I used to climb mountains in my spare time.
My best friend Lizzy and I would load our dogs, Bruce (hers) and Mr. Darcy (mine), into her Forerunner. Driving into the middle of the forest we’d scour sides of the highway, looking for mile markers, for any indication to confirm we’d finally arrived.
We’d lather ourselves in sunscreen, in case there came a break in between the gargantuan Douglas fir covering, and then we’d set off. At first we kept the dogs on leash—after all it was what we were supposed to do in the middle of the woods—but soon the packs we carried on our backs would begin to wedge into our sides, and between pulling dogs and wedging packs, we’d look at each other and nod. It was time to let the dogs free.
Soon, our canine bosom buddies would be chasing each other up and down trails and ravines and creeks. As for me, I’d be free of one entanglement for a few more minutes—until my skin grew raw and my breathing turned heavy and my legs felt like clod-hopping dead weights somehow still attached to the upper half of my body.
And we weren’t even a quarter of the way into the day’s hike at that point.
That’s when it would happen: I wouldn’t know how I could go on. Letting my imagination wander (as it inevitably always does), I’d wonder how whether or not I’d even get out of the forest alive. I’d thank the Good Lord Above for this time I did have on the earth, for this adventure I did get to journey on in the middle of creation.
“Woe is me!” I’d lament dramatically between labored breaths, to anyone—namely Lizzy, the only one there—who’d listen
She’d laugh, and then she’d do and said what she always did and said:
“Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Just keep moving forward.”
I’d love for you to continue reading the rest of the post, for you KNOW there’s more. Click here and head over to She Loves Magazine for how Lizzy’s advice don’t just apply to the top of a mountain. Otherwise, when have you needed to just keep putting one foot in front of the other?