Learning to Relax

Tension is pain.

Sometimes the lesson comes in an unmistakable form. I once had it delivered in the form of chilled feet. It seems that my feet are prone to cramping when allowed to cool too much. One day I allowed them to do just that and when I went to use them for more than standing around, a muscle within started to contract and it just wouldn't stop. As it tensed, it became painful. As it became painful, it became more tense. The forward feedback loop went on until it was as tight as it could go and it just held on until I somehow managed to relax it. By then the damage was done and the muscle was badly pulled. Running seemed not so bad, but every controlling touch or powerful kick of a soccer ball for the next three weeks was done with my left foot. It was good training, but shouldn't have been necessary.

The lesson has tried to repeat itself twice since then as my cold feet again launched into a sudden onset of great pain as they cramped. I managed to forcibly relax them before injury each time. It is not an easy thing to tell a foot muscle to let go of the pain and relax but the memory of the subsequent injury was a powerful motivator to make it work. Tense and there will be great pain. Relax and there will be none.

Sometimes the lesson comes more subtly. I was pounding my way down a lot of miles of gradual downhill on a dirt road when the lesson again came from my feet. They were suffering under the collection of steps on that hard dirt, as is totally reasonable. They had just been diverted from a route that would have been softer and four miles shorter, so there was plenty of anticipatory grumbling mixed in. I was stopping frequently to let them have some moments without the weight of myself and my pack on them. I decided to stop once more when I suddenly noticed events happening in the wrong order. First my feet stopped hurting, then I took off my pack to relieve the weight. The simple anticipation of being without the weight and the accompanying relaxation made my feet stop hurting, not the actual reduction of weight. I focused on letting each foot relax over every step and it got much better. The dull pain of the pounding that was certain to be generally gone again once I stopped was not quite so powerful a motivator to figure out how to relax my pained feet, but I mostly managed.

[A diversion about "camp shoes": Time was, we had camp shoes because our hiking boots were so big and heavy we thought they would be extra wear and tear on the environment in camp, so we took some softer shoes that would stomp the off trail areas less. Secondarily, there were also more comfortable. People still bring them with the lighter boots and shoes available today and I see some state they can't wait to get into camp and put on those shoes and "let my feet relax" which is the point at which I think they're doing it wrong. I try not to think that. "Hike your own hike" really means "hike your own hike." I know a woman who will load up a pack with 80 pounds of chair and booze and steaks for her dog and then enjoy 20 mile days. I would be doing it wrong. She is doing it just fine for her. But with the camp shoes to finally let your feet relax? That's doing it wrong. Your feet need to be able to relax while you hike.]

The lesson comes from the legs too. When I was first pounding down that very same long dirt road downhill, I was in at least as bad a world of pain while carrying much less weight. I took the pain to be something to do with having a bit less water than I really needed or it being one of the longest days I'd ever hiked or maybe stress from that rattlesnake I was never near but set off so long and loud I was still listening to it a quarter mile later. Mostly I took it to be that most hated of things: the long, gentle downhill. I hate it even more than I hate flats. Read through some of my beach and sand dune hikes and you might notice an anxiety about flats and a deep desire for any little hill after a mile or two of it. Actually, two miles is about all I can take of flat. There's a solid reason why I don't like flats and gentle downhills and it is the pain they generate. Very few people seem to share my view of flats. What am I doing wrong? Well, it seems to be a matter of tension. For the downhill, there's a gentle and constant braking to keep the pace under control, or at least there has been the way I approach it. Where the tension comes from on flats is less obvious, but if I pay attention, I notice it. It's there. Once I notice it, I can work on it and let it relax and I am starting not to dread the easiest stuff so much.

The lesson comes from the back. I'm fairly certain that part of my insistence on a pack with a real frame is that my back is more relaxed when set against a frame. That probably comes from my bad posture. It is preferable to fix that sort of thing with strength and my morning sit-ups to strengthen my core are a good start to automatically have good posture, however they seem quite insufficient to complete the task. Until I can sort out (and keep to!) a routine that is sufficient, a frame is a good way to keep my back straight and relaxed and free of the pain that comes in only a few miles otherwise.

The lesson comes from sleep, or lack of it. One more point against my Thermarest Neoair and for the insulated Big Agnes that came before it (but has pin holes all over now) is that it is a flat design so that the edges tend to collapse a little giving a feeling of balancing in the middle. It's subtle, but it's there. The older mat has taller edges to help me to the middle comfortably. The current mat may have lasted a lot longer (one stab on the very first use and a rat bite mean it has required spot repair) but it isn't as relaxing to lie on. That little bit of tension shortens my sleep and leaves me less recovered from the previous day.

There's probably more lessons I haven't noticed yet. There's still so many big things to work on. But I'm learning.