Pause and remind yourself you are worth the climb

h​Before I stepped foot on the Pinhoti trail Saturday, I knew it was going to be a rough day. Because there's one thing that can derail my day quick. It's called dew point.

When the dew point is nearing 70 - which it was and was forecast to stay at or above all day Saturday - I know I'm going to sweat more than I can keep up with. It's a well proven struggle for me. One I have not mastered.

By mile 4, after the first big mountain climb, I'd already lost more than I knew I could begin to replenish. I knew the day was suddenly about survival. Jewel has always been about survival for me, but the feeling usually comes much later in the race.

When I came to this race last year, it was on the heels of a life turned upside down in many ways. It was a life spinning. Lost. When I finished the Georgia Jewel last year, I took it as a message that no matter how hard things are going to get on the road ahead - I'm going to make it.

The Georgia Jewel this year, well I leaned on the biggest lesson I've learned the last year when it comes to making it. And that is: sometimes we just need to pause.

There were many times throughout the day Saturday you could find me leaning against a tree. Letting my heart rate settle. Keith giving Keith a pep talk about what it would feel like to cross that Jewel finish line again. Because that IS what it was all about at this point - just finish.

I felt no shame leaning against those trees. I felt no rush to interrupt those pauses. Because this past year I've come to know there is nothing more important than the pauses in my life.

The pauses where I say I won't let this emotion take over me.

The pauses where I say, God, I'm all ears. God, I'm all yours.

The pauses where I remind myself I'm strong enough to keep going.

I've learned this past year strength isn't always in the pushing through, it's often in the knowing when to give yourself a minute.

My friend Celia met me and helped me navigate the final two miles of this race. We've spent a fair amount of trail time together this year as I've supported her and Meg's AT Adventure project. Hanging with her made the final two miles go quicker. But it was the final quarter of a mile where Celia helped save the day.

The final climb NOT affectionately known as Mt. Baker defines the last quarter of a mile. It's the steepest ascent of the day. It may be only tenths of a mile up - but it is straight up.

The last half of the day, every climb I met left me feeling nauseous. That's why I'd been dreading this climb the final few hours. More than worrying about my legs, I was wondering how I'd climb that mountain without vomiting the whole way up it. That worry was compounded by me knowing there was little in me to actually throw up.

The worry proved real. I wasn't far up before I was dizzy and feeling like my entire insides were about to become my outsides, spilling any remaining strength I had on the mountain I needed that very strength for.

So I sat down. I just plopped my butt down on the ground and stared down the mountain. I know Celia had to be thinking 'what is he doing.' But her face didn't show it. Her voice remained encouraging.

She did what Celia does; she told me inappropriate jokes - she told me when I'd been sitting long enough.

So I got up. Celia told me to take 10 steps and rest. I took 5 and sat back down. She looked a little frustrated, but she didn't treat me with frustration. Maybe that was her own version of pause....

And that's how it went the rest of the way up that mountain. Climb. Sit. Climb. Sit.

But really, that mountain, that final climb, that defined my past year. Climb. Sit. Climb. Sit.

My buddy Cliff said, "you've had some pretty tough days, especially in Georgia. And you're still around."

And he is right. I am still around. And it's because I've come to accept that some things in life you don't just keep climbing through. Sometimes you have to pause. Reflect and breathe and pray and remind yourself you're not just capable of the climb, but you're worth it.

While I was sitting, Celia reminded me I was worth it. Many of you reading this, your encouragement all day long, well your words were all coming through Celia in that moment. While I sat. While I was being reminded to keep climbing.

And I did. So thank you all. Very much.

I think I did it so I could come here today and tell you that YOU are worth it. You are worth what waits for you at the end of the climb. But you don't have to keep climbing non-stop.

Don't be afraid to stop. To pause. Because sometimes you just need a minute. And oh are you ever worth taking that minute.

So this week take it. Take your minute and remind yourself that you're still around.

Pause and remind yourself that you aren't going anywhere but up!