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  • Solo at SOLO

    Solo at SOLO

    so·lo ˈsōlō

    noun

     1. a thing done by one person unaccompanied, in particular.

    SOLO sōlō

    noun

    2. Stonehearth Open Learning Opportunities 

    If you’ve been curious about my absence during October, I spent the month enrolled in SOLO’s Wilderness Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) program in Conway, New Hampshire.

    Overall, the course was intense, nearly a semester’s worth of work in four weeks. I completed the intensive training. The office staff and support staff were phenomenal.

    Sadly, I faced opposition from my cohorts, which began the moment we all congregated. The course aids and prepares students to work in Wilderness Emergency Medicine.

    Despite the numerous dangers in the wild, it seems that an educated Black woman was the most significant threat for my cohort. Initially, I felt comfortable sharing my health-related experiences. This knowledge, along with my ideas were not welcomed.

    As the sole Black woman, I faced the harsh realization that people of color, even with shared passions, aren’t an acceptable feature in the outdoors. It’s disheartening and not based on logic.

    The ostracism I endured throughout the course was an irrational dislike of the hues in my skin — the only differential factor. One might argue economic status, but we all paid the same amount to partake in the class, and finances weren’t a topic.

    The course required hands-on experience for real-life situations and the practical exam. Seldom would I find someone to work with, and it was never for long when I did.

    As the weeks unfolded, so did animosity and ignorance. I spent countless hours working independently on mannequins, studying vast quantities of new information alone. In real-life, a dummy won’t require life-saving skills.

    I didn’t participate in the collaborative efforts of my cohort. Life has taught me that a significant part of the learning experience is the knowledge gained from others. At SOLO, my experience was, at best, frustrating. 

    A few students physically pushed me aside during my attempts to perform knowledge-based tasks. My insights were often dismissed. In some cases, the same points I voiced were later echoed by others and taken as excellent ideas.

    I witnessed the forming of bonds and the group’s closeness as a whole. I was never respected or accepted as a member of my alleged team.

    Most of my classmates made attempts to insert a false sense of dominance over me, with the entitled belief that a Black woman had nothing to offer and, therefore, wasn’t worthy of respect. 

    My cohort created a prejudicial distinction over me. As a person of color, I realize that I, and others who look like me, will have to work twice as hard to connect with the outdoors.

    Due to my limited hands-on experience, I will need to retake the WEMT practical exam. Thankfully, my goal is to receive my Masters’s in Adventure-Based Therapy. I don’t foresee a future in emergency medicine. I believe in an emergency; I will perform adequately. 

    What angers me most is the person of color who aspires to become a WEMT. That individual will likely face a great deal of adversity and unnecessary hardship at SOLO. 

    I am only accounting for my personal experiences; however, I am connected enough to People of the Global Majority in outdoor spaces who have echoed similar negative experiences.

  • Some other beginning’s end . . .

    Some other beginning’s end . . .

    I started the Pacific Crest Trail earlier in the season to account for my slowness. To my surprise, it turns out I am fleet-footed when it comes to hiking. For the sake of slowing down my hiking pace a bit in an attempt to outsmart mother nature (impossible), I took the train from Tehachapi, CA to Oakland, CA. There I met with friends and family for a week.

    During that week, I was hoping to waste enough time to begin my trek safely from Kennedy Meadows into the High Sierra. Oakland was a bit of a cultural shock. I’d never been there before my hike. Being the first densely populated city I’d encountered in weeks, it was overwhelming. I had a very good time, though.

    Upon my return to the trail, I hiked slowly, to ease myself back into my groove. I felt uneasy, but I assumed that I’d grown lazy during my trail break. I pushed on. I walked a total of 5 miles the first day before setting up camp for the evening. My entire being ached that night as I lay in my tent and slept.

    The next day refreshed and renewed I set off to increase my distance from the before. I made it two miles before I couldn’t stand. Nothing is scarier, in my opinion than feeling dizzy and lightheaded while hiking on the side of a windy cliff. Fearing for my safety, I stopped at the first makeshift campsite I could find.

    I thought about heading back to town, thinking I just needed more time to acclimate from being at sea level, before continuing my entrance into the Sierra. For miles, all I could see were mountains, surrounded by more mountains. Though incredibly beautiful, I was becoming ill, and I knew it.

    Being so close to town, I had cellular reception. I got a few pep talks from friends and family, and I slept it off that night. Admittedly, I woke up weary, no longer excited from the support rally that took place the previous day. I packed my bag and stood to return to town. That’s when I met a woman who follows my blog, and she told me I was an inspiration to her.

    She said that she admired the way I took control over my health and inspire others to do the same. She reminded me of why I started hiking. With a new sense of dedication, I set off, forcing my body to move. I hiked 22 miles that day, suffering for most of those miles.

    Suffering is not the intent of my journey. The altitude mixed with the various barometric pressure changes caused me extreme discomfort, dizziness, and vomiting. My Medtronic neuromodulator, though amazing, offered no relief for the symptoms.

    The following morning while breaking down my tent, I leaned forward and fell head-first on a small rock. (The science of things: my leads are subdermal, any impact causes discomfort, contact sends a stinging pain throughout my head). As I lay there, physical pain mixed with negative emotions and swelled inside of me. Determined not to fail, I gathered myself and finished breaking down my site.

    I thought about the hiker I’d recently met. Suddenly, I knew that pushing myself through something painful is the exact opposite of health and well-being.

    Of courses being a badass, I wanted to go on record as saying I did not need my ACR Personal Locator Beacon. Furthermore, wanting to say, “I never turned back,” I insisted on hiking myself down the valley to past the PCT mile marker 600. With a hiker a few distances in front and another following from the rear, I hiked to the road to the waiting trail angels.
    More than anything, my hike is about reconnecting with myself. Seven weeks, 6.5 sections, and 614 miles on the PCT are what it took for me to connect. Again, I took control of my health and decided to end my journey with a few tears, bruises, and fond memories . . .
    600 miles hiking the PCT with a neuromodulator, and one headlight. I mean headlamp, seriously, did you catch the reference?  It’s been a long journey, and there are miles to go . . . However, for me, those miles will not take place on the PCT.

    Finally in tune, connecting I can hear myself speak, and my voice is filled with pride.

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  • I’m not a scientist, I’m a science project

    I’m not a scientist, I’m a science project

    After my Intracranial Hypertension (IH) was in remission, and I had the last shunt removed, I found that I was still having headaches. My neurosurgeon, Dr. Boulis, offered a trial of a different medical device: a neuromodulator to help with the headaches.   Admittedly, I was a bit apprehensive, but I trusted Dr. B; he was the only neurosurgeon I’ve ever had who asked me what treatment I thought was best.


    After what would hopefully be my final brain surgery, my Medtronic neuromodulator was implanted, and my life quality of life improved significantly. One of the many ways my life changed was was that I was able to be active again. I did so with the hopes of becoming a Medtronic Global Hero, which I accomplished. Following the Medtronic Twin Cities in Motion run, I decided to improve my mental health like I had improved my physical health. I opted to hike the PCT.  

    To date, I have hiked 406 miles. This is a major accomplishment, considering less than two years ago I suffered from debilitating headaches. The hike offers a fair share of ups and downs, and I love the up days. I am approaching both colder temperatures and higher altitudes. This is a difficult combination for a lot of people, but for me, it is a lesson in perseverance despite hardship. I have a basic knowledge of how my neuromodulator affects my body, but I don’t fully understand why changes in barometric pressure cause me a great deal of pain. I know that with the help of science, I am living a full life, I’m hiking the PCT, but the upcoming portion is one that I’m starting to mentally prepare for…  

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  • Fully Relying On God

    Fully Relying On God

    On my right hand, I have a tattoo of a frog holding a pencil. It’s my note to myself: writing is a gift. Therefore, I am Fully Relying On God to write.


    One would think that having a frog as a symbol of faith undoubtedly speaks to my love for frogs. No! Over the past couple of days, I have learned to hate frogs. Wait! What? Okay, hate is a strong wrong. Maybe disdain would be a better word.

     

    Shortly after a post office snafu in Wrightwood (PCT mile 368), I set out to climb Mt. Baden-Powell (named after the founder of the World Scouting Movement, Robert Baden-Powell) My love for the Boy Scouts had me psyched. After hiking nearly twelve miles, I discovered the mountain was covered in ice and snow, and a storm was approaching.
    Thinking of the Boy Scout slogan “Safety first,” I descended. I took out my maps. I had to take one of three alternative routes, due to an endangered species closure… Frogs!!!!

     

    Truthfully, I was confused by all three choices. I spotted a trail that matched one listed as an alternative. Twenty-two miles later, through a downpour, I made my way back to the PCT. Soaking wet, I had a new, rather huge dislike for frogs.

    The following morning I awoke to a rainbow and the sounds of frogs croaking from a distance. I walked twenty-two miles in the freezing rain, and it was all for the frogs. You know what? I would do it again too… via car.

    Once I got over the inevitability of my circumstances I learned to embrace every emotion that I felt.

     

    Fully Relying On God

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  • Steps

    Steps

    I think of Lao Tzu’s quote, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” As I hike the Pacific Crest Trail, I know that my journey did not begin with one step. Instead, it started as a battle many years ago. Of course, I am taking the Tzu quote literally.  

    The journey of 374 miles has been marked by hours of inexplicable jubilation. I’m enthralled by the beauty of everything that surrounds me. More importantly, the blessings within me. There is bliss in the notion that reliance on my own powers and resources is far greater than seeking that strength in others. I now understand that every step is essential, and within those steps . . . is the journey.   

     

     *Due to a fire closure, I bypassed roughly 40 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail.