The Paradox of Outdoor Obsession
Ask anyone who spends any time in the outdoors why they do and you’ll likely receive a response along the lines of,
“It gives me space to just be.”
“It’s so peaceful.”
“Fresh air is good for my mental health.”
“It makes me a better person.”
Deep down, these are the reasons why we do what we do. We are drawn to the outdoors for the inner growth hidden within the outer challenge.
Right?
I’m sure I’ve flouted one — if not all — of those feel-good tweets as a means to ascribe purpose to my own personal hobby of running (often outside, often on trails, often in the mountains, often without cell service). But, if I’m being honest, is that really why I do what I do?
Let’s start from the beginning. We all have our own reasons for getting into mountain sports. Some of us simply want to decelerate the rate at which we end up looking like the potato on our kitchen counter. Some of us want something better to talk about at the bar than the gender equality episode of The Office. Some of us get peer pressured into it by friends, move to a new place, watch a YouTube video, want to impress a girl or guy… we all have our reasons.
So we buy a pair of shoes (boots, skis, whatever…) at an REI garage sale, head out to a local trailhead, run the family loop, and then proceed to stuff our face with pizza because that’s how fitness works. The humblest of humble beginnings.
But a few weeks go by, then months. The family loop becomes the 5k loop, you go on your first backcountry ski tour, lead your first climb, bag a peak. And before you know it, there’s a mountain emoji in your Instagram bio! Congrats, just think of what your family back in Iowa must say about you now, “He’s so adventurous!”
And then you live there for awhile. You hone your technique, get some reps, build a little crew, maybe go on a trip or two. This is the sweet spot. Every day is a new day, with just enough innocence to still love the sucky stuff, but just enough knowledge to not get killed.
But there’s always a bigger mountain.
Soon, it’s a new pair of shoes. A backpack. Your own rope. A lighter touring setup. A plane ticket to do that line from that movie you saw at Banff Film Tour.
And the maps. Oh, the maps. They pile up at your bedside. They peek out of every backseat pocket and door panel in your Subaru Forester. You consider bringing them to dinner with your friends because there’s so much mountain to study and so little time!
You start to scheme a line and it haunts your dreams. You read books, talk to old dudes to get ancient beta, and take up second residence at your local mountaineering shop. Pretty soon, you have absolutely nothing to talk about with anyone other than your climbing buddies. You’ve abandoned all other knowledge on topics including, but not limited to: American ball sports, family, politics, religion, social ethics, and how to cook food without a Jetboil. All that matters is the next day in the mountains, the next dream line, the next gear buy.
You become anxious when you skip a day. It consumes a vast majority of your budget. It fills up your search history…
Hold on a minute. In any other area of life, the person I’m describing should find their nearest 12-step group. But when it comes to the outdoors, we call it ‘mental health.’ Houston, we have a problem.
Here’s the reality: we wouldn’t need to go into the mountains for our ‘mental health’ if we hadn’t surrendered our sanity to those same mountains in the first place. We’ve worked ourselves up into a frothy frenzy, an addiction, an obsession, in the name of becoming a better, more well-rounded, whole person.
We’ve pulled a reverse Jesus: we’ve turned wine into water; something we wanted into something we needed. And in doing so, convinced ourselves that we aren’t alcoholics, but actually just well hydrated. Quite the miracle if you’re asking me.
So what do we say then? When somebody asks us, “Why do you spend so much time in the mountains?” I have a suggestion: tell them the truth.
Instead of leveling at them the breathy platitudes of many a ski film narrator, maybe just say, “Because it’s fun.”
If we’re honest with them, we’ll be able to be honest with ourselves, and remember that the mountains are our friends in this life, not life itself.
