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After a fabulous trip to North Carolina with my daughter to visit my parents (the last time she got to go with me was September 2023), I returned to Seattle ready to dive back into my hectic life—until illness took hold. My daughter was sick for most of our trip, and I came down with airport crud two days after we returned home. For the past four days, I’ve been down with coughing, brain fog, fever, nausea, zero appetite, and exhaustion. Can you say three naps in one day, with ten hours of sleep at night?

Cancellations Reveal the Truth

Yesterday morning, I canceled today’s in-person clients. Yesterday evening, I canceled my client calls. Now I wonder whether I should cancel a hike I’m scheduled to lead tomorrow. It takes a LOT for me to cancel anything. Suddenly, it feels like my whole week could be in jeopardy.

If you know me, you know how much my hikes mean to me. They’re not just exercise—they’re medicine. The woods, the movement, the wind on my face—it all heals. So, even though I felt weak and hesitant, I laced up my shoes for a morning walk with Ajax. It was slow by my standards but also refreshing. No pressure. No destination. Just being outside with my dog, moving my body as much as it was ready for.

Tug-of-War

I thought I’d long since trained the “push through it” voice out of me. But here it is again: the courage to tough it out, the drive to be strong, to lead, to deliver on what I promised. I long for the mountains. They always help me feel better. But the hike I had planned isn’t a gentle ramble—it’s a challenging hike with a set mileage and a group counting on me to keep pace, hold the route, and ensure their safety. And right now, I don’t know if I can keep up.

That internal tug-of-war is familiar: the part of me that thrives on being dependable and another part demanding rest. There’s no shame in needing recovery—unless we tell ourselves there is. I’ve been dehydrated, underfed, and flat-out exhausted for several days. Would I trust someone else in this condition to lead me through the backcountry?

Logistics

And then there’s the logistics: I have a rider who planned to carpool with me. Do I mask up? Keep the windows down in 40-degree weather? Do I ask her to find another ride? Or do I admit I’m not at my best and cancel the trip?

Maybe this hike isn’t mine to lead. Maybe it’s not mine to do at all. Or maybe I do go—but we take it slow, skip the summit, and let it be a meditative forest stroll rather than a destination-driven push. Do I have the courage to ask for acceptance of a different hiking experience? Would the others on the roster go for the change? Or are they all as driven to improve their stamina that anything less would be a waste of time?

Courage

Here’s the thing: sometimes the peak isn’t the point. Sometimes, the most courageous thing we can do is pause, listen to our bodies, and trust that rest is part of the journey, too. While I helped my parents with various chores, one of the many reasons I wanted to go post-Hurricane Helene, my father made a profound statement. “Just relax and do something for YOU.” At the time, it was working on a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle. Maybe this illness is enforced me-time, rest time, healing time that I didn’t feel I needed to take while visiting my folks.

If you’re reading this and grappling with your version of this—whether it’s illness, burnout, or the weight of expectations—ask yourself: What would it feel like to let the forest, or the trail, hold you for a while, without needing you to conquer anything?

That’s the kind of hike I need right now. And maybe you do, too. Do you have the courage to give yourself what you need?

As I prepare to post this, food is staying in my stomach, and it feels like my energy is returning. Hallelujah. I think I can lead tomorrow after all, but I’ll dare to ask for modifications if needed, just as I would for anyone on the hike who was struggling. Stay tuned.

If this sparks any thoughts, please share them in the comments. I love to hear from readers.