Have you ever found yourself saying something that you know isn’t quite true? But you’ve been saying it for so long that you’re in the habit of saying it? Well, here’s one of mine: “I don’t like to hike.” I know it’s a startling one! Most people can’t quite relate to it.

Here’s a snippet into why I rarely hike:

It took us five hours of breathtaking countryside to get to the forest of Nyungwe. Famous for its untouched beauty, and a must-see for all Rwanda-visitors, Nyungwe is home to five different types of monkey, chimpanzees, squirrels, and a cocophany of bird and insect life. No elephants, tigers or giraffes but I was looking forward to seeing some furry primates flinging themselves from branch to branch and brightly coloured birds with songs that would open even the most closed heart. I had, clearly, forgotten that the cornocopia of wildlife is one reason why I don’t like to hike…

As the years pass, I try, as best I can, to remain open to new experiences, ideas and ways of doing things. I strive to not become stuck in my ways, and, at the same time, relish the realisation that I’ve done something enough times to know, categorically, that I don’t want to do it again: “Ahhhh. I have just realised that I actually don’t like to do X, Y or Z, and so I’m not going to do it anymore!” Phew.

Now, I realise I’m addressing an audience that, for the most part, like to hike; and, perhaps, wish they hiked more often. Many people think my dislike of hiking is, well, a bit strange. They say, ‘there’s something about being out in nature’. Well, I agree. There is something about being out in nature. It’s hell. It’s like entering an unknown world and being immediately popular with things that aren’t good for you.

Philippe had invited Rose and I to Nyungwe for a waterfall hike. Two hours round trip. One hour – the first – downhill. We were all handed walking sticks (mine was the same height as me) and off we went. Now, I have never used a walking stick but it looks cool. It looks like it somehow helps. I mean, all the serious hikers use them, right? Well, let me tell you – on the downward stretch, that walking stick was a threat to my life. The chances of an inadvertent pole vault increased with our pace, and Philippe was almost impaled when I briskly whisked my stick up under my arm to get it out of the way. Concerned about catapulting down the mountainside, I kept my eyes firmly on the ground so the only scenery I really saw was the forest floor, Rose’s feet slipping in the mud every couple of minutes, and leftover monkey food (I think it was food). Where were the damn monkeys?? On the upside, we did spot a rather pretty deep black/blue song bird perched on a branch. On the downside, his song sounded like a dripping tap and reminded me I needed to go to the loo.

When we finally arrived at the waterfall I discovered that a number of black ants had hitched a ride. A particularly adventurous one actually climbed all the way up my leg to my stomach, which was a bit of shock. I found them in my socks, halfway up my trouser-legs, and was bitten by a couple. After that every slight itch was, in my mind, a black ant and led to furious searching, scratching and squashing. The waterfall turned out to be about 15-feet high and, to be honest, after the mud, ants and numerous other insects with absolutely no sense of direction, I needed something much, much bigger.

On the way back up, Rose got dizzy and nauseous, which slowed us down. I fed her bananas and glucose tablets and carried her back pack. This, at least, made me feel useful. It distracted me, momentarily, from the fact that my left ankle was swelling, and a small bug on a suicide mission had not only slammed into my right eye but seemed determined to swim a few laps while in there. I was sweaty, muddy, and hungry. The highlights had been an intrusive ant, one bird and a bit of water. And, as if to add insult to injury, there was clearly a higher probability of seeing Tarzan than a chimpanzee or monkey.

Getting back to the car was a relief. Our driver drove like a complete maniac. He shaved 2-hours off the return journey to Kigali… and 2-years off my life.

In hindsight, I could’ve stayed at the mountain-top, written my diary and contemplated life – mine or anyone’s. I would’ve seen exactly what everyone else saw, without the bladder aggravation. So, the next time I’m invited on a hike, unless something extraordinary is guaranteed (and I mean ‘guaranteed’), I’m going with my gut and ‘no, thank you’ will be the answer. Unabashedly. Unashamedly. Unanimously. No.

So I’m used to not hiking, unless there’s something breathtaking somewhere along the way (see the attached photo of the mountain gorilla in Rwanda).

Yesterday I was pondering my hiking avoidance and with the assumption of the outer reflecting the inner, I wondered what it was that I was really avoiding…

As a young teenager my dad and I, and the dog, used to take walks up on Clent Hills in England. My dad’s the nature-guy. Loves being outside – with the dog – and taking marathon walks to pubs in the middle of nowhere, and then back. I secretly loved those walks, although I always resisted them. I loved the time with my dad, and I resisted it because (as with many parent-child relationships) we had our challenges.

I’ve been hiking since then, and enjoyed it, but I’ve not really made time to be out in nature. Not enough. Part of me stopped because it reminded me of time spent with my dad, that I no longer have. There was sadness connected to hiking.

Sometimes in life, we protect ourselves from feeling sad, or angry, or even joyful because those feelings are connected to memories we’d rather not re-visit. And sometimes we’re unaware that we’re avoiding…

Take a mental snapshot of the seven areas of your life: Spiritual, Financial, Physical, Mental, Social, Family/Relationship, Vocation/Work. Are there any activities or interactions that you’re avoiding? Would you like to re-incorporate them back into your life, or would you like to face them? If ‘yes’ – what’s the story you’re telling yourself about why you’re avoiding? And, honestly, is it really true? What might be underneath the story?

Remembering that events from the past are just that, can help. But perhaps even more powerful, is to allow the feelings to express. To mourn if we need to mourn, to beat the couch if we need to let out our frustration and anger, to giggle and laugh and smile – to be with ourselves exactly where we are; without judgement. Just allowing the energy to move through our bodies can shift our mindset on things.

I invite you to look honestly and rigorously at your life. Make it the best, fullest life it can be, reduce your tolerance for ‘getting by’ or ‘good enough’; wipe out of your conversation ‘someday’ or ‘maybe next year’. Your life is in your hands – design it how you want it to be. And bring in support to do so. And as for me – next time I hear the question: “Would you like to go hiking?”, the answer is… “Yes!”