needed from stress. He was a very good dancer. In fact, he was very much a party person. I was ready for some fun. He liked driving to the ocean in his fully equipped, gleaming white camper. There he would hike around the area and spend some time just chilling. We dated only a few months before getting engaged. Yup. I did it again. I jumped at the first relationship that made me feel good. Then I discovered that he had another girlfriend along with me. (p. 49)

When they were burned at the stake it was for being independent and strong-minded, for knowing how to cure illnesses with herbs, for hiking around in the woods to collect said herbs.

Let our lives inspire our secret admirers to achieve great things and hike higher heights; that is the true power of the unspoken word.

Though rarely acknowledged as such, LBJ is arguably the patriarch of our contemporary environmental movement, as Theodore Roosevelt was of an earlier environmental crusade. LBJ put plenty of laws on the books: Clean Air, Water Quality, and Clean Water Restoration Acts and Amendments, Solid Waste Disposal Act, Motor Vehicle Pollution Control Act, Aircraft Noise Abatement Act, and Highway Beautification Act. The 1968 Wild and Scenic Rivers Act protects more than two hundred rivers in thirty-eight states;19 the 1968 Trail System Act established more than twelve hundred recreation, scenic, and historic trails covering fifty-four thousand miles.20 These laws are critical to the quality of the water we drink and swim in, the air we breathe, and the trails we hike. Even more sweeping than those laws is LBJ’s articulation of the underlying principle for a “new conservation” that inspires both today’s environmentalists and the opponents who resist their efforts: The air we breathe, our water, our soil and wildlife, are being blighted by the poisons and chemicals which are the by-products of technology and industry. . . . The same society which receives the rewards of technology, must, as a cooperating whole, take responsibility for control. To deal with these new problems will require a new conservation. We must not only protect the countryside and save it from destruction, we must restore what has been destroyed and salvage the beauty and charm of our cities.21

The aching, burning sensations in my leg reminded me of why I was there. I guess you could call it a mission. I was determined to heal myself.

For Those That Look at The Reasons Why You Cannot Do Something, Perhaps You Are Looking at it The Wrong Way. Consider Why You Must.

One Day This Pain Will Make Sense to You

When we find fault in others, it’s often because of the concerns we have about our own abilities.

You have to embrace the suck.

Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will. —Mahatma Gandhi

I can heal myself. I am healing each and every day. I can hike the entire Appalachian Trail.

I’ve found during my life that our thoughts can affect the way we respond to the world around us. Rather than just accepting the negative thoughts that pop into our minds, I think it makes more sense to choose the thoughts we want to hear.

Rock Bottom Became A SOLID Foundation on Which I Rebuilt My Life

If you think something is going to be difficult, then it will be. If you can get yourself to believe that you can do it, then anything’s possible.

I saw a falling star and made a wish that I might soon be home in my wife’s arms.

In most cases, you can’t or won’t get everything you want overnight, but you can choose the path you’re going to follow. And by choosing your own path, you can become who you’re meant to be, making your way through the long journey that we call life.

Giving up meant resigning myself to a life filled with pain. Pain that was likely to never get better.

I can confidently tell you that anything you or I really want to do can be accomplished if you just break it down into bite-sized pieces that you can handle each day.

Your best life is waiting for you right now; all you need to do is reach out and grab it.

Zen monasteries are hidden away in the forested mountains of Japan, China and Korea. Monks live extremely sparse lives to remove all material wealth from themselves—they wear only robes, they shave their heads, they go for brisk pre-dawn hikes and eat mostly rice. It’s hard to get further away from materialism. Obviously nobody reading this book is going to do all that stuff, but we can still meet the monks partway, no? When we dematerialize our lives, we are admitting to ourselves the real world in which we live. We are facing reality headfirst and not distracting ourselves with smartphones or excess goods. We’re saving time to enjoy quality meals, vacation time and our children and families.

And that’s one of the secrets when you’re hurt—don’t focus on what you can’t do. Focus on what you CAN do.

You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. —Bob Marley

Devin Pohl's life in Bend, Oregon, revolves around his deep love for baseball, supporting the Oregon Ducks and Boston Red Sox. His enthusiasm for the sport includes following game stats and attending games. Devin also treasures his time hiking in the Deschutes National Forest, where he finds tranquility and inspiration in nature.

It would be many years before I began to understand that all of life is practice:writing, drawing, hiking, brushing teeth, packing lunch boxes, cooking walking dogs, even sleeping. We are always practicing. Only practicing.

Kate, too, is beginning to paint a picture of herself, not with too many words at the moment, but in her actions. With her charity affiliations she has sought out vulnerable children and wretched addicts, and is encouraging others to take inspiration from the natural world, sports and the arts. She loves theatre, opera and fine art, but she is also a fan of the Harry Potter franchise, went to see Bridesmaids at the cinema, and by all accounts is a demon on the dance floor. She is a lady but she doesn't mind a bit of rough and tumble - always looking immaculate, painting watercolours and making jam, but she is also an outdoorsy country girl who doesn't mind getting her hair wet or her feet dirty while camping or hiking. For her wedding day, she told her hairdresser that she wanted to look like "herself" and when sitting for her portrait she requested that she look like her "natural self, not her formal self". She is proud of and dedicated to her royal position, but she doesn't allow it to totally define her - she wants to remain true to herself, and remain her own person as well, and that is what will emerge more and more over time.

Flow isn’t about doing a particular thing as much as it is about losing ourselves in it. The rhythm of snow shoveling (yes, even that with a little imagination), the creative inspiration of cooking, the abandon of a good hike or run, the precision or inventiveness of our work can all become fodder for flow. When we let go of the extraneous commentary in our heads, the resentment of the task at hand, the impatience with ourselves, we can bring a new engagement to the moment—and in the process find ourselves altered as a result.

That evening around dusk, she hiked up to Maryland Heights and sat on a cliff looking down upon the picturesque little town of Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. One hundred seventy years before, Thomas

historical statistics tell us that July and August are the busy times on the Camino, June close but somewhat quieter, and that the shoulder seasons of May and September are ideal – warm without being too hot, and quieter without any danger of albergues and restaurants closing. April and October are seen as pushing it, weather-wise and from an infrastructure standpoint, while November to March are only for those hardy fools who either relish frozen appendages and feel that hiking 800 kilometres isn’t already enough of a challenge, or are just way too busy the rest of the year with their job as assistant manager of paddling pool security.

Looking back along my morning’s route, I can see the trail roller-coasting past estuaries and inlets, snaking its way along the meandering coastline.

Moon Hiking by Maisie Aletha Smikle Once there was gnome Who lived in Rome Nalomb the gnome liked to roam So he climbed on top of a dome From the dome The gnome saw a drone Dangling in full sight Swaying like a huge kite Nalomb the gnome Watched the drone As the drone hovered And steadily maneuvered Uncomfortably close over his head Nalomb wished he had remained in bed Guided by gravity The drone stopped in close proximity On top of the dome Close to the gnome Was the drone Somewhere in Rome The gnome thought of going home But did not want to miss a chance to roam So Nalomb the gnome Climb into the drone He tightened the screws Fixed the bolts Checked the volts Load more power Then dialed the tower And reported after an hour Gone hiking on the moon See you very soon

When we find fault in others, it’s often because of the concerns we have about our own abilities.

Away deep in the aim to study himself in the school of the land his ancestors' gravestones flowered, Rip planned to burn his oil on the journey for growth by the hike, the thumb, the hitch, the rod, the freight, the rail, and he x'd New York on a map and pencilled his way to and into and through and under and up and between and over and across states and capitals and counties and cities and towns and villages and valleys and plains and plateaus and prairies and mountains and hills and rivers and roadways and railways and waterways and deserts and islands and reservations and titanic parks and shores and, ocean across to ocean and great lakes down to gulfs, Rip beheld the west and the east and the north and the south of the Brobdingnagian and, God and Christ and Man, it was a pretty damn good grand big fat rash crass cold hot pure mighty lovely ugly hushed dark lonely loud lusty bitchy tender crazy cruel gentle raw sore dear deep history-proud precious place to see, and he sure would, he thought, make the try to see it and smell it and walk and ride and stop and talk and listen in it and go on in it and try to find and feel and hold and know the beliefs in it and the temper and the talents in it and the omens and joys and hopes and frights and lies and laughs and truths and griefs and glows and gifts and glories and glooms and wastes and profits and the pulse and pitch and the music and the magic and the dreams and facts and the action and the score and the scope and span of the mind and the heart and spine and logic and ego and spirit in the soul and the goal of it.

When you’re a 67-year-old woman on a 2,050-mile hike, though, maybe there isn’t another person in the world who qualifies as an expert on how to take care of your own feet.

A few weeks after my injury, when I was in the rehab center, I found someone willing to travel to the center to give me a massage. Partway through, she suggested trying something called Reiki. This is where instead of touching you, the masseuse waves their hands through the air over you to “adjust your energy fields.” You can probably tell by the way that I describe this that I think this is a bunch of BS. Does it work for some people? Of course it does. The placebo effect can work with any type of treatment or medication by providing someone with an improvement if and when they expect to get one. The nice doctor in the white lab coat gives you some pills and says, “Take two of these each morning, and your pain should feel much better.” The medication that the doctor gives you could be nothing more than sugar pills. Still, if you really believe that you’ll benefit from it, your brain finds a way to make at least some improvement come true. In double-blind studies, it’s been proven that the placebo effect can provide as much as a 32 percent improvement. Because of this, for new drugs to be approved in the US, they need to test at a level that’s higher than the 32 percent placebo level of improvement. So, if I’d believed in Reiki, then I may have experienced some benefit from it, but I don’t, so I didn’t get anything out of the treatment. That said, I think it’s interesting that when dealing with chronic pain, the temptation is to try almost anything, no matter how crazy it sounds. The hope is that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to get some relief from your ongoing pain.

As crazy as all of this may sound to you, I know that our brains are able to control so many things depending on how we think about something. About twenty years ago, a business partner and I taught real estate investing seminars. One of the most significant factors that affects someone’s success in real estate, or any other endeavor, is belief. I’ve heard it said that if you believe you can or if you believe you can’t, either way, you’re right. Suppose you really honestly believe that you’ll succeed in real estate or any other endeavor. In that case, you’re about 1,000 times more likely to put in the effort and stick with it. If you don’t believe you’re going to succeed, then most people put in next to no effort to basically prove themselves right when nothing happens. At our seminars, we would demonstrate this by teaching the concept of “Spots.” We explained that according to an ancient methodology, we all have a weak spot and a strong spot. Speaking in a strong, confident voice, we’d say, “Here’s your strong spot right here,” and demonstrate this by touching the center of our forehead. “You also have a weak spot” (speaking in a softer, weaker voice). “It’s located in the soft fleshly spot right here behind your ear.” We again demonstrated and encouraged them to follow along. Then to give it a little emphasis, we added, “Careful, don’t push it too much, or you’ll get really weak!” Then we said, “We’ll show you how this actually works,” and invited one of the stronger-looking participants up onto the stage. We’d touch the person in their “strong” spot and ask them to hold their arm straight out to the side. “Now I’m going to push down on your arm, and I want you to resist me as much as you can.” We’d push down with a decent amount of effort, and our client’s arm would not budge down at all. “Now I’m going to touch your weak spot” (touching the person behind their ear). “And watch as I’m now able to push their arm completely down.” The crazy thing is that no matter how hard the subject tries to hold their arm up, after touching their “weak” spot, it drops right down with much less effort than during the first attempt. Then we said, “Now I want you to prove this to yourself. Pair up with the person next to you to test this out for yourself.” The room would buzz with the sounds of people talking as they discovered that the strong and weak spots really did, for the most part, work. Then we would switch the spots. “Isn’t it crazy that just because we told you to push on the strong spot behind your ear, that made you really strong? And when we told you to push on the weak spot in the middle of your forehead, that made you really weak?” we’d say. “No, no, you’ve got them backward!” the crowd would shout at us. At which point, we’d demonstrate that the spots worked just as well if you switched them, finally telling them, “We actually made all this up—but it works anyway!” What you tell yourself and what you believe really does make a difference. I don’t know if this helps to explain why I was hiking the Appalachian Trail. I was passionately committed to the belief that if I hiked the entire Appalachian Trail, then my foot and leg were going to have to be better. Each day that I hiked, with every mile further north that I went, heck, with every single step I took, I was reclaiming my life. I know that anything is possible. My adventure on the trail proved this to me each and every day. 14 May—Finding a Buddy You Can’t Avoid Pain, But You Can Choose to Overcome it. —Paulo Coelho Two and a half hours after leaving Shenandoah National Park, I arrived home.

It’s taken three years for me to begin to accept that I may never heal completely from my injury. I decided while hiking that I probably won’t be able to run again—ever. And I’m okay with that. I decided that I’d rather focus on what I CAN do rather than focus on what I CAN’T do. If I weren’t injured, it’s likely that I’d never have decided to hike the trail. It’s not what happens to you. It’s what you do about it. With all that said, this was a day to celebrate.

It’s a funny thing. I work like a horse around the trailer court. But when I say I’m taking a hike, they say I shouldn’t because I’m too old. I got up on the roof awhile back and sawed off a tree limb. But no one said anything about that.

You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. —Bob Marley

Strength Doesn’t Come From What You Can Do. Strength Comes From Overcoming The Things You Once Thought You Couldn’t.

Adventure racing is an extreme sport. It can be more about survival than racing. It involves technical rock climbing, kayaking, hiking, and cycling. But all of that is done in the harshest conditions possible. You have to be willing to suffer. These races are brutal. Sometimes racers die!

Some days I even think, Maybe being a witch isn’t so bad. When they were burned at the stake it was for being independent and strong-minded, for knowing how to cure illnesses with herbs, for hiking around in the woods to collect said herbs, and for being sexually uninhibited.

Strategy is as important as ability

Later, when I was able to walk, I went hiking through a North Carolina forest with my friend Laura to tell her the long story of how I was coming undone but I was not unmade. "Then please don't fuck this up, Kate," she said sagely, which sent me into hysterics. She is a therapist and one of the wisest Christians I know, so she is keenly aware that a well-placed expletive is better than all the inspiration in the world.

Champions aren’t made in gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them. A desire, a dream, a vision. They have to have last-minute stamina, they have to be a little faster, they have to have the skill and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill. —Muhammad Ali

Anything that doesn’t enrich your life, inspire you, or make you feel good has got to go.

Therefore we have to watch carefully to see if Obama is actually doing these things. Of course, those who have no clue about his ideology will always seek to explain his actions another way. Liberals in general view Obama as toeing the liberal line, or compromising away from it, even when many of Obama’s actions fit neither characterization. Conservatives in general view Obama as a bungler: he doesn’t understand that tax hikes don’t promote economic growth; he misses the fact that government control over banking, health care, energy, and other industries makes them less efficient; he is blind to the reality that Syria and Iran are not our friends; he cannot see how his actions are isolating Israel in the world; he is dangerously naive in reducing our nuclear weapons in the expectation that this will inspire Iran and North Korea to reduce theirs; and so on.

...she offered an assortment of reasons about why she was walking. The kids were finally out of the house. She heard that no woman had yet thru-hiked in one direction. She liked nature. She thought it would be a lark. I want to see what’s on the other side of the hill, then what’s beyond that, she told a reported in Ohio. Any one of the answers could stand on its own, but viewed collectively, the diversity of responses left her motivation open to interpretation, as though she wanted people to seek out their own conclusions, if there were any to be made. Maybe each answer was honest. Maybe she was trying to articulate that exploring the world was a good way to explore her own mind.

Oh Kabira, where are you going? Are you going away again? Have you forsaken your true love? Have you forgotten your own own words? The night will never end And the stars will keep on shining Are you going to be sad, forever? Are you going to be a wanderer, forever? You will never find sleep in your eyes Because your mind keeps on drifting If you keep on this drifting You will never sleep in your life For some people life means drifting Wandering from place to place They hitch-hike and walk Traveling on the endless road of Life Oh Kabira, where are you going? Are you going away again? Have you forsaken your true love? Have you forgotten your own words?

On our first afternoon on the trail, the branches bare, two fireflies appeared in the same instant. The lightning bugs twirled sparks and squiggles of pure yellow gold, sometimes taking turns and sometimes harmonizing, their air-flecking fine as precious metal—blinking close, and then diverging, as if they were gently dotting the path of a conversation. They danced in reality; we followed the movement of one spark. I felt connected to the luminescent creatures, my mind airborne with them. Trails enabled me to better see the world, to notice fine aspects invisible from an airplane, the most basic things we miss. Seeing life at a pace at which you can actually observe nuance, the speed of stepping, the beautiful inspiring texture of “plain” reality becomes visible—God smiling in the detail.

It is easy to begin but hard to stick at, which is why I respect anyone who has completed a long hike. You learn a lot, someone, by hiking in the hills

And I miss that place behind my house where I hiked and climbed and played Where I ditched this noisy century or just hid out from the decade

You may never climb mountains or cross endless deserts, but the truest adventure lies within. The journey inward opens paths to deeper truths and worlds waiting to be discovered.

The best views come after the hardest climbs—always worth it!

That’s it!” Charlie said, pausing the audiobook. “I knew there was something in this book I needed to remember. Billy Pilgrim is saying that the most important thing he learned is that it only appears that we’re dead at the time of our death and that all moments—past, present, and future—have always existed. He says that it’s only an illusion ‘that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string.’ What he’s saying is that even though the moments in our lives pass, they still exist and always will.” Charlie continued, “It reminds me of what Robert Lanza said in Biocentrism—that death is an illusion, and there are an infinite number of ‘now’ moments in a person’s life that are not arranged in a linear fashion. What if those ‘now’ moments are like the still frames of a stop-motion picture—they only appear to be moving because they’re played rapidly in sequence, but the individual frames are inanimate? Then, the individual frames—the ‘now’ moments in someone’s life— are like the individual beads on a string, separated only by the smallest unit of length, the Planck length. If you removed the string, the individual beads—all the ‘now’ moments in a person’s life—would float around the person like bubbles in the air but remain connected to that person through quantum entanglement.” Chris listened intently. “If that were the case,” Charlie said, “then one of our bubbles—one of our ‘now’ moments—would be us driving in this car right now, and another bubble would be when you, Isaac, and I were hiking to the teahouse in Canada, and still another bubble would be the moment Isaac died. If you remember, Robert Lanza said that our bodies die at the moment we call death, but our consciousness only moves from one ‘now’ moment to another. What Kurt Vonnegut is saying is similar . . . that a person is in bad shape at the time of death, but he’s perfectly fine in so many other moments. They’re both saying death is not the end— that there are an infinite number of ‘now’ moments in a person’s life.” “I remember you telling me that Allison said time was different on the other side,” Chris added. “I wonder if our bubbles that surround us, our ‘now’ moments—the past, present, and future—which all exist simultaneously and forever, would explain why mediums can see into the past and future. Those ‘now’ moments would be no further away from us than the present.” “Good point!” Charlie said. “I didn’t think of that. Apparently, Robert Lanza, Allison, and Kurt Vonnegut are saying similar things, but from very different angles.

That’s it!” Charlie said, pausing the audiobook. “I knew there was something in this book I needed to remember. Billy Pilgrim is saying that the most important thing he learned is that it only appears that we’re dead at the time of our death and that all moments—past, present, and future—have always existed. He says that it’s only an illusion ‘that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string.’ What he’s saying is that even though the moments in our lives pass, they still exist and always will.” Charlie continued, “It reminds me of what Robert Lanza said in Biocentrism—that death is an illusion, and there are an infinite number of ‘now’ moments in a person’s life that are not arranged in a linear fashion. What if those ‘now’ moments are like the still frames of a stop-motion picture—they only appear to be moving because they’re played rapidly in sequence, but the individual frames are inanimate? Then, the individual frames—the ‘now’ moments in someone’s life— are like the individual beads on a string, separated only by the smallest unit of length, the Planck length. If you removed the string, the individual beads—all the ‘now’ moments in a person’s life—would float around the person like bubbles in the air but remain connected to that person through quantum entanglement.” Chris listened intently. “If that were the case,” Charlie said, “then one of our bubbles—one of our ‘now’ moments—would be us driving in this car right now, and another bubble would be when you, Isaac, and I were hiking to the teahouse in Canada, and still another bubble would be the moment Isaac died. If you remember, Robert Lanza said that our bodies die at the moment we call death, but our consciousness only moves from one ‘now’ moment to another. What Kurt Vonnegut is saying is similar . . . that a person is in bad shape at the time of death, but he’s perfectly fine in so many other moments. They’re both saying death is not the end— that there are an infinite number of ‘now’ moments in a person’s life.” “I remember you telling me that Allison said time was different on the other side,” Chris added. “I wonder if our bubbles that surround us, our ‘now’ moments—the past, present, and future—which all exist simultaneously and forever, would explain why mediums can see into the past and future. Those ‘now’ moments would be no further away from us than the present.” “Good point!” Charlie said. “I didn’t think of that. Apparently, Robert Lanza, Allison, and Kurt Vonnegut are saying similar things, but from very different angles.

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