Have you ever reflected on the nature of weariness and the horizons or goals that we set for ourselves?
There is without doubt a profound dignity in the weariness felt at the end of a long walk; it’s a clean, honest and justified exhaustion that signifies completion. And the fact is, this fatigue isn’t merely physical, but a kind of spiritual receipt, proving that you exchanged your energy for what you’ve achieved, and you’ve emerged on the other side.
However, to feel that same heaviness only halfway through can be both dissatisfying and even dangerous. We see it on Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) a lot; people getting to the summit and feeling that they’ve made it; their walk is over. But in terms of distance, and to some extent effort, they are only halfway; rest assured that going down can can be every bit as challenging as going up and – surprisingly – not that much quicker either.
Halfway-weariness is no badge of honour, rather, it’s a crisis of faith. It can transform the remaining distance from a pleasurable journey to a chore, a sentence to be served. When you are tired at the finish, the ground beneath you supports you and applauds you; but when you’re tired in the middle, the ground seems to rise up against you, making the remaining distance feel twice as long as that travelled.
The thing is, endurance is often as much about biology as about calibration and mindset. If you set out for a casual or short stroll, your mind subconsciously uncorks your reserves of energy quickly, meaning that you may feel depleted after just that shorter distance. Yet, if your intent was set on a greater distance or challenge from the start, you would likely breeze past that same shorter point without a second thought.
To put that in practical terms, someone might plan on walking up the Pyg Track just as far as the Intersection with the Miners’ Track, to then return on that second path. And that being the case, on reaching the Intersection they are likely to think to themselves, “Phew, I’m glad I’m not going any further up, I’m quite ready to return now.” And yet, had they set their sight on reaching the summit, there’s every likelihood that they would breeze past the Intersection and not think in those terms until reaching the summit (or wherever, further on).
I often experience this kind of thing too on local walks from home. Our village is surrounded by steep hills, and many is the time that, having reached my intended turning-round point, I’ll feel somewhat weary. And yet it’s purely psychosomatic, i.e. physical symptoms which are brought about solely by mental or emotional factors, but which we may have little control over, other than by managing it in a different way.
Similarly, before we moved to Wales, I would often drive up overnight – a journey of some 5½ hours. People would ask me how I managed to do that at the end of a day’s work, but the drive was simply part of my plan for that ‘day’; it was part of my expectation and goal and it wasn’t just sprung on me, which would have made managing it a totally different matter.
Equally, I sometimes have cause to go up Yr Wyddfa on consecutive days, and people might expect me to be weary on the second day. The secret, though, is simply not mentally signing-off during or at the end of the first day; treat it as halfway and the second day comes with no problems.
To varying degrees, the body listens to the itinerary the mind sets; it creates a budget for suffering based on expectation. When we aim long or high, we pace our soul to match that horizon; when we aim short or low, we allow ourselves to weaken or crumble the moment the destination comes into view.
So keep your expectations high, not just on the mountain, but in every walk of life.