Pressing and Burning

"Everyone loves backpacking!"

(Giving into altitude sickness, Avalanche Meadows, Kings Canyon National Park)

In my high school yearbook, in the sports section, there is a photograph of several cross-country runners finishing a race. It is the boy's varsity division. The runners are all grimacing and showing their bottom teeth, and their arms are all flying herky-jerky like rickety windmills. Their running shirts are covered with sweat and spit and mud. The caption under the photo simply states, "Everyone loves to run."

I recall the words of my high school cross-country coach. Before each race he would tell us, "I want you to press and burn." I remember the first time he said those words. I was standing at the starting line of my first race as a freshman. "Huh?" I remember thinking, "What the hell does press and burn mean?" The starting gun went off, and I stood motionlessly pondering his words. "Run, you idiot, run!" my coach yelled, and I snapped out of my reverie. I ran and soon found myself covered with sweat and spit and mud. I pressed, and I burned. I burned a lot. It was fun, sort of. I understood the words of my wise coach.

I embraced those words before each race. And now I embrace them when I backpack. For it seems that only by pressing and burning can you make the pass, or summit, or step into the freezing lake. And the view is the reward.