The Wave Cave- My Body is Not the Problem

Recently, I went on a one-month trip Tucson, Arizona.

I chose Arizona for the warmth, the sunlight, and the hiking.

I'm an outdoorsy person who loves trails with my dogs, camping, gardening, and being in nature. Arizona had mountains, cacti, and many national parks on my bucket list; it was a no-brainer for me.

Arizona was everything I had hoped for.

While my partner was visiting, we took several walks in Tucson and explored some of the smaller mountain paths. He isn't as into outdoor activities as I am, so we stuck to golfing, exploring the nearby towns, and trying local foods. One day we decided to do a longer hike to explore the mountain and take in the views. The walk was approximately 3.5 km, considered easy/moderate, and crossed various terrains on the side of Mount Lemmon. It took us 2.5 hours round-trip with the mild elevation, but we were proud of ourselves when we finished. This hike was nothing like the hikes in Ontario. This experience set my mentality for the rest of my time in Arizona; moderate = feasible.

A week later, I drove my partner to Phoenix Airport so he could board his flight back to Ontario while I stayed in Arizona for the rest of January. I looked up "Best Hikes" near Phoenix and found Wave Cave.

I joke now that my toxic trait was reading 'moderate outback' and thinking that meant doable... Now I see my toxic trait is not reading close enough. I looked at pictures of this amazing Wave Cave and decided I would do my first solo hike. Again, terrifying, but this was what I came for, right?

The day came and I packed my daypack and loaded it up with snacks and water. Little bouts of self-doubt kept trickling in; things like "5 kilometres is pretty far, what if you don't make it?" and "Can you really handle an outback hike in your condition?" and worst of all... "Aren't you too fat to be doing this strenuous activity?" That belief was shocking to me. I had not had these strong ED thoughts in months, and if I did, I had been able to shake them off and move on. That day, I noticed the voice and acknowledged its function, as I had practiced before.

"I know I'm just scared, and fear is okay. I don't need to be mean about it. I'm still going to try because I want to." And then we left for Phoenix.

The Climb

When I first started the Wave Cave, it was fairly flat and it actually looked like an easy trail. This was a nice false sense of security to start, fuelling my previous thought "Moderate=Doable". Within 15 minutes of walking, I had run into 2 groups of people all huffing and puffing who smiled at me tiredly and gave a small wave with words of encouragement (I truly think hikers are the nicest people you will ever meet. Misery loves company). By the time the trail had disappeared and I realized it was entirely rock "paths", and climbing all the way upwards, I was only 0.8km into the hike. I then understood why the groups before me looked so tired. This was not moderate. THIS WAS HARD.

When I recount this story now I usually start it off with:

Taylor = 3

Puke = 0*

*It was a close battle.

I was tired, I was dirty, and I kept thinking "what if I don't make it all the way to the top? I will feel like a failure and ED will be right." Then I looked around at where I was and where I wanted to go. If I didn't make it to the top there was no one to judge me but myself, and I was done being my own bully. If I needed breaks, I was allowed to take breaks. There was no one timing me. I was not disappointing anyone.

I was doing this hike for myself. At that moment I gave myself compassion and permission to show up as I needed to.

This was the hike that made me realize something very important in my recovery, and in my life moving forward...

That was the moment I thought to myself, and truly believed for the first time in two years:

"I'm actually going to be okay. No matter what happens from here on out, I will be okay."

Halfway up this godforsaken mountain, on this outback trail that consisted of mostly rocks that you had to climb, dirt 'paths' and ledges all around, I stopped, and I cried. For the first time in my life, I had actually allowed myself to believe all the words I had been saying to myself since May 2021. I was standing in the middle of the mountains making my way to a rock formation that looked like a wave, overlooking more mountains, terrains, and desert.

I AM SO SMALL. And the world is so beautiful.

I exist in the same space as all these beautiful things.

When I began my recovery, I was terrified that gaining weight would mean that I would be unable to participate in the activities I had previously loved due to my body size. I believed that if I gained weight, I would lose all of my endurance, motivation, and capability, and I would not look the part of someone active. Or, if you asked ED, I was too fat to do any type of activity. Throughout my venture, I told myself, "My body is not the problem, but the way in which I think of my body is the problem."

This reframing helped me work through my initial weight gain, but I don't think I allowed myself to be challenged enough with physical activity to see that it was the truth. I feared pushing myself in case I failed, but failed who?

Hiking Wave Cave, and watching all the people come from the top huffing and puffing and cursing, then looking at me saying, "This part sucks, but the top is worth it." I realized I wasn't alone. We were all struggling up this goddamn mountain to see this glorious sight because

IT WAS WORTH IT. For the rest of the hike, I allowed myself to stop when I needed a break without judgment.

I noticed the voice in my head telling me I shouldn't have to stop, and I kindly asked it to f*ck off and let me enjoy the view.

I was finally celebrating how my body felt. Because I felt GOOD.

When they said the view was worth the climb, they weren't kidding. I was out of breath, my heart was racing, I *almost* puked three times, and I couldn't stop smiling. Everyone at the top was out of breath! That was normal.

I sat and allowed myself to check in with my body and genuinely ask what it needed at that moment. It was the least I could do.

The body I had tried to literally destroy so many times before had just carried me up a mountain.

I had attempted to burn down my home all my life; it should not have been able to carry me, provide support, or protect me anymore. But here it was, still standing, and the foundation was stronger than ever.

After this hike, I climbed several more mountains and completed even more challenging hikes during my month in AZ. Each time my elevation sickness lessened, my stamina improved, I was faster, and I felt stronger. My body was never the problem. I could do everything in my 'new' body that I could do in my 'thin' body, if not more because I was finally truly healthy.

Not healthy by BMI standards, not by societal standards, but by actual health standards.

We climbed a mountain that day.

"It's really f*cking hard, but I promise the view is worth the climb."- Random, out-of-breath, Hiker.

I am so glad I did the work to get there.

- Taylor