For Phil

For years I told myself (and anyone listening), that I was going to ski the length of Vermont on the Catamount Trail—but I never did.

Years before, while backcountry skiing with a group of girlfriends, one gal recounted her experience of skiing the length of Vermont on the trail. 

Fascinated by her tales of endurance, determination, and winter wonderlandness, I felt a deep longing to complete the trail.

But for 15 years, all I did was talk about it—a lot. 

Have you ever told yourself and others, about something you want to do—but never do it?

Finally, on my 55th birthday, I realized the longer I hesitated, the harder it would be for me to complete this journey, and it was time to get unstuck.

So I took some time to think about it and discovered that I was afraid—of getting lost.

But I knew that fear was a poor reason to abandon dreams, so I bought a Catamount Trail guide book and envisioned ‘fear’ as a wall I needed to climb over. 

Created in the 1980s by then UVM students, Steve Bushey, Paul Jarris, and Ben Rose, the Catamount Trail is a 311 mile Nordic ski and snowshoe trail stretching from the Vermont/Massachusetts border to the Canadian border.

Excitedly, I flipped through the guide book and reading one of the 31 trail section descriptions, immediately recognized a problem. 

The description had a lot of grown-up, navigation words—and no pictures.

“Head north northwest and follow the VAST trail steeply uphill for 0.2 miles. Turn right (north) and begin a 1.5 mile up & down traverse more or less on the contour to reach Huntington Gap.”

Reading a page full of words that my safety depended on, I experienced the same anxiety I do when reading an owner’s manual or doing math—my brain slammed shut and armpits dampened.

As an avid, winter outdoors-woman, I felt confident that I would gain trail fitness along the way, but I was far less confident in my ‘dead reckoning’ navigational skills and after spending a few hours with Murray McGrath of The Long Trail Inn, working on map, compass, and orienteering skills—my un-confidence grew. 

These skills are learned through practice and experience over a lifetime, and I didn’t have that kind of time—or interest. 

Now that I understood how my brain did NOT want to learn, I needed to understand how it WANTED to learn. So I considered what grade in school I had felt the happiest, most connected, and smartest—Kindergarten.

Then I contemplated when I first felt lost, nervous, and behind—First Grade.

I remembered that everything in kindergarten was a game. Every task and activity was short, colorful, and fun and it was easy to learn when having fun.

I remembered the whole body struggle of being seated in indoor classrooms, with textbooks devoid of images, and though I finished high school and even some college, my best learning environment had always been outdoors—experientially.

So I went to the Catamount Trail website and copy/pasted a trail section description into a Word document. 

Reading each sentence slowly, I deleted all unnecessary words, enlarged the font size, and added brightly colored warnings like TURN RIGHT NOW!! 

Adding numbers, I printed my notes, and cut them into narrow strips, sealing each with clear shipping tape to water/snowproof them.

Folding them into the breast pocket of my jacket for on-the-go access, I placed reading glasses, compass, and the CT guidebook in my pack for back up.

Working WITH my brain, instead of against it, allowed me to begin this long-held dream. Later that winter, swishing along the Catamount Trail, I noticed I had retained many details from the trail descriptions while creating my notes. I was having so much fun making them—I had not noticed I was learning.

Just like Kindergarten.

On this multi winter journey, I feel my physical strength, skills, and confidence growing stronger, and the fear that kept me from starting it—grow weaker.

Has fear created a wall between you and your dreams?