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Blog > Thoughts > Other's Thoughts > Chloe's Thoughts > Winning and Losing

Winning and Losing

Written by Chloe on Thursday, July 29, 2010

Every Sunday Alicia and I set aside several hours specifically to discuss our feelings. It’s what we do instead of going to church. In fact, for us it IS going to church. Today I went on a hike which exemplified and consolidated what we had discussed on the previous two Sundays. As usual, my hike is dripping with metaphors for BIID; but I’ll let you figure those out.

Last Sunday we discussed another page from my notes of the psych workshop I did in April. A few sentences of notes easily take us a couple of hours to process. Last Sunday’s page was titled "The prices I pay for win/lose games." It was a homework assignment to do during the evening after the first day, and the focus was on psychosocial games. What I wrote is not particularly relevant here. What matters is simply that there is a price.

The previous Sunday we agreed to watch "The Legend of Bagger Vance" together, pausing the movie where appropriate to discuss the metaphorical content and its relevance to our lives. At the end of the movie I was sobbing massively for a long time. Superficially the movie is about the game of golf. At the metaphorical level it is about the game of life. Bagger Vance says "What I’m talking about is a game. A game that can’t be won. Only played."

There is a nearby peak that I have attempted to climb twice before, but not succeded in reaching the summit. In 1999 I came within 100ft of the summit, but turned back due to the danger of the rock scrambling up cliffs on the ridge I had chosen. It has been bugging me ever since. I should be able to climb that peak. Today I decided to try an entirely different approach to the mountain, ascending via another drainage basin.

I wake up early, feeling scared. No matter what I encounter on the hike, there will be dangers. I’m not fearless. I just do stuff that scares the crap out of me. Alicia asks me if the hike will be dangerous. "Yes", I answer bluntly. I’m not going to lie to her.

My back hurts. It’s been hurting more than usual since pole vaulting over that stream at peak snowmelt runoff last month. I think about wearing a back brace for today’s hike. I don’t want to though. It’s going to be hot. I decide against it.

The first part of the hike is unusual for me. It’s along a well established and popular, albeit long, trail to a series of lakes at around 9000 ft. The trail leads relentlessly upwards through gorgeous forest. I pass the sign designating the boundary of the wilderness area, and let my thoughts go wherever they take me.

No matter where my mind starts it always seems to bring me back to matters of disability and BIID. I remember that my friend is having her dear old dog euthanised today. I already sent her an e-mail, and I’ll call her on Saturday as usual. She is a polio survivor. I think about my other friend who has been in the intensive care unit for exactly a week. He has paraplegia.

I round a bend at a clearing in the forest, and there is a spectacular view to the north. I try to get my bearings. What is that ridge? It takes me a few seconds and I figure it out. Yes! That’s Wildcat Ridge. It reminds me of WildKat. I start thinking about her incredibly beautiful and expressive eyes…

Eventually the trail winds its way through dense aspen forest and starts a steep switchback. At the first bend I get the a glorious view of the mountain I’m aiming at, with a long waterfall in the foreground. The mountain looks extremely daunting. Every aspect has sheer cliffs. I figure my best chance is to get around to the back side and do an ascending traverse of the south face.

I’m at the lakes. I look around for a suitable lunch spot, finding a shady rock to sit on beneath a tree on top of a hillock. From there I can see all the lakes, the scary looking mountain, and a panorama of all the possible routes from where I am to the top of the mountain. I look at my watch. It’s already taken three hours to get this far.

How do I get from here to there? (deliberate reference to book of similar name). I work my way backwards from the top. I’m planning on the south face traverse, hitting the west ridge above the line of cliffs. Once I’m above the cliffs, the rest of the ridge to the peak looks easy. I need to start the traverse from the east ridge, which I should be able to access via one of the couloirs. Below the ridge is a grassy slope, and below that are two bands of cliffs. There is no obvious route through the cliffs. I’ll just have to head there and see what’s possible. I hope I’m not being too obscure with the metaphors. While what I’m writing is a literal account of the hike, I wouldn’t be writing it were it not also a metaphorical account of dealing with BIID.

From here on there is no path. I shall be alone, literally and figuratively (keep thinking metaphor). The first obstacle is getting to the other side of the lakes; but where best to make the stream crossing? It seems that circling around the furthest lake might be a reasonable option so I head off downhill in that direction.

As soon as I take the first step I’m reminded that I need to be careful. The limp already set in a couple of hours ago. It’s one thing to fall over on the trail, with people around to help. It’s a different story out there alone on rugged terrain.

While rounding the lake I gradually find myself in a swamp. I can hear the stream, but I can’t see any clues as to where it is meandering through the swamp. This isn’t going to work. I look around carefully and spot a narrow backbone of rock leading up out of the swamp not too far downstream. There are also a bunch of fallen tree trunks in the area, which may serve for crossing the swamp.

It all works. The tree trunks take me to the edge of the stream, there are easy stepping stones to cross, and then I’m off up that backbone of rock. It takes me quite a ways towards the bottom of the first cliff band and then I need to stop to asses the situation. There are two obvious gaps in the cliff band. To the right is a steep scree slope, after which I would need to traverse on more steep scree above the cliff face to reach the grassy slope above. To the left is a drainage leading up to very dense vegetation and then directly to the grassy slope. I choose the left hand route, the bushwhack.

It’s a lot tougher than I think it’s going to be. As I head upwards the small trees get thicker and thicker until it’s inpenetrable. I backtrack until I find a traverse to the left and what looks like an easier ascent. This happens again and again until, after more than an hour of tough bushwhacking, I find myself on the grassy slope.

It time for another assesment of the situation. I’m now between the two bands of cliffs. How do I get through the second band? Straight ahead of me there is a notch near the top of the cliffs. If I can get to that notch, it looks feasible. From here I can see that this is actually a double cliff band, with a sloping terrace between the cliffs. Step one is to get onto that terrace.

There are three choices. To the right is a very steep grass slope, which leads up to some scree, and thence to the terrace. Directly ahead is what looks like a relatively easy cliff scramble up to the terrace. To the left is a longer but more gently sloping grass slope leading to the left edge of the terrace. I decide to go directly ahead so that I can get a better look at that cliff scramble.

My left leg immediately screams at me that this is the wrong decision. I feel I dont have a choice but to take the left hand path again. Although this is the gentle slope, it is nevertheless very steep. I can only take half a dozen steps at a time. I’m getting exhausted and I want to stop. After each few steps I ask myself if I can take just one more step. Each time I answer yes; and each time I take another step. This is not the Chloe of last year. There is no more self abusive name calling. This is the Chloe of gentle self encouragement. "Yes. You can do it, Chloe."

It’s time to sit on a rock and drink some water. I find the right rock, sit down with my back to the slope, and look up. I’m stunned as it gradually sinks in…

Here I am. This is the most beautiful place on earth. This is the most beautiful place in the universe. How could I possibly know such a thing? Well, I could talk about the lakes now far below, the waterfalls, the mountain peaks and ridges, the tinkling of the stream behind me, the chipmunk looking at me with curiosity, the sunshine on my back, the perfect puffball clouds in the sky, the fields of wildflowers, the butterfly that decided to land next to me, the patterns in the rocks, the grasshopper on my sock… But that’s not what it’s about, is it? When you are in the most beautiful place in the universe you just know it. You know it with a certainty that is unsurpassed. Because… It is an emotion. Tears fall. There is no rush; because time has disappeared…

It’s time to head further up the mountain. I notice that there’s another notch in the cliff, directly ahead. I’m now at the level of the terrace so I check that out too. A lot of the terrace is steeply sloping scree, not a good place to be when you’re directly above a cliff. My newly discovered notch looks much more inviting, so I head straight for it. "Keep going. You can do it."

Now I’m at the bottom of the cliff face. It looks like I should be able to link a series of ascending traverses. It’s steep, but not sheer. Not a place that you want to slip though. The drop offs are big enough that you won’t be able to walk away from them. Wait! That sounds like a good idea doesn’t it? Er no, zero chance of rescue out here. You’re on your own. Well, I did admit to Alicia that this was going to be dangerous.

Some of this requires crawling up on all fours; suddenly both feet slip away on steep smooth rock. I’m left hanging by my hands. Okay, that was a bit scary. I’m shaking for a few minutes after that.

Eventually I reach the bottom of the notch. This requires careful study. There is an overhang. I gingerly test the overhanging rock to be sure of it’s solidity. But how do I get myself onto it? The cliff to the right also has an overhang, and then vertical to the top. The cliff to the left slopes back a little, but the rock is very smooth. A slight slip and that’s it. I look down. The landing place is a very hard rock. Beyond that a steep slope, on which it would difficult to perform an arresting maneuver before getting to the first sheer drop off. That’s all assuming that you weren’t injured in the initial fall.

I figure out the exact rock climbing maneuvers that would be required to get past the overhang. First the right foot goes onto a ledge about a foot up the left cliff. The right hand immediately grabs onto the overhang for balance, and the left foot finds that toe hold several feet up the cliff. The left leg powers the main upward thrust until some weight can be taken by the right hand on top of the overhang. Then you twist to get your left hand on the overhang and haul your body onto it. I perform the very beginning of the maneuver just to see. Right foot to ledge; right hand to the overhang. SHIT! That really hurts my back. But I got just high enough to find out that the top of the overhang is smooth downward sloping rock. Even if you did get up there, it’s quite possible you’d slip right off. Hmm…

"Okay kiddo, you know very well that your left leg is completely incapable of a power thrust like that in any case. This is it. This is the impasse."

I sit down on a rock just below the notch and drink some more water. I am in an absolutely gorgeous flower garden of magenta and pink. It’s time to pee. It’s been seven hours since I last performed such a function. There we go…

The descent of a cliff is more dangerous than the ascent. "Just take it very slowly and link those descending traverses. You’ll be okay girl." It’s still scary shit.

I sit down again at the exact spot which is the most beautiful place on earth. It’s still here. The moment eternalises itself…

Amidst the tears, thoughts flow in and out. I didn’t make it to the peak. Not even close. I didn’t even make it to the ridgeline. But how is this not winning? I am already in the perfect place. The view from here is better than it would be from the peak. The game is not to be won. It matters only that I am playing the game. If you are playing the game then it is impossible to lose. There is but one way to lose, and that is the decision not to play the game.

Am I saying that I shall never have another suicidal thought? Not at all. I just can’t look at all these magnificent cliffs without imagining hurling myself off the top. But the imagining is part of the game, isn’t it? Today I am playing the game as well as it can be played.

I shall never attempt this peak again. I shall never return to this rock. I shall never disclose to anyone exactly where this rock is. I don’t want to know where anybody else’s rock is. Everybody has to find their own rock. We each have the game we are born to play.

How is it possible to leave the most beautiful place? I’m not going to. I’ll just take it with me…

I search for an alternative to the tough bushwhack. I’ll try descending at the very edge of the thick brush, right at the base of that cliff. Halfway down I sit on a ledge to try pee one more time. This one’s going to be more difficult. After a while I start thinking about Peter’s post where he mentions the consistency of his thighs. I notice that the flesh of my left thigh is hanging down lower than the right. I try pinching the underside of each thigh with finger and thumb. Wow, big difference! With the right thigh I can only grab a thin layer of skin; there’s solid firm muscle beneath. With the left thigh I can grab huge chunks of floppy flesh. Interesting…

Okay girl, you’re supposed to be peeing. It takes a lot of focus to relax the sphincter when my bladder’s not completely full. Eventually I get it going. This is a nice place to sit. I think I’ll let it air dry. My left thigh attacts my attention again. I bat it to watch it flop around. I see if I can set up a resonant frequency. It’s all highly entertaining.

"Okay Chloe dear, it’s time to quit playing with yourself and head back to those lakes." As soon as I stand up I see a fair sized animal at the edge of the swampy area. My first thought is that it’s a deer; because that’s what one most commonly sees in these parts. No, it’s the wrong shape. And it’s not moving like a deer. It’s a cougar! Awesome! It slowly moves along the edge of the swamp. It hasn’t seen me. Then it bounds up some steep rocks and disappears into the forest. It’s only the second time I’ve seen a cougar in the wild, and this one was much closer.

After the lakes and back on the trail, I switch to autopilot. All I have to do is follow the path all the way back through the forest to my car; not much thinking involved. Except… The limp has kicked in big time. I have to watch carefully what I’m doing. There’s still a bit of minor boulder scrambling on the trail.

I study my own limp. It seems a bit odd. Hmm, how can any limp be any odder than any other limp? There’s a stumbling unsure quality about it, entirely different from a KAFO limp. Suddenly it clicks where I have seen this limp before. It’s my friend who has multiple sclerosis, except just with one leg.

I look carefully at exactly what it is that I’m doing. The left leg goes forward with a gravity swing through. Then the foot hovers momentarily, and I put my weight on the left leg for just a split second before switching to the right foot. Then there’s a slow part of the step matched in timing to the gravity swing through of the left leg. Sometimes the left leg starts to buckle before I can get the right foot down. I wonder if people think I’m drunk. No; the guys seem more interested in staring at my titties through my somewhat see through stretchy skin tight braless camisole.

Back at the car, I note that my back hurts like hell. Maybe I should have worn a back brace today. It would have been uncomfortably hot though.

As I sit on the car seat with my feet on the ground, I notice that there are people standing around in the car park. I consciously avoid my usual habit of putting my legs in the car with my hands, and use the standard able bodied technique instead. Except… The left leg stays where it is. Huh? I stare at the leg in disbelief. I try putting all my effort into making it go into the car. It still doesn’t budge. Excellent! I quickly put it in with my hands. Wow! This is the first time I’ve ever actually been physically obliged to do this; and I LOVE it! I know it’s only temporary; a few days and the limp will be completely gone. Still, this is the furthest I’ve managed to push it by exercising. The strenuous hike took eleven and a half hours.

Back home in the driveway, I want to see if the leg has recoverd any yet. I try moving my left leg out of the car without using my hands. I swing it to the lip of the door, and then it gets stuck. I can’t lift it over the lip. I keep trying and am able to drag it over onto the ground eventually. Okay, let’s try the reverse. As at the parking lot, it doesn’t budge. I try some different techniques. I can get the foot off the ground by rocking back in the seat, but that doesn’t help it get in the car. I try rotating the leg about the axis of the thigh, and find that I can do it with the greatest of ease. That’s interesting. I try to remember which muscles do what. I think it’s the sartorius muscle which does that rotation. Not sure. But this is very peculiar. How is it possible for the sartorius to be apparently unaffected by any nerve damage, while the quadriceps clearly are affected? Aren’t they right next to each other? In any case I’m not able to rotate it sufficiently to get my leg back in the car. Good…

No, I didn’t make it to the peak today. There will be another peak another day. But how could anyone say that I lost, just because I didn’t bag the peak? I had a perfect day in the perfect place. All I did was play the game. That is all one can ever do. There is no winning or losing.

Tags: Back Brace, BIID, Church, Cliffs, Game, Hiking, KAFO, Limp, Metaphors, Sartorius, WildKat

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