| |
The Challenge and Euphoria
 I consider myself a reasonably fit person, I exercise nearly every day and enjoy being outside whether it's running, biking, gardening or hiking. So when my husband and I planned a vacation to Dominica with a focus on hiking I was pretty excited. Dominica is a beautiful island in the Caribbean with limited tourism and an eco-environment attitude. The jungle is friendly with no poisonous snakes or insects, no hungry animals ready to pounce - unless you count boa constrictors. Still it was nice to know we could go on a hike without having to look over our shoulder.
After two relatively "easy" hikes five of us took off with our guide for the longest hike offered by the resort. Considered an "extreme" hike, it was five miles to the Boiling Lake and the time was suggested as three hours in and three hours out. The first two hours passed easily enough and I was a little surprised it was considered extreme considering on the other two hikes we had passed through knee high streams, climbed boulders and clung to a ledge high above the ocean. However, that feeling changed once we took a break at the two hour mark and our guide told us we were halfway. Oops! There went our three hour turnaround point. What he neglected to tell us was that the second half was significantly more difficult. We began descending down into the Valley of Desolation, an area that was covered in boulders, pebbles and bubbling hot streams, with not a lot of plant life growing due to the last eruption of the volcano in the! late 1800's. We stepped cautiously over rocks in the hot streams careful not to fall in. We began to climb again, clinging onto tree roots, grasses, anything to keep ourselves from slipping on the narrow path. Just when you thought you were done climbing, you would descend only to find yourself having to climb again. Somehow we finally reached the Boiling Lake in 3 hours and 40 minutes. What a relief. We had two sandwiches each that we had carried with us and we wolfed them down. Tuna sandwich and Peanut Butter and Jelly have never tasted so good. We took lots of pictures, laughed with relief and then after about a half hour break began the hike back.
After stopping to take so many pictures on the way in, we made better time but the energy was flagging. I did know what to expect at least so the mental preparation was in place. Once we made it back to the halfway point, our guide told us the rest was all "downhill" -not really, but the most difficult part was over. He told us not to be deceived though - our legs were fatigued and the last part would seem as though it was taking forever. He was right. My knees were starting to burn from the downhill steps and my thighs were screaming from the weight they had already carried up. To take one step downhill now was starting to become an exercise in pain. We relished the moments we would briefly have a flat trail. After 3 hours and 10 minutes, we finally reached our starting point. It was over and I was relieved. Later, all the beauty we had seen, the sheer solitude we had felt would come rushing back with euphoria.
The accomplishment I felt from completing that hike was enormous. It is something I will always remember and pushes me to think ahead - what will be my next Beyond the Bus Stop moment? I can't hardly wait to find out!
Teena Sutherland, Bethlehem PA
Barcelona Solo
 Peering out the back door and through the balcony of my friend's tiny Barcelona apartment, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if one of her shirts suddenly flew off the clothes line. The apartment buildings were arranged in a circle so that the backs of every unit faced each other in a sea of clean clothes. I was in another world where people did not use dryers and it was no big deal to go ask your downstairs neighbor to walk through her apartment and retrieve a sock. I thought it was beautiful.
Elena was getting her MBA from ESADE and her class schedule and studies kept her extremely busy - so, I was on my own most of the time. This was my first time traveling alone in a foreign country, and although I relished the time I could spend with my friend in the evenings, I found that wondering alone was a liberating experience.
At first I was a bit nervous, knowing zero Catalan and very little Spanish was intimidating. I was't sure I'd even be able to order coffee - so, I headed to the one place I recognized. And, as I ordered my cafe con leche in Espanol and heard the barista speak back to me in English, I wondered why I had gone all the way to Spain to drink Starbucks coffee. So, I headed out the door and took a right down Avinguda Diagonal and headed toward the Mediterranean.
The first thing I noticed on my walk was that even with the beautiful architecture, picturesque landscape, and amazing weather, I couldn't fight the urge to reach for my cell phone. Was I that much a slave to work and home? It didn't matter since my phone didn't work internationally anyway, but I was still taken aback by my constant reflex to reach into my purse and check the time. I really needed to relax. But how was I supposed to wonder this strange city alone for eight days with no one to talk to? To whom would I describe Parc Guell or Mont Juic? How would I keep from going nuts?
I have to admit, I felt a little frantic knowing I had no cell phone, no language skills, and no companion. But, being an optimist, I decided this would be a good experience. I checked my purse for the map and made a quick decision, La Sagrada Familia (The Sacred Family) was only about a mile away, I could easily walk it. Being a D.C. resident Metro rider, I was used to walking and not afraid of scary neighborhoods. I felt confident I could find my way.
The nice thing about being alone is that you really get to feel the atmosphere of the place you're in. You can't get distracted by everyday conversation or talk of home, and you are where you are - completely immersed. You don't need a plan, just an open mind. And, as I neared La Sagrada Familia, a giant unfinished church built for over 40 years by Antoni Gaudi, I saw the magnificence and history of Barcelona for the first time - alone, and through no one's eyes but my own.
I paid the five Euros for an audio tour guide and made my way up to the giant stone structure. I stood, open mouthed, in front of the carving of the sacred family - Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus - and I couldn't believe something so old yet completely unfinished could be so perfect. The carvings in the side of the stone were so detailed and ornate that it must have taken a day to shape out each tiny flower, each angel's wing, and each miniature leaf. I wondered how Gaudi had imagined so many different faces. My audio guide quickly told me that Gaudi actually carved the faces of people he knew into the angels and cherubs, but there were so many carvings in the church that he soon ran out of people he knew. So, a true artist, Gaudi would head to the nearby hospital morgue to view the recently deceased and carve their faces onto the angels.
I made my way inside and up the first of 12 bell towers with 300 foot spiral staircases. The safety measures of Europe are clearly different from the U.S., because the stairways did not have safety rails and I could look straight down from the top of the tower to the temple floor below. I hugged the cold stone wall as I slipped past other tourists and peered out each tiny window on my way to the top. Each small portal and balcony had its own amazing view, and as I spent my entire day listening to my audio guide and walking up and down the bell towers, I realized that if I'd have gone with anyone but myself, I wouldn't have learned anything about La Sagrada Familia.
I certainly wouldn't have paid attention to the fact that each of the 12 towers was symbolic of an apostle, or that the pillars holding up the chapel were actually shaped like trees because Gaudi was a nature lover. There was so much symbolism enclosed in those gray pieces of stone that they seemed to come alive with color and animation. I couldn't believe that one structure alone, The Tree of Life, incorporated the Holy Trinity in such an intricate and creative way that you wouldn't see anything but a beautiful evergreen tree unless you looked closely.
When I finally tore myself away from the church, I wasn't ready to go home. I knew Elena would be getting home from class and that I should go meet her for dinner, but I was so close to Hospital Sant Pau that I just had to go. I had no idea what I'd see, but I was in the mood to explore.
It was completely amazing - over the course of one day I had dropped my cell phone addiction and become an independent traveler. And as I got on the bus to head back to Calle Beethoven, I felt a sense of accomplishment and excitement. It was hard to believe that only six hours earlier I was nervous about roaming alone. And as the sun set I scanned the pristine skyline and spotted Tibidabo at the top of a mountain, I couldn't wait to explore the rest of the city - alone.
Elizabeth Ordonez is a freelance writer based in Miami.
Given Heart to Continue After Interview Disaster
It was early evening, and I made the train by the width of a gnat's eyebrow. I was heading north to my university city, Durham, a naive final year student in my early 20's. I had just spent the day at my first serious job interview, and had grand ideas of being a reporter. The tough day of tests and assessments was at the world's most famous news agency, Reuter's, in London's Fleet Street, the epicentre of the journalistic universe. I felt that the day would be little more than a formality. The future was bright, and that place on the Reuter's graduate training scheme had my name on it. Why, they were lucky I wanted to join them!
The reality, of course, was entirely different. The interviewers played good cop/bad cop as they asked me whom in the world I would most like to grill myself. I answered very quickly, too quickly - Paul Keating, the then Australian Prime Minister. When I was pressed further, the only good reason I could come up with for choosing him was that I quite fancied a trip to Australia, actually.
Afterwards, I had had to rush for the train, and, at King's Cross-station in London, there hadn't been time to visit the ATM. I realised I didn't even have enough change on me to buy a desperately needed cup of tea. It's hard to say in words how badly I craved that hot drink, that strong, soothing taste, to feel the steam from the liquid's surface go up my nose, even to feel the oddly comforting taste of the plastic cup between my lips.
Not even being able to have a cup of tea after such a gruelling day was the final straw. Big, fat tears the size of pear drop sweets scrolled down my cheeks. Huddled in my corner seat, I grimly contemplated the three-hour parched trip home.
Then, something marvellous happened. A figure swept past my seat, and placed a hot, steaming cup of tea on the table in front of me, unasked for but much needed, mumbling a few words before moving down the corridor. I was transfixed, unable to speak or move. I never did catch up with him (or was it her?) the person who had seen my distress and acted upon it.
But that small act of kindness was significant, a Beyond the Bus Stop moment. It made me realise how important such seemingly tiny generosities can be, and what a difference they can make. It helped me realise that sometimes, you don't get the job, but you just deal with it and move on. (I hadn't gotten the training place, as I knew deep down I hadn't, but I found another.) I still haven't been to Australia.
Juliet England , is a copywriter from Reading, Berkshire, UK.
Passion Is Alive on the Ski Slopes
 An avid skier all my life, I eagerly anticipate the first snowfall and arrival of winter. I am 45 years old and have skied since the age of 3. As a teenager, I always dreamed of becoming an Olympic skier or certainly making a living out of skiing. As I started my family, my ski days were limited. Taken over by bottles and diapers and teaching babies how to walk and talk. I attempted taking the "babies" skiing, but soon learned we would not return to the slopes until they were able to put their own equipment off and on by themselves. As a family we eased back into skiing, but the kids took to it as easily as I did. Loving every minute. As I skied more often, my old skill came back and so did my desire to race and compete. After all, now I had to keep up with teenagers! For fun, I entered some of the Mountain Dew Challenge races. I raced three times over the last two seasons and always placed right in the middle of my age group. Which at my age, I was thrilled. I always imagined what it would be like for them to call my name as a gold, bronze or silver medalist. I had visions of walking around the lodge with my ski medal proudly draped around my neck. This past February, just 4 days after a cast was removed from my left hand ( for a skiers thumb, mind you I had skied in the cast), I would race again. I raced, past each gate, had the ultimate adrenaline rush at the end. Racing with 7 of my dearest friends and family. About a half hour later, my son would break his collar bone on a level trail just by catching an edge. Off to the ER we went. Not thinking too much more about my race or race time, we packed him up and headed home. That night my dear friend arrives at my house with a small Mountain Dew cooler. She tells me to open it. Inside is my Silver Medal win from the race! I was ecstatic! Jumping up and down like I had dreamed of so many times. No, I did not get to parade around the lodge with it around my neck, but I sure did parade around my house! My husband was kind to take my picture with my bib and my medal and I cherish that. Finally, at age 45 I had won something I had only dreamed of many years before. I know now, I am never too old to achieve and never too old to feel the excitement I did. I always keep an eye out for snowflakes!
Tracy, Medford, N.J., married, mother of two and a Nurse.
Marathon Mom
 Many years ago, I was a spectator at a marathon in which my husband was running. As I watched the marathoners cross the finish line, I saw that many of them were just sobbing. I wondered why and thought, "I want to do this and cry like that someday!" After a full year of brutal training and really pushing myself to achieve this goal, I crossed the finish line of my very first marathon... yes, sobbing! And now, I understood... I'd had a "Beyond the Bus Stop" moment.
At 46 years-old, I continue to run and participate in marathons, and while the 26.2 mile distance is becoming a greater physical challenge, this year there was a mental obstacle to overcome, as well. Last October, I registered for a marathon, which was to be held in my hometown in March. Unfortunately, two months later, my doctor discovered a lump in one of my breasts. I had a lumpectomy and it was diagnosed as lobular carcinoma. Having a strong family history of breast cancer, I contemplated having a double mastectomy, as I didn't want to have to worry about this again. My husband and I discussed the options with my oncologist, and we decided that I would begin taking a drug called Evista for five years, as well as have mammograms and MRI's every six months. I was feeling just fine and not having any side effects from the medication, so my doctor assured me that I could continue training for the marathon.
Everything was going great and by marathon day I was feeling so fantastic that I thought there was a slight chance of qualifying for the Boston Marathon! It was a beautiful day and I was so excited and blessed to have so many friends and family members cheering along the route. They all understood the anxiety I'd gone through recently, and their love and support is truly what carried me to the end. While it would have been cool to say that I had a "Beyond The Bus Stop" moment because I qualified for the Boston Marathon, it didn't happen. I missed it by a few minutes. That didn't matter, for as I approached the finish line, I saw all of my loved ones there clapping, and there wasn't a dry eye among us. That was one "Beyond The Bus Stop" moment and I shall never forget it as long as I live!
Sue, Florida, married, mother and Advocate for Breast Cancer Awareness.
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
 Many people asked me, "Why climb a mountain"? Because it is there. Because I can. Because someone else went before me and told me about their experience. Fifteen years ago I met a man who just returned from Africa. He climbed Kilimanjaro. His stories have stayed with me all these years. I kept saying to myself....one day I will climb that mountain. Six years ago I met another man who just returned from Kilimanjaro. He sent me his journal. I was awestruck and curious. Could I climb this mountain? I decided that 2006 was the year. I could not come up with any more excuses on why I couldn't attempt this adventure. Sure, I was out of shape and overweight. I am just your "average Joe". However, I was determined to go to Africa to climb Kilimanjaro. I purchased four books on the subject. I did a lot of internet research. I went back to the gym and started training. After losing 20 pounds, I booked my trip. My dream started becoming a reality. I decided to do a ten day climb with an outfitter located in Tanzania. I was going with a group of eight others. I did not know any of them. My husband, graciously stayed home with my four kids (his stepchildren). He assured me that everyone would survive while I was away for two weeks. I arrived in Africa on August 29. I flew into Kilimanjaro Airport. I met the others from my group. They all seemed nice. On August 31st we left Moshi and drove to the base of Kilimanjaro. We hiked through the rainforest the first day. We hiked to 9100 feet and set up camp. Day 2 was a long day, 8 hours of hiking to 11,500 feet. Day 3 was more the same, hiking, eating lunch, stopping for photo ops., etc. Day 4 took us to 14,925. The scenery was awesome. We were hiking above the clouds. At night the stars and moon were bright. Day 5 took us down to 13,000 feet into a valley. Day 6 was 8 hours up to 15,730. Day 7 we decide to try to summit, which is 19,300. We all made it the top! We all laughed and cried. It was an amazing journey. The views from the top are unbelievable. We took a lot of photos. We camped that night at the glaciers at 18,500 feet. It was five below, needless to say it was cold. Day 8 we started our descent. We camped at 13,000 feet. By day 9 we made it back to base camp. When we arrived at the hotel we were all scrambling for the showers. Did I mentioned we could not shower for 10 days? My journey to Africa was my Beyond the Bus Stop adventure. I loved Africa. My journey went beyond my wildest dreams. It was an amazing life affirming experience. I took many photos and kept a daily journal. The hike was much harder than I had envisioned. I persevered one day at a time. I could have never gone to Africa without my husband's love and support. He took great care of the kids and supported me 100%. My favorite quote from my trip: You cannot stay on the summit forever, you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions when one can no longer see, one can at least still know. -Rene Dumal I would encourage anyone who has a dream like this to just go Beyond the Bus Stop and do it, sooner rather than later. Beth, Hunt Valley, Maryland, married and mother of four children.
|
|
Personal Coaching