Here in Steamboat Springs, most are familiar with the Yampa Valley Curse, which holds that once a person has come here, they never leave or if they do, they are inexorably drawn back to stay for good. Some claim they came for the skiing but stayed for the glorious though too-short summers. Then there’s the oft-seen bumper sticker “came for the skiing, stayed for the library” supporting the Bud Werner Memorial Library. 

I am one of those afflicted with the Yampa Valley Curse. It is the powder skiing that first drew me, the summer trail time that I now live for, and something else. There is a spirit of hard work and generosity in this valley. Many folks who’ve come here have given up better paying jobs or a less-demanding winter elsewhere to be here with the opportunity to be outside most of the year: skiing, mountain biking, trail running, paddleboarding, hiking, just to name a few. The generosity is evident in the over 150 non-profits serving residents in the Yampa Valley, which has an estimated population of 25,000. People who live here both full and part-time give their time and money freely: from contributing huge amounts of food to LiftUp during the recent SNAP cuts, to serving Community Thanksgiving Dinners, to turning out in support of events like Integrated Community’s ‘Boat Cruise fundraiser.

This readiness to show up is something I am both grateful for and in awe of. It is something I try not to take for granted. And now I am hopeful that all of this giving really does benefit the giver in a tangible way, even beyond the emotional satisfaction and psychological boost. 

In a study published this past fall, researchers determined that helping others may reduce cognitive aging by 15-20%. Unlike crosswords and Sudoku, volunteering formally or simply lending a hand involve social interaction and physical activity which are correlated with slowing cognitive aging. These brain effects accumulate over time, so as you continue to volunteer, your brain continues to reap the rewards. Interestingly, when study subjects ceased their helping out due to illness or change in life circumstances, cognitive decline increased. 

It is important to note that helping out can be both formal volunteering or informally pitching in - walking a neighbor’s dog or shoveling their walk for example. And the time involved is not huge - two to four hours per week seems to be the ideal amount. If life circumstances change, you can still be engaged in meaningful ways, an example being the Heart of Steamboat Methodist Church’s program to call folks on the phone during Covid. Those conversations helped decrease the isolation and maintain vital connections. 

There is that old saying, “it is better to give than to receive.” In the case of brain health, this would seem to be a truism.

Source/Learn More
​Optimism Daily: Want to keep your brain young? Helping others just a few hours a week may do the trick

​Walking along a trail, whether concrete or dirt, your feet will at some point bring you to a tree - one or several. You might pass right by, mind elsewhere. Or you might notice the distinctive scent of evergreen. You might feel tempted to touch the dark knot perfectly framed by white aspen bark, or the drip of sap running down the rough conifer trunk. You might gaze upward, marveling at the height - imagine being that tall - and smile at the squirrels leaping through the branches in their acrobatic games of tag. You might see a woodpecker drilling for its next meal, or hear a songbird brightening the day with its tune.

What would it be like to be up high amongst the sturdy boughs, cradled by the green giant? To be nestled within thick foliage, unseen from below and able to gaze far across the landscape, enjoying the bird’s eye view. To feel the breeze move your hair as the leaves rustle. To breathe in the dusty earth smell on an afternoon in August , or the cool wet of a drizzly October morning.

*****
An arboreal abode, a home in the trees, a tree house. How I longed for a fort in the trees when I was growing up, and that longing continued when my own daughter Charlotte was young. We made do with reading the Magic Tree House books by Mary Pope Osborne. The stories were terrific, but more about the fantastic adventures the tree house transported Annie and Jack to, rather than the tree house itself. The Sorcerer’s Crossing, a favorite book of mine, involved a character who lived in a tree in order to become more self-aware. The first night she moved into the tree house there was a violent thunderstorm  but she was safe in the little tree house while the tree thrashed about.

Spending time in trees, and nature in general, we know is beneficial for our health. Though we all can’t take part in the tree house experience the way the Swiss Family Robinson did, we can look into biophilic design. Biophilic refers to love of life and all that is alive. The design concept consists of three parts:

1. Utilizing direct nature: bringing trees, plants, water features indoors.
2. Utilizing indirect nature: specific use of materials and images.
3. Utilizing the space itself to create feelings one has in nature: secluded spaces for privacy and peace, partially hidden spaces to create a sense of exploration and wonder.

An example of this design is found in greenscrapers, or vertical forests, where trees and shrubs are integrated into the outdoor spaces of a many-storied structure. The overall effect transforms the building into a spectacular oasis, human-made straight edges and sharp angles softened with verdure. 

Biophilic design can be found in office spaces, upscale city apartment dwellings, and even low-income housing. The greenery of the buildings, as well as parks and dedicated green spaces, not only provides a connection to nature for those who live there, but can also cool the environment, as cities become “heat islands” with all their concrete and asphalt.

Living amongst the trees isn’t just a childhood fantasy - it is a very real way to connect mind, body, environment and good health with nature.


Sources/Learn More
Optimist Daily: Architects embrace trees to bring nature in and redefine home design
Green Oasis: What is Biophilic Design?

​Have you ever experienced a hand meditation? Many years ago, in massage school, we did a hand meditation one night. I worked full-time and went to school at night. Attending the night program at the Boulder College of Massage Therapy meant I’d have my certification in two years. It also meant the folks in my cohort were a tight bunch of people, having been together through thick and thin for all that time.

The night we did the hand meditation still lingers in my memory. We were in a large, carpeted room. The lights were dim, and we sat on round cushions or directly on the floor, spread out so we each had plenty of space. Our instructor, Aaron, led the lesson, starting with simply gazing at our hands, taking in the lines, the quality of the skin, the color of the flesh. We tuned in to how our hands felt: hot or cold, achy or tight, stiff or supple. 

We were then invited to remember all of the things our own hands had done in our lives: wiping a countertop clean, painting a watercolor, folding laundry, strumming a guitar, touching the petal of a rose, dusting snow off a coat, catching a ball, washing our face, stroking our dog behind the ears, hammering a nail to hang a picture, warming the hand of a grandparent, turning the pages of a book, caressing the cheek of a partner, watering a plant, writing a letter, slicing vegetables, pouring coffee, typing an email, playing the piano, holding a child’s hand, lifting a glass of water to our lips.

When we stop to think about it, take a quiet pause to ponder our hands throughout our lives, we realize that they have taken part in every moment. Our hands hold the story of our lives.

*****
In honor of our hands, and in the stark reality of our current flu season, here's a reminder of the simple and effective way to prevent spreading illness: washing with old-fashioned soap and water for 20 seconds is the way to go!
UC Health: Why soap and water work better than hand sanitizer to remove viruses and germs

​​In the first dozen years of this century, much of my massage work was with residents and staff of a retirement community in Boulder. Parkinson’s Disease (PD) was something I saw quite a few of my clients deal with over the years. And I saw how the symptoms were so individual: one client exhibited extreme tremors, one had difficulty speaking, and one would be out for a walk and freeze in the middle of crossing the street.

Parkinson’s Disease (PD) is a progressive neurological movement disorder. The dopamine-producing neurons in the part of the brain called the substantia nigra become damaged or die. PD affects not just movement, but voice volume, mental health, sleep, facial expression and body language, and can cause pain, decreased movement on one side of the body, and cognitive impairment including poor memory and dementia.

From my perspective, PD is a condition of loss, and can be difficult and demanding for both the person diagnosed and the person caring for them. There are medications and interventions like Deep Brain Stimulation which can help. Importantly, exercise can mitigate symptoms and is thought to help slow progression. 

In Boulder, a man I knew with PD developed an exercise class specifically for those living with Parkinson’s. It was helping him and helping many of the people taking his class. I learned his method and taught for the first few years after I moved back to Steamboat. I know that the folks who came to class had rough days, but we sure had a lot of fun in that class.

Dance for PD, a program developed by Mark Morris Dance Group in NYC, holds classes for people with PD. The collaboration between people living with PD and the members of Mark Morris is beautifully shown in the film Capturing Grace. It is striking how a person’s movements might be jerky or uncontrolled, but turn on the music and that same person is dancing beautifully across the room. 

Much of the research in the past 30 years was focused on finding the genetic cause of PD. But from more recent research, it looks like although genetics may set a person up for PD or other chronic conditions, it is environmental exposure to toxic chemicals that trigger the condition to develop. 

One such chemical is TCE (trichloroethylene), which is also substantially linked to cancer. There is a significant amount of the stuff in the groundwater under Lejeune Marine Corps Base Camp in North Carolina, and Marines stationed there were breathing it in each time they turned on the faucet. One researcher found that Marines at Lejeune were 70% more likely to develop PD than Marines at Camp Pendleton in California whose water is not contaminated with TCE. 

TCE was finally banned by the Environmental Protection Agency in December 2024, but in January 2025 the Trump administration rolled back the ban.  In general, the U.S. is behind the eight-ball when it comes to banning toxic chemicals - a move which would significantly reduce many chronic illnesses. There is even a new field called exposomics which looks at an individual’s exposure over their lifetime - because many of us do not know if we’ve been exposed, and if we have, to what. 

In the meantime, using water filters, air purifiers, and minimizing eating food in plastic may help reduce exposure. 

I think about the people I’ve known who were living with PD, and though some did amazingly well (usually those who had a consistent regimen of exercise, medication, healthy eating and support), how much better it would be if the chemicals that had likely caused their condition had been banned. Life would definitely be better. And I hope we can do better going forward.

Source/Learn More

• Wired article: Scientists Thought Parkinson’s Was in Our Genes. It Might Be in the Water

Scritch, scritch. Huff, huff. Scritch, huff, huff, huff. Uhh! Oooof!!!
That’s me trotting down the trail, hitting a rock with one toe and finding myself all fours, having yanked my upper hamstrings but good. I take in the browns, yellows and dark oranges and burgundys of the crunchy leaves under my body. I take a breath. Nothing is broken, I can still hobble along. I dust off my gloved hands and running tights, and move on. 

I’m here on Emerald Mountain because of the deal I made with myself when hiking the Colorado Trail (CT) last July with my daughter. (The CT Part I and The CT Part II.) As I dragged up and down Thirteeners carrying more weight than I wanted to in my pack, I fantasized about the good ole days of doing Ironman - after all, that was just a one day thing. I didn’t have to get up each morning, unrecovered from the day before, and do it all over again, like I was doing on the CT. 

The CT experience taught me a lot. My top lessons: 
1) Charlotte has the patience of Job and the attitude of sunshine.
2) I can do more than I think I can - albeit more slowly than I think I should. 
I came off the CT ready for a one-day goal, and decided on the Run Through Time Trail Marathon in Salida this coming March. With Charlotte, of course.

This may not seem like a lofty goal to some - but for me, it is. My training has two components: increasing mileage (doable over time), and more time on trails (daunting). 

Years ago I did some trail training, but after a fall resulting in pain and tingling in my hands and wrists, I threw in the towel. I was scared of getting hurt again, so I stopped running trails. In hindsight, I can see that my life got smaller because of that fear and the choice I made. 

I started to address that fear and live a bit larger last March when Charlotte and I ran the Run Through Time Trail Half-Marathon - when crossing the finish line, I had completed my first trail race. However, the training for that half-marathon was on snowy roads. So when I committed to the full marathon, I committed to running on Emerald. It was time to face my fear.

When I headed up those trails on the last weekend in August, it was my first time to run Emerald in a decade. I made it to the top and was proud. But making it through the run without crashing and burning was my #1 point of pride. And though I’ve crashed since then, I continue to run Emerald. I just have to focus and use my core to lift those feet a little higher! Because being up there is worth the risk.

Running on Emerald Mountain is special. 

On Emerald, there is the sense of my body moving along the undulating trail. There is the sight of the sun climbing, beaming down on the aspen: shiny golden fountains erupting out of long white trunks. There is the effort of hoofing it uphill, lungs puffing white clouds into the chill fall morning, and the contrasting warmth of the day at the top. The fun of cruising along switchbacks that double back on themselves, ducking under tree limbs that twist across the trail, blackened and grasping, like something out of Snow White’s enchanted wood. 

In an ideal world, I would spend most of my day, every day, running those trails. But, since there are things like life, and work, and the injury I mentioned in the first paragraph, resulting in time spent healing, running up there isn’t a daily occurrence. So I keep running on Emerald in my heart and mind most days, and savor the time when I actually get to run there. Do I float to the top, fly like the wind up or down the trail? No. Some days are hard going, and I’m challenged to put one foot in front of the other. But running on Emerald is the best, even on the worst days.

Emerald Mountain - More Than A Gem (Part 2 0f 3)
Emerald: A Singularly Satisfying Run (Part 3 of 3)

​If you missed it: The Colorado Trail Part I: Fear and Flora on the CT


It is Day Three. We’ll be above treeline all day, and we plan to do only 11 miles, a nice change from the 15 of the last two days. My fears have eased with sleep, and I feel ready for the day as we head down the trail shortly after 7:00. Somehow, though I think my efficiency is improving, breaking camp takes a good 90 minutes. Deflating, rolling, stuffing, and repacking all take time. I also notice that my ziplock bag of the dreaded cold oatmeal goes down more slowly each morning. 

We’re up and over the first pass fairly quickly, and then we descend to a highway - Cottonwood Pass. We start up the next climb and encounter some day hikers. It is weird to see the highway - we’re not so much in the middle of nowhere as I thought. It is also weird to see people who are not through- or section-hikers. One woman we pass is dressed for mall-shopping, and her perfume smells strange and unnatural. The smells of the trail are the norm right now. I’m glad when we’ve made it past the “crowd” and can settle into our peaceful and un-populated trek once again.

The small streams flowing through deep green mosses and multi-colored wildflowers today are exceptional. Charlotte knows the names of most. She examines them, takes photos, and in the evening studies her small wildflower identification book and makes sketches in her journal. Her knowledge of flora earned her the trail name Botany when she did a segment of the CT last year. She joined a group of friends who completed the entire CT for their last 75-mile section from Molas Pass (near Silverton) to Durango. A trail name is not a name you give yourself - it is a name given to you by those you know or even meet and hike with on the trail, and it evokes an essential quality or characteristic about you. A person hiking with Charlotte’s group last year was dubbed Waterfall after he fell down a waterfall (he was not hurt). And Hummingbird is the trail moniker of a solo hiker we met because she subsists on lots of sweet snacks while she’s on-trail. 

I do not yet have a trail name. At this point in our journey, I am sticky and dusty and stinky. I’ve sweat-soaked my quick-dry hiking pants and sun hoodie multiple times. I have layers of lavender essential oil on my feet and underarms, arnica and bandages on my bruised hips, bacitracin and bandaids around my blistered toes. I’ve gone through a ton of hand sanitizer and do my best to clean the sunstick off my face at night. I nurse my lips through their dryness with Aquaphor. Taking in my full array of remedies, Charlotte knights me Apothecary, and thus, I am now trail-named. 

We pull into camp in the early afternoon. We’re just a few feet below treeline so coverage is sparse. A sizeable marmot sunning on a rock nearby settles in to supervise. Occasionally munching on some roots, the marmot is our camp mascot, watching over us through the afternoon. Charlotte says that marmots control the weather, so we hope this one is happy with us.

We hang out at the creek, dipping our feet in the ice cold water, which feels like a million bucks. It is nice to relax inside the tent while an afternoon storm blows through, and Charlotte reads aloud from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. We hit the hay before 9pm, with the alarm set for 5:15.

Day Four. We’re on-trail before 7:00. Charlotte is continuing to carry the greater percentage of weight, and our meal consumption has reduced the load as well. We immediately start the climb to the first pass of the day, which summits at just under 13,000 feet. I don’t feel great. I’m slightly nauseous due to fatigue, and my body is not moving well or quickly, despite the lighter pack and extra rest yesterday. I understand that each one of these days has been extremely demanding - put them all together and well, I don’t exactly feel a spring in my step. I inform Charlotte partway up the pass that I refuse to have cold oatmeal the next day, which is to be our last. I will have a tuna packet instead - anything but that oatmeal. I can’t think about it too much as it makes the nausea worse.

So I look around me. We are climbing the southeastern end of a long valley, the northwestern end of which we descended yesterday. Though the valley behind us is lush, the current terrain is stark in its beauty. Dark rock is strewn across green tundra, reminding me of the Scottish Highlands  - minus the castles and lochs. It is so quiet, almost haunting.

The descent includes a lot of areas of broken rock fragments, or talus fields. Talus isn’t bad for a change-up, but navigating it is challenging. Charlotte, despite her heavier load, is way up ahead with her poles in one hand making it look like a hop, skip and jump. Then there’s me. Reminiscent of Quasimodo with my pack giving me a hunched back, and my slightly uneven gait, over-relying on my poles to help balance, tap-tap-tapping across the talus. Until a pole gets stuck, I almost fall over, pull it out, right myself, and move on. This only happens a dozen times or so.

We’re almost at the top of the next pass when I hear Charlotte talking. She’s conversing with a grouse that has startled just as she passed by. They never seem to figure out they should run off before the danger is upon them. The silly thing is running around as if it has no idea where it is or how it got here. At almost 13,000 feet I wonder the same thing. On top of this pass we encounter two men with plaid shirts, white beards, and well-used old-school gear who assure me that they are slower than me. Then we meet a woman kitted out in a long hiking skirt, a sun hoodie and stylish hat, and colorful Dirty Girl gaiters over her trail shoes. She is clearly a trail veteran. We visit for a bit, and learn that she spends nine months out of every year on-trail. She’s been doing that since retirement, 11 years ago. And, as it turns out, she is parked right next to Charlotte’s car at the trail head where we’re finishing. Small, and very cool, world.

After descending through shady and fragrant wooded terrain, with giant blooms of columbine and four-foot tall larkspur, we come to Tin Cup Pass, the last serious climb of our journey. As we start up it is only 11:30 but ominous rumblings emanate from the dark clouds hanging in the direction we’re heading. I tell Charlotte how sorry I am, that it is my fault we might be in harm’s way, because I am so slow. Charlotte looks at me and says, “focusing on how slow you are isn’t very useful.” She is so right. So I stop apologizing, reset my head, and enjoy this last climb up through the alpine tundra. The paintbrush at this altitude morphs from orange-reddish to fuchsia pink or pale waxy yellow. So many colors grow up through the deep green I have to keep reminding myself to move forward. I try to capture all that I see with my phone, but the pictures don’t come close to doing it justice. And I am thankful. Thankful that I am healthy, that I have the time and the wherewithal to be here, and that I am doing this with the person I so love to spend my time with - the amazing Charlotte.

The clouds move north of us and we make it over the high point without mishap. Right after lunch, though, the rain sets in for good. It is a steady, soaking, lovely rain. We’re walking on an old railroad bed so the descent is mild and smooth, even though it’s morphed into a creek with all the rain. Ethereal wisps of cloud hang in the air above the deep valley we’re skirting. The scent of the trail and the trees is pungent and earthy with the moisture, and the plants seem to be coming alive - bright green and plumped up. All is silent but the sound of the raindrops touching down.

The camp spots we’d planned on were so close to the trail, and so full of puddles, with steep slopes above and below - not good candidates. Also, I was now fantasizing about pit toilets. Sad, but true - I was not sure my legs would be able to squat anymore. We decided to push on to the finish, so Navigator Charlotte overlapped a couple of downloaded maps to find our way. And she did it! 

It was surreal to see the car, to be finished a day early - and to realize that we had completed our 60-mile journey with approximately 16,000 feet of climbing. Taking the pack off my back and sitting in the car seat felt pretty amazing. But it was also kind of hard to absorb that we were really done. All the planning, training (at least for me), prepping, the challenge of the actual trail - and now we were driving down the gnarly rocky road in the rain, heading to Salida. And some gluten-free pizza.

*****
I learned so much:

• Frequent fluid and snacks are critical
• Cold oatmeal is not an acceptable breakfast item
• It’s okay to respect the pace my body is willing to go
• The true experience is about tuning in with all senses, rather than a tunnel vision on the destination
• Appreciation for my body’s fortitude - I could have gotten altitude sickness or my body could have given up the ghost but it hung in there the whole way
• A kind or insightful remark can make someone’s day
• Although I usually spend my time in nature solo, this journey would simply not have been as rich, as fun, or as meaningful if Charlotte were not there. 

I also had a shift in perspective regarding focused efforts. Throughout our time on-trail, I found myself thinking “Ironman wasn’t so bad - one hard day and then I got to rest.” These four extremely demanding days in a row made me hungry for a one-day challenge. 

It has taken awhile to recover from our CT experience. I looked like Frankenstein on my walks and runs, lurching along with stiff concrete legs. But, about ten days after getting off-trail, with my Frankie-gait mostly resolved, I set a new goal. The Run Through Time trail half marathon this past March with Charlotte was the first trail running race I’d ever done, and the first distance I’d done in years. I was planning to run that again next year and focus on improving my time. But our days on the CT showed me that I could challenge my fears and raise the bar. And so, I am now training for the Run Through Time full marathon trail run in March of ‘26. The course has close to 4000 feet of climbing, so it will truly be a challenge. But I won’t have a 35-pound pack on my back. My new mantra is: I can do anything for one day. And the next day, I can rest.

​What does Essentrics mean?
It is a play on the word “eccentric.” An eccentric contraction is a muscular contraction in which the ends of the muscle are moving away from one another, like when you lower your arm with  the weight at the end of a biceps curl. The actual biceps curl is a concentric contraction, where the ends of the muscle are moving towards one another. 

What makes an Essentrics workout so effective? 
Eccentric contractions are more efficient in building muscle strength than concentric contractions. Joints are decompressed with eccentric contraction, and tendons and ligaments are strengthened leading to injury prevention.

In an Essentrics workout, we focus on movement of all 640+ muscles of the body. This results in the rebalancing of the entire body, rather than just focusing on one specific group or chain of muscles. We gently move within a stretch rather than hold it in one spot, because the myotactic reflex kicks in with a held stretch, causing the muscle to tighten. We also move and articulate the joints throughout the body, for example the hands and feet, which helps increase mobility and energy. If you don’t think tight hands and feet drain your energy, try flexing your feet stiffly and walking a few steps that way, or grip your hands tightly and try opening a doorknob. 

The music and movements of Essentrics help us to move fluidly and rhythmically, and the focus throughout on pulling up our posture, using specific muscles in specific movements, and the reasons for doing each move (yes, every movement has a purpose), enhance body awareness and brain engagement. In fact, one of the most effective things you can do for brain agility is combine physical exercise with brain-work, and I start each of my classes with a few minutes of brain-work to get that ball rolling. 

We don't use weights in Essentrics. Rather, we work against our own resistance which allows us to work as hard (or as loosely) as we want to, supporting gains in strength without injury.

Did I mention that we have our arms up overhead for a good portion of our workout? This is how we really strengthen our back and improve posture. One of the things that consistently grabs my attention is the amazing participants in my classes, and how over time they have developed the strength and flexibility to have their arms reaching for the sky like pros. 

What might you expect to notice after an Essentrics workout?

• Improved energy because you’ve released tension throughout your body. 
• Increased range of motion in your hands, shoulders, hips, knees, ankles and feet.
• A sense of ease in your body as you move through your day.
• A brain that is alert and aware.
• Over time, stronger muscles, improved posture, and better balance.
• A decrease in chronic pain.
• A decrease in developing injuries.

Learn more
The science behind Essentrics®
My Essentrics® classes

​Independence, noun: the ability to live your life without being helped or influenced by other people. (Cambridge Dictionary)

Tomorrow is Independence Day in the U.S. Flags, parades, hot dogs, hot weather. Summer’s climax. 

But on this morning’s hike, straps biting into my shoulders with 20 lbs of dumbbells in my daypack, I have another sort of independence on my mind: independently aging. To me that means aging capably, cultivating resilience in both body and mind as the years go by.

Surely this starts with mindset. Because, things happen as we age. Unexpected things like a chronic pain or illness, a cardiac event, an injury that takes five times longer to heal than it used to. Things that start to make us reluctant to venture out. Things that make the chair in the summer shade or the soft warm winter couch alluring for too many days or hours. Those cozy spots are siren calls, and we might then find ourselves wrecked on the rocks of stiffness, immobility, enervation and ennui. 

Sometimes mindset needs a little work. Those mornings when I dread getting out of bed to go run up a hill, I think into the near future, when I’m back from that run. I know I’ll feel energized, clear-headed, and fully alive. I know that the sooner I get out the door, the sooner I’ll be drinking coffee and eating my yummy breakfast. Cultivating this discipline helps my mind stay resilient in the face of discomfort and challenge.

Physical challenges are sometimes a matter of the patience to build up to something. Doing fingertip pushups to make my hands stronger for my massage work has been a game-changer. Several years ago, I could have quit and chalked it up to my hands being too old and too tired. I decided instead to get stronger. At first I could just do two or three fingertip pushups. I’m now doing 60 (to be clear, I’m on my knees). Building the strength in my hands and arms means that I continue to do the work I love, and the sense of capability plays out in other areas of my life as well - like paddleboarding Pearl Lake!

Independently aging also means having the perspective of the long game. Things might take longer to do than they used to. Healing time might be longer, recovery and rest are more of a priority, new goals need a longer timeline. I so often hear from folks older than me their seeming amazement that they haven’t recovered from this injury or that joint replacement within the tiny window of time they allotted. I wish they’d tune in to what their body requires, work together with their own body as a team, and I think the recovery would be much more successful despite the time necessary. This too speaks to cultivating resilience. 

Years ago, I had a client named Sylvia. Sylvia was a feisty Italian woman who’d run a grocery in New York City with her husband while they raised their family. Due to an aneurysm decades before, Sylvia had progressive neurological issues. The warm pool at the retirement campus where I worked was important therapy for her, and she’d get a massage afterward. 
​
She’d come down the hall to my office, first with a cane and later in an electric wheelchair, her white hair elegantly styled, make-up and dress impeccable. This took a painstaking amount of time, but Sylvia would not walk out unless her appearance was just so. She did everything this way. 

Getting ready took longer and longer as she moved more slowly. She shared how it might take her two hours to get a simple meal together at her home, where she lived alone. There came a day when she hired someone to clean, and then someone to take her to the grocery store. I asked her about that. She said, “I hope that I’m never too stupid to ask for help when I truly need it.” 

Her words have stayed with me. Sylvia was independently aging. She had the discipline, the mindset, and the courage to live her life on her terms. When challenges came, she figured them out. Even when it meant being smart enough to ask for help when she was ready.

​​Last August my daughter joined some friends for the final 75+ miles of the Colorado Trail from Molas Pass (near Silverton) to Durango. You can read about that in my post The Million Dollar Highway. Her friends completed the entire length of the trail, 567 miles, over several weeks. At the time, I hadn’t realized that the Colorado Trail, or CT, wasn’t completed until 1987. Though its conception was in 1974, the project languished due to lack of interest and funding until Governor Dick Lamm in 1985 pushed for its finish. Golden spike ceremonies in September 1987 marked the completion of the CT.

This July I’m trekking a few miles of the CT with my adventure-loving daughter. We’re planning five nights on-trail, covering about 60 miles. To be clear, Charlotte could do the 60 miles in three days. I’m feeling very lucky that she’s willing to meander next to me, barely breaking a sweat, while I huff and puff up and down the climbs. 

I’m not sure about you, but I tend to get a wee bit anxious with a trip like this. So I’m taking my training seriously. Dumbbells in my daypack give my legs and back that extra challenge as I hoof it up Mt. Werner or Emerald Mountain. I climbed Emerald twice last Sunday, and messaged Charlotte in a panic on Monday that my sore muscles might not be up to the task at hand on the CT - multiple 12-mile days. She calmly explained that no, you don’t get up in the morning with a spring in your step feeling like a million bucks. You are sore, tired, and use duct tape on your blisters. This is life on the trail.

When I asked a friend of Charlotte’s who is doing a portion of the Continental Divide Trail, also in July, what she’s doing for her training, she told me, very kindly, that well, at her age she really didn’t need to train. Ah, yes. Youth and its many benefits.

But training has its benefits too. I notice that hiking with my weighted pack, though challenging, has actually helped my legs feel better - stronger and more balanced with the need to recruit every one of those leg muscle fibers not only on the climbs, but stability on the descents as well.
I can feel my back getting stronger. And my home strength training is supercharged with the new goal of being as strong as possible for the trail.

On my way up Lane of Pain near the top of Emerald the other day, I was counting my steps, a little trick when I’m tired to get me to the top of a climb. In my tuckered-out state, I was moving pretty slowly through a shaded area and caught a lovely whiff - of the wild pink roses blooming all along the trailside. There were dozens of small orange butterflies taking delight in the almost imperceptible moisture on the ground. Were it not for my training and heavy pack, I might have missed this little piece of paradise.

Learn More
Colorado Trail Foundation: Key Events in the History of The Colorado Trail

​Have you ever walked out of a massage feeling more stressed than when you walked in? Probably not. Most clients look more relaxed through their faces and the way they are holding themselves, and report that they feel more at ease. Some tell me how much better they sleep that night. 

What does the research show?
Numerous studies have shown that massage decreases stress, anxiety, and depression, in populations young and old, in preterm infants and their parents, in pregnant women. For example, one study measured salivary cortisol (stress hormone) in both preterm infants and their mothers before and after the mothers massaged their infants. Cortisol levels significantly decreased in the mothers after giving the massage. Although prior studies have demonstrated the benefits of massage for this population (preterm infants and parents) using observational data, this study was the first to measure a physiological stress marker. (See study here.)

Another study in 2020 looked at chronic back pain in women, and specifically the effect of massage on pain and depression. The study utilized massage techniques that focused on slow, superficial strokes along the back, shoulder and neck, and found there was a significant decrease in pain and depression compared with classic massage technique. (See study here.)
 
Massage can ease held emotions
You may have heard that emotions are stored in the body. One possible explanation for this is that in a situation where a strong emotional reaction is involved, a person may physically hold themselves back from expressing their feelings. This holding back results in tension in the muscles and connective tissues doing the holding. During a massage, when the muscle tension is addressed and released, the emotions which created the tension can also release. 

This is where the skill, professional training and emotional capacity of the massage therapist come into play. Although a massage therapist is not a psycho-therapist, and thus can not provide counseling during a massage session, the massage therapist can provide a supportive and calm environment for the client. This can include design elements of the massage space, like the colors of the artwork and walls, easy and soothing music, a slight amount of aromatherapy, and a comfortable massage table and room temperature. The massage therapist builds trust by tailoring the massage to the client’s needs, honoring what comes up for the client (words, tears, silence), and providing a space of acceptance and compassion throughout the session.

Massage therapy truly is both physically and emotionally healing.


Sources

• American Massage Therapy Association: Beyond the Physical: Massage Therapy for Emotional Health
• American Massage Therapy Association: A Growing Body of Research Supports the Positive Impact of Massage Therapy for Mental Health
• Mayo Clinic: Mayo Clinic explores: The role of massage therapy for mental health