Chop the Squawking Chicken's Head Off

I used to be a chicken. Especially when I was a kid. The truth is that things still scare me, especially if they require the qualities of physical prowess, grand coordination, or sporty skillfulness.

On Friday, our Student Ministries team went up Grouse Mountain on the gondola for a team lunch. This is a picture that my friend Jenni took when I wasn't looking (obviously).


Jenni called this picture "contemplative Bobbi." It's true. I was contemplating another way of getting up the mountain: the Grouse Grind. I was thinking about how much this rigorous/2.9km-straight-up/853-meter-gain hike scared me.

I have had a few people this summer tell me that I should do the Grind. I mostly dismissed this urging because I don't really trust my body to accomplish such feats. I trust my soul to move towards beauty and truth. I trust my mind to think the best of people and to keep learning. I trust my emotions to sort themselves out and to guide me in fully living. But trust my body to climb up a mountain? I'm too chicken.

As I left the mountain later on Friday, I subdued the squawking chicken in me and decided to do the Grind sooner than later. THANKFULLY, my kind roommate told me she would do it with me . . . the very next day. I find this helps with moments of squawking chicken - the sooner one chops its head off the better. Just kill the chicken and see how things go.

Yesterday Angie and I did the Grouse Grind and not only did I make it up, I did better than I thought I would. I was well in the range of the average climbers' time (just over an hour and a half), and I am not cursing my body for being stiff and sore today.