21 October 2012

Ten Feet Square

The rain increases. The fire sputters and fumes. All the trees are dripping, dripping, and the ground is wet. We cannot step outdoors without getting a drenching. Like sheep, we are penned in the little hut, where no one can stand erect.
And the night wears on. The morning opens cheerless. The sky is still leaking, and so is the shanty.
There are reviving signs of breaking away, delusive signs that create momentary exhilaration. Even if the storm clears, the woods are soaked. There is no chance of stirring. The world is only ten feet square.

- Charles Dudley Warner, In The Wilderness

I've been there.  That hopeless feeling, tucked just under a tarp, pressed as far against a picnic table as is humanly possible, attempting to avoid the rain spilling off the sides.  Wondering if the entire trip will be spent in this one spot.

That sentence, that statement, that sentiment, "the world is only ten feet square," caught my eye as I was reading Warner's book a year ago.  It summed up that sentiment perfectly: being stuck.  Trapped.  Miserable.  That sentiment applies not only to rainy Adirondack adventures (when does it not rain?), but to life itself.  I find myself there, stuck in a 10' sq mental box more often than I'd like to admit.

This blog will be about hiking, about my beloved Adirondacks, and also about trail running.  It will also be about getting unstuck, stepping beyond that 10' sq safety zone and enjoying a refreshing jaunt through rough conditions.

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