I’m bent over staring at the snow, leaning heavily on my poles as I catch my breath wondering what is happening. Are my meds off? Am I going to have a heart attack? Do I have COVID? I’m struck mostly by the surprise of it. Why is this so fucking hard?

This is what is running through my head after the third time I fell on the trail while snowshoeing. It was a gorgeous day above the fog that had settled into the valley, so my wife and I grabbed our gear and headed out for a walk. We opted to start with a short 1.5K trail. We understood it to have a short downhill followed by a short uphill. It will be a good warm up.

We warmed up, alright. It wasn’t long before I could feel the sweat inside my layers of snow gear. The downhill was more sliding than stepping. Lift foot, place foot, sliiiide, repeat. I’m confidently calling back to K, “just keep on your toes.” The front half of snowshoes have delightful claw-like ‘crampons’ that grab into the snow to keep you steady. Too much weight on your heals, and you essentially ski down. Lift, step, sliiiide. We did this for a while when I suddenly lift, step, and sink. No problem. I climb out of the new hole I made, dust off the snow, and continue. Lift, step, sliiiide. Lift, step, sliiiide. Lift, step, sink,… buckle? I fall. Get up, dust off, continue a few more steps and fall again.

By now, I am aware of my labored breathing. I have no idea how long we’ve been out. My head says we’ve just started, while my body thinks we’ve been at this all day. I feel lightheaded and sit in the snow along the trail drinking my water. Water cures everything. Hydrate and all shall be fine. I feel great after sitting for a minute, so I declare we should keep going even after K suggests we turn back. She isn’t fond of me feeling lightheaded. I don’t love it, but I am determined. Lift, step, sliiiide. I am quickly struggling. This is hard! I have done this before, what is wrong with me? For fuck’s sake, I have run a half marathon, this should not be difficult.

I panic thinking I have COVID or my cardiomyopathied heart is failing, or, worse, both. With K, I practice deep breaths, and I check my pulse. We determine I’m not having a heart attack, so I do the thing I’m best at, I mentally beat myself up. Clearly, I am weak and unable to perform even the most basic of activities. I have failed at walking on snow. I hold this thought inside, but make the grown-up decision this trek is not going to happen today. Thanks to Fitbit, I know that we made it just .3 miles in when we turned around. Angry with myself and my body, I slowly climb out of that trail.

What goes down, must go up. Shoeing up, there was no sliding. This was kick in the snow, grab with the toe, heave yourself up. The kicking is cathartic with my frustration. Kick, toe grab, heave. Kick toe grab, heave. We do this with many breaks until we emerged from the beautiful, tree-covered trail onto an even more welcoming sight – flat trail. Back at the truck, we undo the bulky gear and sit sit on the tailgate to enjoy our snacks. I am simultaneously amazed at how fabulous this orange tastes and embarrassed by my failure to take what I think is a reasonable walk. I cannot stop apologizing to K for my inability to complete that trail. With the snack, I feel better. If this experience were a literature class, a teacher would now be shouting “foreshadowing!!!” I fail to take note, and we drive back to town to pick up a few things at a store. Checking out, I feel nauseated. At the truck, my hands are shaking and my body feels like one big tremor.

Low blood sugar.

I wasn’t think this morning.  I woke up bright an energetic with the knowledge we would have a fun day with a little adventure in the snow. I took care of a few tasks around the house, then sat down to enjoy a nice breakfast. I had one of my premade, crustless quiche meals left from the week. I love this quiche. Ricotta, a couple eggs, cheese, and veggies; it’s awesome and easy. Each serving is just under 300 calories. I downed that while K had her oatmeal. We finished up our chores and headed up to the mountain just before noon. It was around 1:30 when we started on the trail, and probably 2:00pm when I fell apart. It’s not that we didn’t have snacks to eat, I just wasn’t hungry or I was too busy and excited to notice.

My body is reliable. I have come to know its signals very well over the years. Today, I missed my body’s cue to eat. You see, 300 calories is not enough to carry this battered body for the 5 1/2 hours I was awake before we took our first steps on the snow. Then, with no additional fuel, I tried to to lift, step, sliiiide my way down a steep hill. And then back up! Nope. That is not going to cut it. I might have had a chance had my brain registered the fatigue for what it was and not the failure my bruised ego focused on.

The failure on this day was not about my lack of strength or stamina, it was my failure to listen to my body when it was telling me I forgot to fuel the tank. I can do that hike, hills or not, but I can’t do it if I don’t take care of the basics. And the basics are this:

• “If you do not eat for several hours before exercise, you will be more likely to feel fatigued during your workout.” Marnie Kunz, Livestrong, May 27, 2019,
• Fuel Your Workout,
• “The Wall” is real and happens in more than just marathons, and
• Always bring the essential supplies and snacks when you are partaking in outdoor adventures.