Ruck It Up

Being creative is a funny thing. I always have ideas—usually at all the wrong times. I’m most inspired when I’m least available to act on those impulses, like when I’m working or driving. I’ll wake from dream-riddled sleep with awesome plotlines and forget them by the time I’m done brushing my teeth. The discipline is in returning to the same well day after day, week after week, forever.

The problem is when the well is dry. Dig deeper, they say. Keep digging, they scream. All the while, my brain is telling me I’m not good enough and that I’m just an imposter anyway.

So, I decided to shut out those negative voices and take the advice of a friend. I loaded down a rucksack and hit the trail. Rucking is good for the body and mind. The problem is that sometimes my mind still thinks I can do things at the level I used to. So, with fifty pounds in my backpack, I set out on a two-mile trail.

By the end, I was praying I could just make it back to my truck. The sun was relentlessly assaulting me. I hadn’t had any water before setting out. Did I mention there were NO clouds? I was dying.

At one point during my slow slog back to relative fitness, I saw an old lady meandering in my direction. I moved to the grass and kept plodding along. She looked to be at least 400 years old. Methuselah’s grandmother had the audacity to proclaim it was a beautiful day and that she hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. I tried to force a smile and pretend I wasn’t about to pass out. Did I mention sweat was pouring off of me like a broken faucet?

I mumbled something like, “It’s hottttttt.” Then I willed myself to keep walking and pick up the pace so my ancient friend wouldn’t witness my death on the paved trail.

In the last tenth of a mile, my vision began to narrow, my head started to womp, and my mouth began to water slightly. Joke’s on you, nausea—I’d eaten less than I’d drunk that day. There was nothing in my stomach to throw up. As I dumped my sweat-soaked ruck into the backseat of my truck, I nearly passed out.

“Two more steps. Just two more steps and I’ll be inside my truck,” I thought—or maybe even said aloud—as I pulled myself into the driver’s seat.

Just as I sat down and rolled down my window, I caught the distinctive skunky smell of some degenerate smoking illegal substances in the parking lot. I cranked the air conditioner and prayed I wouldn’t fall out of my truck’s open door. That’s when the dry heaving took hold. I sat there and mock-vomited for five whole minutes. I must have looked like an idiot. That’s probably because I was. As I mentioned, I didn’t prepare. I impulse-hiked too far with a bag too heavy.

But guess what? I survived. And I’m better for it.

As I sat there, retching and dizzy, I had to smile. I did it. Did I prepare? No. I just said “to hell with my anxious brain,” grabbed my bag, and beat feet on the trail. I realized it’s hard to entertain spiraling anxiety when you’re more focused on catching your breath.

Here’s the thing: it worked. Those happy endorphins replaced my anxiety. The dizziness and dry heaving were reminders that maybe next time I should properly hydrate and consume enough calories to sustain that level of exertion. But I mean, come on—that’s just semantics anyway.

The main takeaway? Sometimes the stress your brain invents to distract you can be mitigated by the stress you put on your body. Heat stroke is a real threat. The idle thoughts that wrestle for prominence in your mind? Not so much. Even if they are real concerns, time on the trail can help reprioritize those emotions and help you work the problem.

Maybe next time I’ll go further, faster, and properly hydrate. But where’s the adventure in that?

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Stan is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker from Bethania, North Carolina. His work has been published in The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Understory, Dirtbag Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, Backcountry Journal, Wildlife in North Carolina, SOFLETE, The Tarheel Guardsman, Wildsound Writing Festival, and others. His poetry collection A Toad in a Glass Jar is scheduled for publication by Dead Reckoning Collective, date TBD. He has written three children’s books and one Christian Devotional book. He filmed and directed a documentary about his deployment in Iraq with the NC Army National Guard called “Hammer Down.” He spends most of his free time wrangling toads. You can see his collected works and social media accounts listed at www.stanlakecreates.com.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.