A New Elevation: TA's Weekly Update Nov. 29, 2009

Good Morning,

 

When climbing a high altitude peak, we don't just climb it once.  We climb it at least twice, perhaps three of four times.  In order to acclimatize properly, mountaineers use a strategy of "Climb High, Sleep Low."  To climb a new altitude, we first do a day trip to that elevation–we might carry of load of supplies–or we may just climb up to introduce our bodies to the new height.  This introduction sets off complex physiologic processes that eventually change the composition of our blood to enable us to survive in an ever-decreasing oxygen environment.  After one or two excursions to a new elevation, we break down camp and move to the new one.

 

I always seem to dread the second climb–perhaps because I have seen and climbed the route and know what difficulties lie ahead.  I know how hard I will have to breathe and how challenging some sections will be to surmount.  And then I am always surprised that the second time through is always easier because I know what's coming, I have markers to use along the climb to measure progress, and I am a wee bit more acclimatized than the first go.

 

Arriving at the new camp, there is always much work to do:  tent platforms and kitchens must be dug, tents erected, and snow melted into drinking water.  Doing these tasks at a new elevation is always humbling.  Move too fast and you're instantly breathless and panting.  Imagine being a bit drunk or tipsy while already feeling the next day's hangover, feeling deeply chilled overall with really cold feet and hands, being able to move two shovelfuls of snow and then having to lean over your shovel out of breath, then having to swing your legs to make the blood go back to your toes through centrifugal force, then having to catch your breath again, then shoveling again, then feeling a bit dizzy and unsteady, then swinging your arms to bring blood to your hands, shoveling a bit more.  Repeat the above for four hours while really wanting to curl up into a ball in the snow.

 

Earlier this week, when it became clear that my Dad's battle with prostate cancer would likely end very soon; I was thrust instantly into a high elevation environment that I wasn't acclimatized to.  Instantaneously, my heart could not beat hard enough or deep enough to move the mountain of emotion through, my lungs couldn't take in enough to air to stave off the suffocating grief, and my head rushed with both dizziness and confusion.  Though I have climbed through grief along with my Dad over the past eleven years the best I could, this is a new and gripping elevation that has stopped me cold.

 

One of the things that you must quickly learn at high altitude is to move slowly.  When sitting down, it's easy to forget how stressed your body is because it can keep up with the demands when you are not moving.  Stand up quickly and take a few quick steps and the feedback is swift.  So too this week, I learned that grief is an invitation to move very slowly.  Like acclimatization, it is a slow process that cannot be rushed or forced and I must climb through it step by step.  The route is new to me and I don't know the markers along the way.  The snow is deep overwhelming and at times, I am pitched forward onto my face when my foot drops into a posthole.  The visibility is poor, making it difficult to see both the route and my teammates. 

 

I know enough to follow the rope in front of me, to try to step in the footprints that others have left, to take breaks, and to trust that I will get new views as I climb higher.  This is a climb that there is no turning back from.  I can't call it off because of bad weather or risky conditions.  I can't stop it.  I can only climb it as best as I can, knowing there will be avalanches of emotion along the entire route.  I can't avoid these pounding white waves that pummel me with loss and deep sadness at frequent, seemingly random intervals, triggered by invisibly, falling from their high perches to bury me. 

 

I can only traverse this terrain with care and cherish the memories and profound inspiration that my Dad has given me from the moment I was born…to speaking on the phone with him just the other night.  My Buddhist path has taught me that it is possible to synchronously do two paradoxical things at once if I can and grasp that duality doesn't exist–I must simultaneously hold onto the rope that ties my Dad and I together while at the same time, prepare to take him off-belay.  This will be the toughest climb of my life thus far and Marian and I will be heading to Edmonton soon to join my family.

 

Thanks to all who sent get wishes to Marian this week.  She's recovering very well and I'm very grateful since that means she will be able to travel with me.  We shared a quiet week where she rested at home and I made short forays into the world to train and receive athletic therapy.  Todd Row at Allied Health Services has been helping to get my patellar tendonitis to settle down. 

 

Ironically, one of Todd's recommendations is that I need to stretch more (of the five areas of fitness–flexibility is my least favourite).  I guess the universe these days wants to stretch me both physically and emotionally.  The other day I described myself as feeling like lately I'd been shredded on the cheese grater of life.  It's always good when my sense of humour rises to the top of the coping strategies list.  It's one of my best and one I learned from my Dad–he loves to laugh, joke, and often knows just how to make someone more comfortable by making fun of himself.  I inherited my funny bone from him.

 

I appreciate all of the support Marian and I have received over the past few weeks and I'll ask that you continue to reach out as the mountain suddenly seems even steeper now.  Please keep my entire family in your thoughts and prayers.  Have a good week and take care.

 

With gratitude to you,

 

TA

*******************************************************************************
Everest 2010: Mountain of Learning

Please support the Everest 2010: Mountain of Learning Award at Memorial University of Newfoundland.  

Visit the  Memorial website at  the following URL: https://www5.mun.ca/dir/viking.gv020.p001
and be sure to click the button for the award.

TA Loeffler Ph.D.,  Professor
3M National Teaching Fellow
School of Human Kinetics and Recreation
Memorial University of Newfoundland
St. John's, NL A1C 5S7

TA's Website:  www.taloeffler.com
Phone: 709-737-8670
Fax: 709-737-3979
Office:  PE 2011A
Email Office:  taloeffler@mun.ca
Email Home:  taloeffler@gmail.com

Those who lose dreaming are lost.
Australian Aboriginal Proverb

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.  The soul that knows it not, knows no release from little things; Knows not the livid loneliness of fear, nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear the sound of wings.
Amelia Earhart

Remember that the most difficult tasks are consummated not by a single burst of energy or effort, but by consistent application of the best you have within you.
Og Mandino
*******************************************************************************

Down River: TA's Weekly Update Nov. 22, 2009

Happy US Thanksgiving!

 

As I look forward to this week, where my friends south of the 49^th parallel will be celebrating Thanksgiving, I am thankful that last week went as well as it could have and that Marian came through surgery like a trooper, is home now, and is on the road to recovery.  After last week's road metaphor (thanks to all for the kind feedback), I turn this week to the metaphor of a river.  Actually a specific river, the Colorado, through a specific place, the Grand Canyon, to make sense and meaning of the experience called "last week."  I wrote at some point each day to reflect, process, and deal with the huge waves of emotion that poured over me regularly.

 

Nov. 16, 2009

 

Last spring, Marian and I rafted the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon.  It was a 226-mile journey through one of my favourite places on earth and it was such a joy to share it with her.  As we prepared ourselves for her surgery, I was in search (as I always am) of a guiding metaphor.  Very quickly, the memories of the Colorado River surfaced and provided a frame for the feelings that were engulfing us.

 

Rapids on the Colorado are graded from one to ten based on their difficulty and level of risk.  Before most rapids of eight or above, we would stop and scout the rapid from shore.  We'd look for big rocks, hydraulic water features, and standing waves with an eye to find the best line to the bottom of the rapid.  At the top of every rapid is the "V"–the water pours through the rocks at the top and makes a V shaped trough that you aim to put your raft down the middle of.  As you drop down the V, you pull left or right or ride it right down the middle.

 

The jury is out about how much you can really influence the movement of the boat once you are in the rapid.  Usually, the key is in the set-up…if you get the boat to the best place, you'll get through.  As we neared Lava Falls, the largest drop on the river, we read the description in the guidebook, "Enter the V on the mid right and begin to pull hard to the left.  Attempt to pull over the large standing waves and avoid the huge pillow rock at the bottom on river right.  Don't worry in twenty seconds it will be over either way–you'll either be upright or you won't."

 

The description was oddly comforting knowing that the experience (like everything else) would pass and be done shortly.  At the top of the rapid, the water pools a bit and seems to slow.  I wondered if we would ever get to the rapid and the thundering pulse of my heart competed with the cacophonous roar of the impending drop.  Then suddenly, the current caught us and the boat began to slide down into the rapid–there was no turning back then–just trust and pull.  Breathe and hold on.  Twenty seconds of intense, intense living.  My memories of the rapid are a blurring blend of adrenaline and roller coaster–we did manage to go up on the pillow rock but slid harmlessly off and cheered wildly at being upright at the bottom of Lava! 

 

In the days before her surgery, both Marian and I drew on the idea of setting up for the rapid.  We did everything we knew to bring her strength up, to set up a great health care team, and to get the house ready for her recovery time.  Despite the large waves of emotion that rolled over and through us, we kept working to see the way through the cataract, memorize the line, and then position the boat at the top of the V. 

 

I'm sitting in the waiting room as I type this knowing that Marian is now in the rapid–there is no pulling the boat back up river–she must ride it out.  I'm standing on the shore with throw line in hand and trusting that in a few hours, the rapid will be over and we'll reunite at the bottom of the chasm.  This morning as I sat with her, I recognized that the same thundering herd of butterflies from the Grand Canyon had once again taken up residence in my belly and I took solace in recognizing the familiarity of the sensations.  We got through the Colorado upright and all right, and I'm tied to that hope today as well.

 

Standing here on "the shore", I've put my proverbial foot in the shoes of those who love and care about me and have a visceral sense of what it must be like when I head up into the risks of the high altitude environment.  I'm filled with empathy of how hard it is to sit and wait and pray that no harm comes to a loved one.  I knew it before, but today I am reminded of it on a deep, deep level.  In feeling this, I am also committing to doing everything I can to stack the odds in my favour, prepare well, make good decisions, and position my boat in the best possible way on the Everest V wave.

 

Nov. 17, 2009

 

Of the hundreds of rapids on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, there are two that are feared the most: Lava Falls and Crystal.  Crystal comes relatively early in the trip just past Phantom Ranch.  It's a teeming monster of white water with several boat-eating holes to navigate around.  The first time I rowed the Grand, I took one look at Crystal and decided I would walk around it.  One of my teammates rowed my boat through and I shot video for the crew.  On my second canyon trip, I was rowing well, lead boat, and ready to attempt Crystal.  We arrived at scout and the water was low (because of the Glen Canyon dam and fluctuating energy needs, the Colorado River has a tide). 

 

The low water meant that the run on river left that squirted the first massive hole was available.  We had someone on the team who'd flipped a boat in Crystal before.  He wanted to watch a guided team go through.  Then a private group.  Then another commercial group.  By then, the water had risen and the door to the left run was slammed shut.  We re-scouted for the right hand run which required rowing backward across the V wave to spin and miss the first hole.  I wasn't at all psyched for the run and hated (at that point) to enter rapids backwards.  With heavy heart, I pushed off into the river with Liz riding on my front pontoon like a rodeo rider on a bucking bronco.

 

I set my boat up and began to pull hard across the V.  The enormous rush of current grabbed the boat and we shot off like a rocket.  I pulled and pulled but not hard enough.  We got dragged down the V and didn't have enough momentum to break the large standing V wave.  In an instant, we cascaded right down into the maw of that first hole.  The force of the water threw the stern into the air and the boat catapulted over itself throwing both Liz and I into the mercy of the river.  After a thrashing in the hole, I surfaced and caught a lung-full of air and realized the boat was out of reach to grab.  I was forced to swim the kilometer long rapid without the extra floatation of the raft.

 

Liz surfaced nearby and grabbed my PFD.  We were instantly swept into the next gigantic hole and thrown violently to the river's bottom.  Fortunately we weren't imprisoned by the hole's hydraulics and soon were careening towards the third hole.  That one flushed us through and now only the "bone-yard", a rocky outcrop in the middle of the current threatened us.  With most of us strength zapped by the extremely cold water, we feebly swam towards river right and managed to avoid being strained through the rocks.  I finally got to shore and couldn't see Liz.  I jumped up to see if I could spot her–she was around a rock outcrop puking out the river water.  I climbed over to her and we rejoiced in being alive after a huge Crystal Swim.

 

The rest of the team came down with one other raft flipping.  We righted the boats.  The rest of the day is rather a blur of frothing whitewater, spent adrenaline, and holding on and getting through.  You see, below Crystal are "The Jewels."  Oft underestimated, oft misunderstood–this collection of gems…Sapphire, Ruby, and the like are demanding in their own right.  A collection of seven eights and nines they catch the unwary boater who has failed to look downriver from Crystal.

 

The third time I rowed Crystal I followed Kristen Zbornik down the left hand run and had a perfect run–after which was major celebration.  This past April, I sat behind Sharon and barked commands as she piloted the boat down the left hand run.  Marian and Chama were ready to highside and we kissed the cliff on the river left but we got through it.  Marian could see the relief than flowed from every pore in my body when we were all safely through Crystal.  I relaxed for the first time on the trip.

 

Today, I feel like Marian and I are in the Jewels.  We got through yesterday's Crystal (the surgery) in good form, with a great line, and with the boat upright and everyone on board.  It was tough but the relief at the bottom of the rapid was easily palpable.  Today, with adrenaline spent, the day looms a bit tougher.  She has more pain and more nausea.  I have more pain seeing her in pain.  We're watching for any sign of complications.  We're still riding the current and trying to position the boat in the best spot for all the rapids that are coming our way and we recognize we're only a third of the way down the river.

 

Fortunately, we had river beta.  We knew the jewels would come after Crystal and had prepared for them.  We keep our oars in the water and trust that we're just where we need to be.

 

Nov. 18, 2009

 

After the jewels, the river grants a small respite.  A few days filled with more slack water, beautiful sights, and rapids that are more fun than terrifying.  Coming into the hospital this morning, it feels like we've left the jewels and are looking forward to going downriver at a less intense pace.  I've relaxed today some and can sense movement towards healing. 

 

We know there could still be a Lava Falls (infection) but we hope to avoid running another huge rapid on this trip.  We'll keep heading downriver prepared for whatever the current takes us towards.

 

Nov. 19, 2009

 

We are definitely past the jewels.  The intensity of the week has eased and we enjoy the trip home.  We settle into our healing base camp (home) and start strategizing on leaving the river for the mountain eighteen weeks from now.  If recovery continues to go well, we're hoping Marian will still be able to trek to Mount Everest in April of 2010. 

 

Nov. 20, 2009

 

As we transitioned from the hospital to home, I was reminded of the excitement of arriving at Everest Base Camp.  It usually takes between ten and fourteen days to trek to base camp and there is great excitement in finally arriving there.  A few days of settling in, puja blessing and then the hard work of climbing the mountain can begin.

 

I was filled with a similar excitement when we reached home yesterday.  Finally, we were where we wanted to be.  Looking ahead, I see the long road of recovery stretching before us and I know will climb this figurative mountain in the same way we climb any other, step by step.  We've found a few recovery training programs that progress from short 3 minute walks forward to full physical capacity over six to eight weeks and each day, we'll make out way through the plan.  We'll be extremely mindful of rest, nutrition, and taking it all very slowly.

 

Looking back at the week, I can see that I was really prepared for the Crystal day but not so much for the jewels.  The river has taught me once again of the value of beta and scouting and keeping an eye on both the current rapid and what lies ahead around the bend.  I've appreciated the river metaphors for its guidance and ability to assist me in making sense of all the emotional currents of the week.

 

Nov. 22, 2009

 

We're happily ensconced in our base camp.  The last few days have almost felt like vacation.  When Marian is sitting still, she's doing so well, it's easy to forget that she just arrived at base camp.  We've been having fun playing hokey from life, catching up on a few seasons of Grey's Anatomy, receiving visitors, and contemplating life six weeks down river.  I am so proud of Marian and the tremendous courage she displayed this week.  I will draw upon those memories when I need a dose of the same.

 

I am grateful to Marian's doctors, nurses, and hospital staff for providing excellent care.  Thanks for all my doc and nurse friends who provided advice and hints for getting through the experience.  I am also appreciative for the acts of kindness we received this week from a dietary aide providing me with a meal at the hospital to friends dropping off meals and supplies, to friends checking in and listening at the end of long days, and to family and friends coming over so I could still get out to a few hockey games.  Each kindness struck a note of joy in my heart and I appreciate how deeply moved I was by each of them.

 

Please continue to keep us both in your thoughts and prayers.  Please also add my mom and dad to that list.  My dad has been having a pretty rough go of it lately and I'm wanting to infuse them both with lots of love and healing energy.

 

Take good care,

 

TA

 

 

*******************************************************************************
Everest 2010: Mountain of Learning

Please support the Everest 2010: Mountain of Learning Award at Memorial University of Newfoundland.  

Visit the  Memorial website at  the following URL: https://www5.mun.ca/dir/viking.gv020.p001
and be sure to click the button for the award.

TA Loeffler Ph.D.,  Professor
3M National Teaching Fellow
School of Human Kinetics and Recreation
Memorial University of Newfoundland
St. John's, NL A1C 5S7

TA's Website:  www.taloeffler.com
Phone: 709-737-8670
Fax: 709-737-3979
Office:  PE 2011A
Email Office:  taloeffler@mun.ca
Email Home:  taloeffler@gmail.com

Those who lose dreaming are lost.
Australian Aboriginal Proverb

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.  The soul that knows it not, knows no release from little things; Knows not the livid loneliness of fear, nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear the sound of wings.
Amelia Earhart

Remember that the most difficult tasks are consummated not by a single burst of energy or effort, but by consistent application of the best you have within you.
Og Mandino
*******************************************************************************

With Glowing Heart: TA's Weekly Update Nov. 15, 2009

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!

 

The title of one of the many books I read a book in grad school stayed with me over the years: "We Make the Road by Walking" because it so aptly describes the unfolding of a journey.  A few weeks back, when I was first in Australia and getting used to driving on the left side of the road, I caught myself over and over again being tempted to say that "We are driving on the wrong side of the road."  Each time however, I would catch myself and say aloud, "Hey–we're driving on the other side of the road" instead.  I would then muse about how it easy it is to frame "different" as "wrong" and how seductive it is to stay within "secure" environs, situations where we know how things work or where we are comfortable.

 

Along the road, there are many intersections and our paths unfold depending on whether we turn right, left, go forward, pull a U-turn or park the car.  In my presentations, I show a picture of a road sign in Tibet where my choices were to turn left and go towards a "loud ditch" or turn right towards the "Pearl Peak Supreme Headquarters."  I turned my bicycle right and a few kilometres down the road saw Mount Everest towering before me. 

 

It was then that I knew I wanted to climb Everest.  Standing at the North Everest basecamp the next day, I had someone take a picture of me so that I could remember that moment of deciding I wanted to climb Everest.  At that point, I wasn't worried about the climbing (though I probably should have been), I was worried about the fundraising because I had no idea how a shy, phone-phobic human being could possibly raise the $60,000 necessary to climb Mount Everest.

 

In 2008, along that same piece of road amid a mountain of controversy, the Olympic Torch was carried in the relay that would eventually take the flame to the summit of Mount Everest and onto Beijing for the Games.  Yesterday, along High Street in Grand Falls-Windsor, I carried that same flame.  Similar to a Buddhist lineage where teachings are transmitted from the Buddha through teachers to students, the Olympic Flame is passed from one Olympic Games to the next, from Athens to the next host location.

 

Canada is hosting the 2010 Olympic Winter Games in Vancouver and Whistler.  To carry the flame to the Games, they have organized the longest domestic torch relay in history.  In 102 days, the Torch Relay will use 12,000 torchbearers to move the flame 45,000 kilometres.  Last night, I was honoured and touched and moved to spend 300 metres with the Olympic Flame on my parent's 45^th wedding anniversary.

 

I was the first to receive the flame in Grand Falls-Windsor so the flame arrived in a small lantern.  The Flame Keepers transferred the flame from the lantern and ignited my torch.  My moment with the flame arrived.  I raised the torch skyward and felt my spirit soar alongside the bold, crackling light.  I had planned to walk with the torch but was encouraged by the entourage to run if I could.  Listening to their instructions, I made Marian's job as photographer tougher as she then, also had to run.

 

There is a red maple leaf on the torch indicates which way to hold it, "Closest to your heart," our briefer had said.  My heart beat faster and faster as I took those first tentative steps into the black night and then I gazed upward at the flame and began to run.  I'm not sure if I ever really looked forward as to where I was going because I was so mesmerized by the flame.  "I'm holding the Olympic Flame, I'm holding the Olympic Flame" kept coming into my mind following by "This flame has been to the summit of Mount Everest and I will follow it there."  I wanted to blaze the image of its bright hope on my mind, heart, and soul so that when mine dims along the road to and on Everest (as I know it will at times), I can draw courage, strength, and persistence from the thousands of athletes who have dedicated themselves to the pursuit of excellence in their sport.

 

As I had been warned, my time with the flame was quickly over.  I turned the corner onto Church Street and walked the last few feet to the next torchbearer.  I stopped, glanced at the flame once more and then brought my torch down to ignite the next one.  My torch was then turned off and I spotted Marian off to my right.  I quickly went over and gave her a hug and then needed to jump aboard the shuttle bus.  The other torchbearers welcomed me aboard enthusiastically and I enjoyed watching the rest of the torchbearer team complete their legs of the relay.

 

We drove up to the community celebration where the crowd cheered on Tony Kyritsis as he arrived with the flame to light the cauldron.  As I made my way towards the stage to watch the festivities, I looked at the faces of many children as I walked by with the torch.  They were awestruck, glowing really (as was I).  They had, at that moment, been filled with the true spirit of the Olympic Games and to any child that seemed like he or she wanted it, I offered a chance to hold the torch.  They then would remark on either how heavy or light it was and marvel at its design and their proud parents would come over and capture the moment.

 

I was sponsored as a torchbearer by the province of Newfoundland and Labrador so I met Minister Sullivan backstage during the celebration and shared some about what the experience was like to carry the torch.  After the fireworks, Marian and I realized how chilled we were and headed to find some supper.  I'm grateful to Marian for making the big road trip with me out to Grand Falls-Windsor to share in my Olympic experience… sharing it with her made it more fun and more meaningful to me.

 

Three weeks ago, two kilometres deep along a bush road in Australia, Marian and I shared a different experience.  She had a bit of a health crisis that scared us both pretty deeply and tomorrow she'll have surgery to prevent it from happening again.  Marian is embarking on a mountainous journey of healing and I will be there every step along her road to recovery.  I would ask that you keep us both in your thoughts and prayers tomorrow and over the next few months.

 

I had no idea when I decided, at that dusty intersection in Tibet, to turn right that I would attempt to climb Mount Everest, carry the Olympic Torch, or fall so deeply in love again.  I've had to repeatedly leave pavement that is so comfortable and secure for the learning, growth, and love that lies just beyond sight around the bend on rutted and bumpy dirt roads.

 

Thanks for walking this road with me…what intersections are you at?

 

TA

--

*******************************************************************************
Everest 2010: Mountain of Learning

Please support the Everest 2010: Mountain of Learning Award at Memorial University of Newfoundland.  

Visit the  Memorial website at  the following URL: https://www5.mun.ca/dir/viking.gv020.p001
and be sure to click the button for the award.

TA Loeffler Ph.D.,  Professor
3M National Teaching Fellow
School of Human Kinetics and Recreation
Memorial University of Newfoundland
St. John's, NL A1C 5S7

TA's Website:  www.taloeffler.com
Phone: 709-737-8670
Fax: 709-737-3979
Office:  PE 2011A
Email Office:  taloeffler@mun.ca
Email Home:  taloeffler@gmail.com

Those who lose dreaming are lost.
Australian Aboriginal Proverb

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.  The soul that knows it not, knows no release from little things; Knows not the livid loneliness of fear, nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear the sound of wings.
Amelia Earhart

Remember that the most difficult tasks are consummated not by a single burst of energy or effort, but by consistent application of the best you have within you.
Og Mandino
*******************************************************************************

The Deep Well TA's Weekly Update Nov. 8, 2009

Good Morning to All,

 

The early morning, early winter light is draping the South Side Hills in a gentle blanket of rose taffeta.  As I glance out the window, my gaze lowers to the delightfully delicate blossoms on our "rescued" Christmas cactus.  I've been learning to garden this year and this adventure has included bringing home some of the half-price specials from the local grocery store.  We've saved them all and the cactus' blooms are reward for this behaviour and are reminiscent of origami cranes launching into flight from green branches.

 

A steaming of cup of tea warms me from the inside and is part of my swine flu avoidance program.  I'm settling into my chair to reflect on the week and see what rises to the top of my mind for sharing with you today.  It was a week where I wrote frequent updates to you in my mind hoping to capture a moment or an insight, and now I wish I'd actually had put pen to paper so I could remember what some of them were.  Images from the later part of the week are most present in my mind so I'll start there and see what I weave out on the warp of the week.

 

I did three inspirational speaking engagements in the past three days: one in Gander to newly elected municipal officials from across the province, one to the Canadian Institute of Metallurgy and one to a Body, Mind, and Spirit retreat.  Each group was very different in how they responded and the parts of the message that resonated with them as well as being remarkably similar.  I am always awed when an audience rises in tribute at the end of one of my talks;  I'm humbled and almost always–embarrassed.  I do my best to accept their appreciation gracefully and silently hope that they will take something forward from the presentation into whatever challenges they are facing in their lives.

 

I know for me that I try to take something forward from each climb or adventure into those that come next.  From Denali, I took discipline and the knowledge of how routine both inspires and nurtures discipline.  From Aconcagua, I experienced both the demands and rewards of patience.  Kilimanjaro brought the joys of shared experience, camaraderie, and an invitation to venture once again into deep relationship.  Oyos de Salado delivered the courage to begin again leaving disappointment in its wake and Pumori taught me that in giving, I receive more much in return.  Kosciuszko and other Australian experiences have delivered a plethora of summons to nurture curiosity, connection, and vulnerability.

 

As I think back over the delight of seeing kangaroos leaping gracefully in the distance or poised in silent witness at the side of the road, I am struck with the privilege of drinking deeply at the well of experience.  Some times the water is so sweet and refreshing and at others, bitter and hard to swallow.  It takes courage to continue to visit the spring never knowing what I will carry away in my life's bucket.  The temptation to withdraw within is there for me but mostly I try to embrace the following instruction from Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche that "The everyday practice is simply to develop complete acceptance and openness to all situations and emotions, and to all people, experiencing everything totally without reservations or blockages so that one never withdraws or centralizes into oneself."  (Thanks to Susan for reminding me of this instruction with every email she sends).

An image of climbing a knife-edged ridge comes into my mind.  In some mountaineering texts I've read, they caution that when climbing such a ridge that if my climbing partner falls to one side of the ridge, I should be prepared to hurl myself over the other side thus stringing the rope that connects us over the top.  This would leave us "safely" hanging over the two precipices but in quite a predicament.  We'd have to sort out how to climb back to the ridge without introducing slack into the system that could enable the other to fall further down the slope.  There is both vulnerability and safety that comes in roping up together and facing the challenges of climbing (and life) in community.

 

In talking with my homeopath this week, I saw clearly that I am being invited to experience the vulnerability that comes with the openness that the Chogyam Rinpoche was teaching about.  I also perceived that in my vulnerability is my strength so rather than avoid it, it's time to embrace it.  One of the gifts of my Germanic heritage is the ability to be stoic and to carry the sense of needing to pull off many things without help.  As I look at the realities of preparing for and climbing Mount Everest, I see that I need to expand beyond what is comfortable and to be in the world in new and different ways and for this week, that way is being vulnerable and open to whatever is coming my way.

 

I also need to ask for help–something I'm not terribly good at…in one of my Buddhist texts, there is a list of 49 ways in which a Bodhisattva can fail.  At the moment, I can only recall one of them:  "Failing to enable or allow the generosity of others."  Funny how that goes…so I'm going to practice asking for help.  There are numerous ways that you can help out or support me as I traverse the path that is taking me back to the world's tallest mountain.  I'll type the list of ideas that pop into my head–if any of them seem like an invitation to you, drop me a line and I'll provide more details. 

 

Some of the things/areas I need help with:

 

Inspiration:        I'm looking for folks to write letters/notes that I can take on the mountain and open when the going gets tough (written on lightweight paper).  I can also use regular doses of inspiration/motivation along the way.

 

Sponsorship:        We've almost got my new and improved sponsorship package completed.  I need connections.  As I am phone-phobic and a quite shy academic, I could use help in setting up meetings where I can present my expedition to potential funders/sponsors.  I feel like I can stretch and do well at such meetings but I'm at a loss at who to meet with.  Do you have folks you could introduce me to?  Could you be a sponsor or do you work for an organization that could be a sponsor?  As a side note, this year I do have a sponsorship option that can include a charitable receipt.

 

Driving:        Soon it will be time to start doing multiple ascents of Signal Hill once again, could you donate a few hours of driving downhill to enable this valuable training process?

 

Training:        Sometimes training alone is a drag.  Company is nice on occasion.  I'm looking for folks who'd like to go out for a hike or keep me company as I do some of my training. 

 

Eating Well:        Balancing work, training, speaking, and fundraising can leave little time out in a day.  In the past, some folks have helped out by sharing meals.  If you're cooking a big batch of something, perhaps you could freeze a serving or two that I can store in my freezer when life is too full to cook.

 

Curriculum:         I'm redesigning the school curriculum we created in 2007 for teachers to use with their students.  I'm looking for a few folks to help out with the revision–finding good Internet links about Everest and Nepal that can be included in the package that will go out to schools once again in the spring.

 

Ladders:        Along with physical training, I want to practice skills that will speed up my travel on the mountain.  I want to construct a "Khumbu" training ground in my back garden so I am looking for four or five aluminum ladders that I can borrow/have.  They would be leaving outside during the winter so they should probably be old ladders nearing the end of their useful lives.  The other day I asked Earl Ludlow if Newfoundland Power might have some old ones.  I also wondered about Aliant…anyone else have an old ladder kicking about?

 

Boot Heating:        Some climbers use boot and/or glove heating systems at high altitude.  I have used the charcoal kind but am wondering about the battery powered systems–anyone have such a system that I could try out?

 

Gear:        There are just a few pieces of gear that I need to acquire for this climb…a four season base camp tent, some new goggles, and perhaps a new expedition communications system (I'm contemplating moving up to a netbook from the PDA).  Batteries…always need batteries…especially lithium double and triple A kind.

 

Donations:        The Everest 2010 Mountain of Learning Experiential Education Award at Memorial University of Newfoundland has been created and there is now an on-line donation option.  Here is the URL and please ensure you click the button for the award so your contribution gets to the right place.  With many of us adding a small amount to the award, we'll reach the summit of being able to support students in short order.  Thanks in advance. https://www5.mun.ca/dir/viking.gv020.p001

 

That's a good list for now.  There will be other things that come up and I'll pass on my requests along the way.  Thanks for checking out the list and I appreciate your support in all the many ways it appears.

 

I want to thank the sponsors who have come on-board already for Everest 2010.  AppleCore Interactive has been with me since I climbed Denali and I can't imagine doing this without their support and expertise.  The Egg Producers of Newfoundland and Labrador have been an important 2009 sponsor and I hope you've heard our second radio commercial "3000 eggs."  I'd also like to thank my newest sponsor, Allied Health Services of the School of Human Kinetics and Recreation.  They have offered to support my training and preparation through nutritional counseling, athletic therapy, massage therapy, and exercise testing. 

 

Have a good week,

 

TA

 

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Everest 2010: Mountain of Learning

Please support the Everest 2010: Mountain of Learning Award at Memorial University of Newfoundland.  

Visit the  Memorial website at  the following URL: https://www5.mun.ca/dir/viking.gv020.p001
and be sure to click the button for the award.

TA Loeffler Ph.D.,  Professor
3M National Teaching Fellow
School of Human Kinetics and Recreation
Memorial University of Newfoundland
St. John's, NL A1C 5S7

TA's Website:  www.taloeffler.com
Phone: 709-737-8670
Fax: 709-737-3979
Office:  PE 2011A
Email Office:  taloeffler@mun.ca
Email Home:  taloeffler@gmail.com

Those who lose dreaming are lost.
Australian Aboriginal Proverb

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.  The soul that knows it not, knows no release from little things; Knows not the livid loneliness of fear, nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear the sound of wings.
Amelia Earhart

Remember that the most difficult tasks are consummated not by a single burst of energy or effort, but by consistent application of the best you have within you.
Og Mandino
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They Fly Through the Air with the Greatest of Ease–Not! Weekly Update 11-01-09

Bunny, Bunny!

Somewhere along the way I learned that the first thing we should say on the morning of a new month is "Bunny, Bunny," so it seemed like an apt greeting for today.  Welcome back to standard time for those who'd left it for the increased light of daylight savings time (I believe Arizona and Saskatchewan abstain).  I remember hearing once that they tried daylight savings time once in Ecuador–I must admit I never quite understood as the sun rises and sets at the same time there all year because of their proximity to the equator (though at the same time, I think it's always good to try new things).  It's definitely a change to have moved from Southern Hemisphere Spring to Northern Hemisphere Autumn where the light is leaving instead of arriving.  I appreciated the few extra weeks of making vitamin D!

 

I am back home after some marvelous weeks of adventure and new experiences.  It's hard to know what to write about first.  One quote that informs my teaching and living comes from the book "Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah" where Richard Bach claims, "We teach best what we most need to learn."  I also try to embrace and invite situations where I am uncomfortable or are a stretch for me.  Thirdly, I believe it's critical for teachers to regularly return to the role of student so we can remember all the fear, anxiety, excitement, and joy of learning something new.  The first day of the Association of Experiential Education conference provided an invitation that addressed all of the above values.

 

There was a poster inviting participants to spend a workshop session "flying."  Not metaphorically.  Flying for real.  On a trapeze!  I have to digress a bit to say that I have always been a fan of the circus and the trapeze artists are some of my favourite acts.  I even considered attending the Barnum & Bailey Circus Clown school as a young adult (they only admitted US students at that point).  After seeing Cirque de Soleil in April, I must confess to checking out their website to see what it took to become one of their performers.  So naturally, when offered the opportunity to fling myself into space holding onto a trapeze bar, I jumped at the chance, as did my dear friend and colleague, Karen Warren.  Karen signed up her 16 yr old daughter, Amelia, as well!

 

About 17 others joined us and our first challenge was to find our way to Trapezium by the Montreal metro!  I instantly recalled my challenges in Moscow navigating the subway using Cyrillic signage.  I appreciated the bilingual world of the Montreal underground.  Excitement was running very high in the group, as this was a new activity for all.  We arrived and were greeted by our three instructors.  "Don't worry," they consoled us, "We'll have you flying in minutes."  Many of us weren't sure we wanted to be airborne that quickly.

 

A quick demo of how to put on the safety harnesses and "Heidi the Brave" was already climbing the ladder to a blue wooden platform suspended 25 feet off the ground.  Along with the belay lines, there was a net to catch us that was held about 6 feet off the ground.  We al stared up with amazement as within ten minutes of arriving, Heidi had swung out from the platform, brought up her knees and hang upside down by her knees from the bar, let go of the bar with her hands, and then righted herself and then dismounted from the bar with a backflip!

 

Spontaneous applause and nervous twitter erupted from the group!  Heidi had shown us exactly how it was done!  A few turns later, it was my turn.  As I climbed up the ladder, I noticed that a herd of butterflies had assembled in my midsection and were doing their best imitation of "River Dance."  The beating of their wings and feet in time fanned the intensity flames of the experience and I noticed I was on an edge, both figuratively and literally.  It was different sensation, as heights don't often bother me (though I don't usually fling myself off them purposely either).  I came round the ladder and got hooked into the belay.  The instructor on the platform moved things along with a practiced rhytm.

 

My left hand grasped the ladder and I was told to reach out for the bar with my right.  Even though I had been warned, the bar was heavier than I ever imagined.  Its weight immediately dragged me closely to the edge and to the looming drop below.  On command, I grabbed the bar with my left hand and, without the aid of the instructor holding me back, I would have been catapulted into the void.  Hung out over edge like a chicken waiting for slaughter, I jumped as soon as the instructor said, "Hep!" 

 

We'd been briefed to listen to the instructor on the ground who would let us know the ideal moment to swing our legs up, turn upside down, let go with our hands, return to the bar, and then drop the bar.  I must admit that I'm not sure I heard a word he said on that first go, as sensations of flying and falling inundated my brain.  However, I did swing my legs up on command but neglected to bend my knees.  I tried again on the second swing and got my foot nearer the bar but still fell short of the task.  I dropped to the net without waiting for the command and so got a stern talking to about listening more carefully for the commands.  I think the butterflies' dance had deafened me to the sounds of the outside world.

 

It was new to be less physically competent than the rest of the group–turns out that I'd been too strong but under-flexible.  I turned my attention to Karen and Amelia and the butterflies stomped off stage right.  It was so cool to watch Amelia hit it perfectly on her first go!  After everyone had a first round go, it was time to try it all again.  As I climbed the ladder, I rehearsed the move in my mind and imagined my knees bending enough to allow my legs to come through my hands.  The butterflies briefly migrated through but this time, it was easier to stand on the platform holding the bar since the sensations were more familiar.  "Hep!"  I'm flying once more but again my feet strike the bar on both attempts.  At least this time, with more spaciousness inside my belly, my ears seem to work and I follow the instructions and pull off a beautiful back flip when dismounting the bar.

 

As I flip off the net, I'm given the keys to the city.  Simone, the head instructor says he has just the technique for someone like me who has little flexibility…"Hold your hands close together and swing your legs straight wide and around."  I waited for my third attempt sad that while others are graduating to "being caught," (leaving the safety of their bar to swing from the arms of another instructor) and I was still working on the prerequisites.  I climbed the ladder seeing my new move in my mind, leapt off the platform, flew through the air, my legs swung up and suddenly my knees were effortlessly on the bar!  On command, I let go of my hands and arched my back looking towards the rafters-perfect position for being caught next time.  I end that round with another back flip and the place erupted in cheers!  "I did it!" I yell to myself and I pump my fist in the air.

 

Simone says, "Leave your harness on–I want you to go up again soon."  Once again, the butterflies are back, this time flying in a unified swarm bouncing hard from one side of my belly to another.  I'm amped!  I'm charged.  The adrenaline is coursing through my body.  A few turns later, I venture up the ladder once again–hoping to follow Amelia's lead and fly perfectly into the arms of my catcher.  I'm nervous thinking I will screw up.  I'd only had one go at my new technique.  The platform instructor advises me to listen carefully to Simone as she noticed that I'd gone a little early than one of his commands on my previous go. 

 

Left hand holding the ladder.  Right hands reaches out for the bar.  Left hand joins it.  Hanging out over the net.  The catcher begins swinging–this time, he calls the "Hep."  I launch.  I swing.  Legs arise at the right moment.  Knees catch the bar.  Hands let go.  Back arches.  Hands grasped.  Knees release.  I'm swinging lower now held by someone who is hanging by his knees!  After a big arch, he drops me into the net and I enjoy both the moment and the cheering support of the group.  I am already thinking about how I can fly again.  Not today.  I'm done–stick a fork in me.  The wayward Monarchs have pressed all of the adrenaline out of me rather like those who stomp the juice from grapes to make wine.

 

Karen, Amelia and I speak excitedly about the experience the entire metro ride back to the hotel.  We invent a greeting of raising our hands and saying "Hep."  We bask in the glow of a new and challenging experience.  We've lived at our edges and now can celebrate all of the insights that come from being there. 

 

For me, it was fabulous to observe our instructors work with folks in the trapeze environment.  I loved watching good teachers and being taught well.  I enjoyed feeling the sensations and feelings of student-hood and pledged to remember how that felt the next time I begin a class or ask a student to step closer to her or his edge.  I will ponder my reaction to the challenge of taking several tries to get it and appreciate my tenacity in trying.  Finally, I will cherish sharing the experience with Amelia and Karen and I'm certain that the next time we see each other, we will relive the experience over and over again.

 

So, I'm out of time and space to talk about kangaroos and koalas–that will have to wait…after a few weeks of little physical activity, I look forward to the next phase of training that begins tomorrow!  Drop me a line to let me know where your edge is hanging out these days.  Happy November and have a great week!

 

TA

 

PS...There are pictures nestled safely in Karen's camera.  I'll post them when I get them!