On Deliberate Discomfort

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A few days ago I was hiking a mountain trail while in Vermont. Hiking in Vermont in the late summer is incredible. The view on top of a tall summit is sublime. I have a confession to make though, while I love the idea of hiking: surrounded by nature, the smell of pine, frolicking woodland creatures, soon after I begin hiking, reality sets in. What do I mean by reality? The discomfort of hiking: legions of flying insects, painful blisters forming on my feet, rivers of sweat and "Shit! That sounded like a bear!"In other words, the awe-inspiring beauty of nature I seek has a modest price (sometimes it is literally blood and sweat).

The main price I pay is my physical discomfort during the duration of my woodland sojourn. At the same time, this discomfort is self-imposed, I do not have to hike after all. I can always stay at home.Not too long ago, I started using hiking as more than just a form of walking meditation and exercise. Due to all the chaos I was experiencing at the time, I decided I wanted to work on building hardiness in my life.

I had allowed myself to stop seeking challenges, always on the lookout for the easy way out. Consequently, I avoided anything too difficult or anxiety provoking. This attitude was making me lazy and even worse when stressful events would happen, my psychological resilience capacity was almost nonexistent, any amount of stress would reduce me to a quivering ball of anxiety.

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Therefore, I resolved to start rebuilding my resilience capacity with various small daily activities (I will discuss more of these activities in detail in my upcoming book). This particular activity involved making my hikes even more uncomfortable. In fact, I planned to make the hike deliberately uncomfortable. When I hike, I always carry a day pack with simple supplies, such as food, water, first aid kit, knife, matches and a flashlight.

This time, I added something new to aid in my deliberate suffering: 25 pounds of metal chains I bought at a hardware store. Jokingly, I call them my chains of perdition, mainly because it reminds me of the redemption scene with Robert De Niro's repentant slave character from the movie The Mission. Luckily, my day pack was strong enough to carry those chains (and I was not atoning for any sins).

What made this activity truly painful was the fact that any time I wanted too, I could just drop those chains by the side of the trail and retrieve them whenever. After all, who is going to steal a bunch of thick heavy chains near a hiking trail? The pain was voluntary and I could make it stop anytime I wanted too. I started out hiking very easy trails with few steep inclines, it was rough but manageable.

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Over time, as I weathered the discomfort and increased my hardiness, I tackled more arduous trails. After a while, I could ignore the physical discomfort and forge ahead on any trail. I began to notice that during other uncomfortable activities in my life, when I was experiencing physical discomfort (and boredom), such as standing and driving for long periods of time, these activities no longer seemed all that intolerable. I had successfully applied what I learned with the chains of perdition to other aspects of my life, my hardiness had truly increased.

What have you done today to increase your hardiness? Start out small, take the stairs instead of the elevator, deny yourself that post-lunch latte, park as far from the building as possible and walk (even better if it is raining). The added bonus of this deliberate discomfort is that it tends to make you both emotionally and physically healthier.