When my mate Ryan popped a post on IG saying, "6 Foot Track 15-17th Feb who's in?" I jumped at it (even though it was only 3 weeks away). I figured a few days hiking in nature would be the perfect opportunity to drop in to my body, get off my phone, connect with some Soul buddies, have hearty conversations, do some writing/reading/meditating, challenge myself a little, and return to some resemblance of inner peace and mental clarity.

What I didn't expect was to vomit on the first night, not sleep a wink, seriously struggle to maintain my electrolytes the entire time, battle with pressure headaches, and be so with IN my body that I could barely speak. I couldn't engage, write, meditate or read as I hoped, and I had little to say. I felt so fucking sick I used what little energy I had to focus on the simplest of two things:

Breathe in - breathe out (always through my nose) and put one foot in front of the other.

At the start we rested on a rocky outcrop to pay our respects to the traditional custodians of the sacred land between Jenolan Caves and Katoomba. We were about to hike that land, all 49km of it. We honoured the beauty of the land and requested a safe and wholesome journey. We called on our spirit guides and ancestors and each set an intention for our three days together. Ryan went first, then Tyrone, then Luke. And mine went a little like this:

"My intention is to get back into my body and connect with my physical form again, because I've been really distracted and in my head a lot, and I really want to use this landscape as inspiration to write my book this year".

Turns out, intention setting without hard core clarity leaves so much room for interpretation.
I got exactly what I asked for. Just not the way I wanted.

Within 5 minutes of walking up that bitch-ass-mother-froggin' hill carrying a 20kg pack (with not enough food, it turns out), I felt this icky feeling in my gut. I told Ryan, "I have exactly the same feeling in my gut as I did after sitting in ceremony with Ayahuasca. I reckon I'll cry today".

I knew this feeling in my gut. It was an energetic unravelling of something that was soon to be released from my physical/energetic/emotional/spiritual Being. For 12 months proceeding sitting in ceremony in the winter of 2021, I had this feeling over and over again, and every time it released, I would cry my face off. Lifetimes of unprocessed grief left me through this process countless times.

By the time we got to camp on the first afternoon, I went downhill over 4 long hours. Minute by minute I could feel myself getting worse, a tension headache locked around the back of my head and I folded myself over my lap watching this hellish feeling of sickness take over my body. We were 10km in and had over 35 km to go. I did EFT (tapping) on myself to see if I could shift it, or understand it. Within a few minutes of tapping on my head that feeling moved up from my gut so fast I had to run from the camp sight and spewed so forcefully I hurt my throat. Twice.

I couldn't eat (which terrified me because I needed fuel for Day two’s 20 km hike) and I landed on the grass in the foetal position, resting, suffering. I mustered enough energy to put up my tent, eat an apple, sit in front of the fire, receive an energy healing from Tyrone, and listen to the boys’ banter.

I wondered how the heck I was going to get through the night, and the next day.

I lay awake in a meditative state until around 4am listening to the subtle information in my body shifting through the night. It felt just like when I had covid. ‘Is the energy of that asshole still working its magic?’ I wondered. I had a couple of litres of hydralite (which saved my ass for the next 48 hours) and by morning I was legitimately scared of what lie ahead. I was feeling a little better, but not my best. I could feel a dense vibration in every single cell in my body. And it was a struggle to stay upright.

I realised as we left for our second day of hiking, that I got exactly what I asked for:

‘…get back into my body and connect with my physical form again’.

There was no way of alleviating the suffering that was unfolding in that reality for me. There was one way out and that was to tackle the day ahead. We were out of range. And we needed to hold our own - the boys’ packs were heavy too, and they were tired. And so I fell into the practice that I constantly preach and kept asking myself, ‘How present can I be to this unfolding?’

It was futile to think 10km ahead.
It was futile to worry about how, what, when, or where.
It was futile to think that anyone or anything could save me (except Arcie, who we met on night two, who dosed me up with magnesium and melatonin to help, the legend).
It was futile to think about the tighness in my calves.
It was futile to complain about the heat.
It was futile to whinge about how I was feeling, because the boys were hurting too.
It was futile to think at all.

So I did what I know best when things are hard. I focused solely on the breath coming in and out of my nose and I reminded myself that the only place I needed to be was in the experience in my body (even though it was distasteful). I stayed present to each step. Literally one step at a time. The ultimate cliché.

Anytime I was convinced it would feel better to breathe through my mouth, I remembered the science – mouth breathing REDUCES oxygen input by 30%. My muscles needed all the fuel they could get so I slowed the pace and locked into nose breathing over and over again.

And then, in all the ways I wanted to complain, I replaced it with gratitude. I was consciously grateful for:

The ability to breathe so powerfully and freely through my nose (after 10 months of constriction after covid got me last year).
The fact that I can hike in the middle of nowhere when Mackenzie and many others can’t.
A body that was unprepared, sick and flailing, but still capable of moving forward (and keep up with the boys).
Three men to pick my bag and throw it on my back up when I was too weak to do it myself.
Hydralite. Holy guacamoly hydralite saved my ass.
The support I have for Mackenzie from my parents and support workers so I can do what I want.
Fresh water swimming holes. They are heaven on earth.
A body that adapts, heals, recovers and returns to balance even when it’s smashed.

When it was hard, I locked my mind into the practice of breath awareness and gratitude and step by step, we got there. Painfully, through the blazing summer sun, pounding the body on gravel roads, dodging black snakes, and smashing back dried mango and hydralite, we got there.

And as hellish as it felt in body, I learnt and appreciated a lot. That’s the thing about momentary suffering. There is plenty to see, to learn, to dive into:

Wild blackberries are the bomb
Fresh water, no matter how shallow, should always be swum in. The colder the better
Even when your fear comes true and you’re the weakest link, you’re still a valuable member of the community
Conscious men are awesome. I want one
You can only fully appreciate the good when you’ve struggled to get there
It’s the journey, not the destination (it’s so cliché, I know, but it’s bloody true)
Humour matters, especially when it sucks. Stay funny
Suffering becomes hilarious when it’s gone on for too long. I was on my hands and feet bear crawling up those fucking stairs at the end. But I was laughing
Who you spend time with matters. The people around you will either lift you up and bring you along, or drag you down. Choose wisely
Everyone has the capacity to be a leader and it’s important to give everyone a go
The body is so capable of doing difficult things. Even when the mind is screaming, it CAN keep going
Being physically sick is one sure way to be deeply embodied
When the track says ‘Hard’, it’s not joking
Squatting to pee on the earth feels way more natural than sitting on a toilet
It doesn’t matter if you’re on your hands and knees, just keep moving
Mini goals matter. A 10-minute timer up the last leg gave us the motivation we needed make it to the top
Resting is so damn important. It doesn’t matter if it’s a hike, a working week, or your life, take rest breaks. All the time. They help to regather, refuel, contemplate, check in. All these things help along the way
Our differences are beautiful. Surround yourself with people from all walks of life. It makes for way more interesting conversations
Listening is a skill and when you’re too sick to talk, you receive so much wisdom from the truths of others. Shut up, listen in. It’s not all about you and you never know what you’re going to take away from a brief or long interaction
Intentions work – just make sure you’re really clear on how you want to feel when you get what you asked for

On the last leg of day three I was crawling up the stairs on my hands and feet and I heard these words, “This is what it’s going to be like writing your book. At times, you’re going to be crawling up hill feeling like you can’t go any further, and yet, you will. And you will finish it. You just have to keep going”.

And that was it. That’s when I started laughing. Because I got exactly what I asked for. Just not in the way I wanted.

"My intention is to get back into my body and connect with my physical form again, because I've been really distracted and in my head a lot, and I really want to use this landscape as inspiration to write my book this year".

Sickness slam dunked me into my body, and 49km of physical struggle landed me with the wisdom that writing my book is going to be hard, but I’ll finish it.

Would I do it again? If you really wanted to, I’d go. But if I never did it again, I wouldn’t be mad about it.

To Ryan, Tyrone and Luke - the legends. The world is a better place because you’re in it. I’m grateful for your companionship and fierce leadership and joy. You’re all awesome. x

LESSONS FROM THE 6FT TRACK