Ammi Midstokke: A couple of outdoor epiphanies
Sometimes I feel so outdoorsy. I’m outdoorsing so much, I ride on my elitist fleet of a-different-bike-for-every-purpose bikes and say things to myself like, “I’m so outdoorsy. I ride my bike here. I ride my bike there. I run on trails. I take the trash out (doors).”
I whiz down the bike path or on lakeshore roads, I watch the trails for roots so I don’t catch my toes. I bear the wind and rain and snow and wear it like a badge of outdoor misery honor.
The other day when I was awesoming around Brush Lake (a sweet little single-track trail built by people who clearly love to ride bikes) I had not one, but two outdoor epiphanies.
How can any of us self-respecting outdoorsy people even claim this title when we’re all-too-often just passively enjoying the hard work, lobbying, shoveling, fundraising, etc., of the people who made this happen?
This was a painful realization. I have ridden far more trail than I have cut. Sure, I happily pay for my park passes, pick up trash if I see it, and blabber on about the great places available as nature-lover playgrounds. However, my nature advocacy is embarrassingly, shamefully minimal.
Surprisingly, it is not that difficult to involve oneself in the true outdoorsy community. By that I mean: People who dedicate some of their time/energy/money to ensuring the rest of us have a cool place to play. There are bike clubs and hiking groups and trail-cutting parties and Sierra Clubs. There are places we can contribute in any way that suits us, really.
If we like enjoying those resources, it is our obligation to contribute to them positively. The only thing between being outdoors and being outdoorsy is an excuse.
This epiphany was had shortly after determining that I’d had enough close encounters with trees for the day. I laid my bike down on the dock, kicked off my shoes, and slowed down just enough to actually be aware of the fact that I was outside.
There was the slightest breeze off the granite to the north. The lake whispered against the wood of the dock. The spring birds were talking about bird productivity rates, or so I imagined. The smell was of changing seasons. The sun disappeared behind clouds then reappeared to warm me again.
The health benefits of being outside are not measured by how many times you defy death, nearly vomit from overexertion, or take impressively staged selfies.
The health benefits, the soul healing, the appreciation of and the value in being outdoors comes with simply that: Being outdoors. In the moment. Breathing the fresh air. Observing its majesty.
We might just find ourselves being overwhelmed with gratitude for the simplicity and beauty of that single, fleeting experience of feeling one with nature.