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The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity including leading four hikes. Training up to eight clients in a day. Sitting for a neighbor’s dog for two days. Getting my daughter settled at home following her junior year at college. And generally shifting into the syncopated rhythms of summer. Yet the accomplishments themselves are not what stood out. What stayed with me were vulnerable moments that never made it into my phone. I share five of them against a backdrop of photos from recent hikes.

Sooty Grouse Mama and Chicks on Mt. Si

The first vulnerable moment came during yesterday’s hike. A friend and I hiked to the backside of Mt. Si, a mountain I’ve sent hundreds of locals to as a conditioning hike for Mt. Rainier. It’s close to the city. It’s 3400′ elevation gain in 8 miles. And it may be the most popular conditioning trail. To avoid crowds, we headed for the Teneriffe Trailhead a few miles farther down the road. I’d first been introduced to this route under similar weather conditions on a co-lead with Mountaineer Todd Cleland on May 29.

We were 250 feet below our high point when my hiking partner shrieked. I’d dropped back to see if I could identify a bird and had almost caught up to her. A female sooty grouse wildly flapped away to the protection of some branches, leaving her two precious chicks on the forest floor, unprotected. Both were about the size of a chicken’s egg, maybe a few days old at most. So vulnerable to predation and completely adorable.

There was nothing to do but stand still, witness, and appreciate. Elated by the moment, I lowered my voice, moved slowly to catch them on video, and rejoined my nervous partner calling out to alert any more unsuspecting wildlife that she was in the neighborhood.

Takeaway

That moment formed a highlight of my outing. With all the mileage I’ve put into leading hikes the past 8 months, what I’m most proud of is being able to “stop and absorb nature.” This is quite a profound shift from the “stick to the pace” guidelines of the Conditioning for Hiking Series hikes I’ve been leading for the past three months. That wonderment rejuvenates me and gives me energy for everything else in my life.

The Cookie that Delighted Me

A second moment happened several days earlier, on a CHS-2 hike I led to Pratt Lake Basin. Conditions couldn’t have been any better. I knew half of the hikers on my roster and had the pleasure of meeting several new people, including a man on the trip who offered to bake cookies. By email, he asked if anyone had food sensitivities, then set out to make amazing treats to satisfy each of the ten participants.

When we reached the lake six miles into the hike, he pulled out a huge bag of homemade goodies he’d lugged up. He handed me one. I paused, wondering what was inside. No gluten, no nuts, fruit-sweetened, with sea salt and organic ingredients. What would it taste like?

The moment of truth: I bit into the salty-sweet oats and dark chocolate confection.

Takeaway

OMG it was DELICIOUS. Even better, I had zero adverse reactions, no sugar rush or crash, no gut issues — nothing. He proved that baking gluten-free, nuts-free, and sugar-free is possible — even tasty. That moment of vulnerable “yes” felt like a small rebellion. Or maybe a vote of confidence in trying new edible things. Now, I just need his recipe!

Vulnerable Moments: The Tooth and the Breath

Vulnerable moment three happened the day after my Pratt Lake hike. I had appointments with eight clients, bookending a 2-hour crown repair in the middle of the day. Entering the dentist’s office made me nervous. When I explained that recent use of epinephrine by my dermatologist had induced a seizure-like reaction — that my system is especially vulnerable to it — they promised they would use novocaine instead. I felt listened to, heard, and far less nervous, before I ever sat down.

After a little more than 2 hours (and lots of focus on deep calming breaths), they cut away the old broken crown and attached a beautiful new tooth-like crown, crafted in-house with 3D modeling. Dentistry has made amazing strides forward in the past 4 decades. And my current dentist is healing old wounds and preconceptions I’ve had that have made visits to the dentist traumatic in the past.

Takeaway

That evening, I met with my final client of the day. He shared a vulnerability about fear on certain climbing routes. I repeated the same lesson I’d used earlier: whenever we feel ourselves tightening up out of fear, our first line of defense is to focus on breathing. The breath technique that steadied me in the dentist’s chair calmed him in the evening.

Two Dogs, Three Beings, Multiple Long Walks

Last week, I declined to co-lead a hike to Greenwater and Lost Lakes in order to care for our neighbors’ dog, Meg (Ajax’s best canine buddy), for two days. She had never spent time apart from her family and was probably having her own vulnerable moment, uncertain what was going on. I anticipated we might face some unexpected challenges. I relied on help from my daughter the first morning, as soon as I realized I couldn’t watch the visiting dog and train my clients at the same time.

The second morning, pleased with how both dogs did overnight, I was determined to keep them quiet. I took them for a half-hour walk around 5:30, but Meg didn’t do her business. As I tried to start my own workout in the gym, she whined and wouldn’t settle. Did she need an even longer walk? Fine by me…

I took them to a neighborhood green space, the Jackson Park Golf Course. An hour and a half later, after she finally did her business, we returned home. We added one more long walk before her family returned that afternoon.

Takeaway

Over the span of two days, those two dogs and I covered ten miles. If I didn’t know what else to do with them, we walked. And somehow, we all settled into a comfortable rhythm. Whenever I’m stuck at work, blocked with my writing, or feeling frustrated and at a loss, I take it outdoors. The dogs got the same benefit from being out in nature as I did. And I realized that as much as I adore Ajax, I’m not in a position to train a second dog.

Vulnerable Moments: Strength Inside the Small

Grouse chicks. A cookie. A tooth. Long walks with dogs. Breathing. These weren’t big moments. But these vulnerable moments stay with me during a busy period of time. The things we don’t post photos of can be the ones that speak to us the most.

The spider webs I saw in the dewy morning on Mt. Si Friday won’t stay visible for long. Nor will these tender, vulnerable wisps of thought. And yet, as I write this, I realize: we don’t remember days, we remember moments. So on my continued journeys into the mountains, I’m in search of those small moments that stand out, that mean something, that tell me who I am and what matters most to me. It’s no longer about the time it takes to reach X or the mileage I cover in week Y. It’s about observing, noticing, being.

Takeaway

Think about an event or accomplishment you’re proud of. Now think about some vulnerable moments that stand out about that accomplishment. Was it something somebody said? A moment you felt high emotions? Something completely unrelated to the event itself? Was it a moment you could just be authentically you? What sticks in your mind? Share in the comments. I love hearing from readers.