It was a cold, crisp morning as I rolled out of bed on Wednesday, February 12, two days before Valentine’s Day. Bitter might be a more appropriate way to describe it. I had little to no phone service and no thermometer to tell me the true temperature, but it was the sort of deep cold that you can just feel — the kind that says, “Take the bigger gloves!” I chose carefully as I selected layers for my first training session of the day, then laced up my sneakers, grabbed my snowshoes, and headed out the door.
Setting off into the snowy forest, I felt as if the cold brought on a stiffness to my body, making me like a tin man in need of oil. Fortunately, as I followed the trench of the snowshoe trail, my body warmed and found a rhythm. I ticked off the miles bit by bit, and about two hours later, I returned to my bus. After a quick wardrobe change, I grabbed my Nordic skis and headed back out for a second session. A little over an hour later I returned again, this time to batten the hatches on the bus and head to town.
In town, I met up with my girlfriend, Jess. She had it all planned — for us to set off on a special Valentine’s Day adventure. Feeling tired from the three hours of training, I took a moment to scarf down some leftover pizza before we hit the road.
The author on a recent Valentine’s adventure with girlfriend Jess. All photos courtesy of Zach Miller.
Jess was cheery and chipper, fresh off a very rare nine-ish hours of sleep. I, on the other hand, was feeling a bit wiped. She explained that the planned Valentine’s adventure called for us to drive roughly three hours, then ski anywhere from two to 10 miles to get to a fire lookout where we would spend the night. The length of the ski was dependent upon how far we could drive the bus up the snowy road leading to the lookout.
As we drove along, Jess noted the snow outside the window and commented that she thought we’d be skiing a long way. Normally, this would have been a welcome challenge, but as my mental and physical energy waned, the thought of a long ski-in weighed on my mind. Sure enough, we managed to get the bus about eight miles from the fire tower before we started sinking into the snow and losing traction. By the time I parked the bus, packed my gear, and got on my skis, I was pretty stressed and grumpy.
Not wanting to be a jerk, I explained how I felt, and then stayed mostly silent as we trudged up the mountain. I tried not to be a terrible partner, but inside my head raged a storm of negativity. My feet ached from hot spots in my touring boots, and my body longed to sleep. I felt like I was in the back third of an ultra: the part of the race where the whole thing feels so stupid, and you no longer want to be there.
The author trudging up Warner Mountain on skis.
Meanwhile, Jess had chosen the wrong skis and, at times, lagged as she struggled for traction. Unbeknownst to me, her boots also had terrible hot spots. They formed giant blisters on her heels, which we would later cut open and drain. Though my skis and traction were good, I had no rope to tow her, though she would have likely refused the aid if I did.
At one point, I skied a short way ahead and waited for her to round the corner behind me. In a moment, she appeared, bounding along as she ran uphill, inadequate skis in hand. The traction on her skis was so poor that she decided running in her boots was a more desirable means of locomotion.
The whole scene was pretty comical. And yet there was an immense beauty in it: the way the full moon shone overhead as we clicked off our headlamps and skied by its light; the way we never got too upset with one another, gave up, or turned around; and the way we just kept trudging along, trying to be supportive of each other in the midst of it all.
The destination — a lookout tower on the mountain.
When we finally reached the top, it was windy as all get out. Atop the tower, the wind blew even worse. But as we climbed inside and shut the door, there was relief. Inside, we were safe. We ignited the stove, prepared a hot meal, and crawled into our sleeping bags. We slept by the stove all night, and though the wind lasted into the morning, we found a calm as we skied off the ridge that next morning.
As our bodies warmed up and skis pointed downhill, a spark of joy set fire to our day. The adventure had come full circle, and was just as it often is, challenging but so very good.
Our celebration of society’s “day of love” exemplified a lot about what love is. I think love can feel challenging to people because, oftentimes, we are searching for a feeling. We long for something that makes us feel excited, good, and happy — something that is always good and never bad. But if you ask me, these are not the only aspects of love. They are a part of it, but love encompasses so much more.
Inside the cozy tower where Zach and Jess took shelter for the night.
It makes me think about running. I can confidently tell you I love running. Yet, I can also tell you that running doesn’t always make me feel good, excited, or even happy. Sometimes, it feels like a chore, and I don’t want to do it. There are also times when it causes pain or even sadness. But in the end, none of those experiences make me stop loving it. Through the good and the bad, I stay committed. I keep loving running.
And as cheesy as it may sound, I think this concept also applies to humans. Love isn’t confined to a single feeling, whether it’s a friend, a romantic partner, or a family member. It’s far more complex than that. It’s also a choice, an action, and perhaps above all else, a commitment to stand by someone through all that life throws at us: the joy, the stress, the long climbs, the howling winds, and — on the good days — the gentle glide of the skis as they make their way back home.
I imagine it’s no secret that love is like this. Many folks could probably tell you the same. I just don’t think I’ve ever quite recognized it as I do now. I have Jess and a wintry night on Warner Mountain to thank for that.
Call for Comments
- Did you have a similar Valentine’s adventure? How did yours go?
- Does your relationship with running sound like the author’s?
