We agreed we’d meet at the trailhead at 9AM, so after savoring one glorious cup of caffeinated coffee on the drive to Fort St. James, I greeted four strong women accompanied by four dogs. Thus began our 12+ Kilometer day hike in the glorious outdoors.
Mount Pope is the trail I compare all my hikes to. Each time I go to hike her I anticipate it being this gentle, well trailed, beauty of a hike and am always completely humbled, for she requires you to earn her view: the first 2.5KM are constant uphills and frequent switchbacks leave my lungs working and calves screaming. This time was no different, as we all entertained that it would be a lovely hike up the mountain, quite naturally, whipped our asses more than a few times.
Throughout the job run-ins, I’ve forced friend-ed these four individuals through work* and I knew they were fairly active so I thought I’d make the reach and invite them out for an adventure. With each of us in a different part of our life-cycle, one with children, one with grandchildren (this is a coworkers mum), some new careers and some new lifestyles, the conversations kept flowing with so much insight and information. I'd gather new information that I'd stow away in my mind for safe keeping with each person I'd hike beside. One woman told me about running her first half shortly after having her first daughter and [I know this sounds absurd] the ability for me to do this was simply unimaginable, so I peppered her with questions to set aside to prepare for my own future. Following the footsteps of one the other woman, we discussed work-life balance and how our anxiety is really amplified if we don't manage it well enough and create boundaries, as hard as that often is.
Once I made it past the first three kilometers, the trail plateau’s deceivingly and even slopes down for a bit. I love being outside, it instantly makes me happier. And, the scent of the forest was, as always, amazing, I noticed as the wide trail was completely surrounded by trees and brush. For me, it’s all encompassing and incredibly calming. Sheer bliss.
A few days prior I was listening to a podcast that provided advice on hiking while menstruating. Within the last couple of months I had my IUD removed as I thought it may help with my health in terms of all the hormones that have been gradually entering my body for the previous eight years. As the doc showed me the tiny T insert, perhaps to provide some type of proof that yes, I was no longer on birth control and needed to an alternative means of contraception, we watched it drop into the waist bin and I couldn’t help thinking I was saying goodbye to an old friend. I still miss the security of it. I’m looking into a Cooper IUD, so hit me up with all your reviews... Returning from the fork in the road and back to the podcast: When the long time nurse/hiker discussed sanitation and cleanliness while on the trail with a period, she mentioned that she’s a fairly feral women and essentially less is more. She provided tips on using tampons in the woods, versus handling a diva cup in the wilderness, which was ultimately helpful. But, what really resonated with me was identifying as a feral women. In all honesty, if COVID has taught me anything, it’s that I’m a pretty gross lady. I don’t wash my vegetables or new-to-me clothes, and I love overnight hiking because it gives me an excuse to be a bit more grimy. I fart during any type of physical activity, including the whole way up the mountain. Indoor yoga is both loved and feared for me. I should clean my house more, brush my dog often, and clean my feet regularly, but I just don’t care.
We finally took a break to admire the mountain view at a lookout and I forced a group photo. It was at this point I understood how proud I was of our all-women crew. It tested my lungs, my heart and my legs and it felt like a huge achievement to make it this far, with our various personalities and fitness goals. I do this hike annually (last year with my Mum, and another group of bad-ass ladies) and I feel like this time I didn’t take this view for granted. I’m pretty honest with these women about my state of mental health, and I know all four of them have their own struggles and they fight their own battles, daily.
The idea of being a feral women is two-fold. As we took the final jaunt around the rocks and up a steep incline, while killing my quads, I thought about how being feral is the opposite of what's expected. For me, being feral is about pushing myself, and it's about doing the hard things: physically, mentally or both. It’s about going against the norm and being uncomfortable, because it feels so damn good to do those things that scare me. It's taken me this long to appreciate what my body and mind are capable of, for better and for worse. I think a large part of it is fearing that I would never feel well enough to be capable of hiking again. And, I think if you were to think hard, there was that one time in your life, you felt that way too, where your favorite part of yourself was taken away from you; hell, maybe it's happening to you now. But you survived it and overcame it, or you will (you will!). And it was done with determination and drive or maybe merely because you had to: there is no other way but to be okay. And now it's even more of a part of who you are, because of the good, but also the bad. You identify with it, but it's not your entire identity.
So, I am also looking forward to building my body and mind stronger and pushing it farther, to see all the views close to home with some bad ass women, and also adventure hard on another continent. I will do all the things. I've got an extraordinary Life List on the go. Yeah, it was that good of a hike.
*It took everything not to call this post the Girls of Canfor, but I was envisioning calendar pinups, which was giving off a different interpretation of feminist.
A farel lady
Definition:
In a wild state, especially after escape from captivity or domestication.
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