Fresh Mountain Air

In a recent Facebook post, my co-worker, Brandon, expressed thoughts similar to mine when he said that he was looking forward to being able to stretch his legs a little. Korea's dragging winter has gotten to the best of us in Chungju, I fear. The weather of late has been abnormally warm for this particular season, however, with the mercury hovering at a balmy 45 in the sunny daytime. This last week brought with the warmth a hint of spring's soothing embrace, inspiring an extended outdoor stay and a hike to the top of nearby Namsan with Brandon.

As we began our outdoor trek, I felt every step the novice hiker that I am alongside Brandon's "pretty intense" outdoorsman skills. My thighs whined their protest only strides into the climb as we walked briskly along the stone-laid incline to the foot of the mountain. I mentioned in passing that the path leading to Namsan's base was steep in itself and he countered that the path to the top was all the more difficult. I watched him keep four to five paces in front of me even before the hike officially began. His long legs and agility only lengthened the distance between us as we climbed the mountainside. I tried in vain to carry on intelligent conversation with him, but before we reached the start of the trail I huffed that if at any time I didn't respond, "I'm only trying to breathe." This would be anything but a polite nature stroll. He paused in his walk long enough for me to reach him, but as soon as I did was bounding upward again. Thankfully, Namsan is a highly trafficked trail, complete with rest stops and steps at the end, for those of us Weak In Mountain Procedures.

Along the trail I breathlessly confessed to Brandon that I was an old woman and all he could reply as he lunged upward, nearly ten feet from me, was, "Well, I'm right behind you." Not only was my body crying out to me from a lack of excercise, I unwisely ate two pieces of Korean pizza less than an hour before we embarked and my stomach was cartwheeling its complaint. When I reached the bottom of the stairs and the last leg of the trail, I didn't want my slowness to be a hinderance. "If you want to go at a more challenging pace," I suggested without finishing the thought. "Well, see you at the top?" he asked. When I finally limped my way up the stairs, we sat together gazing at the picturesque expanse of Korea's visible mountain range. Even as I felt like I was holding him back, he kept reassuring me that it wasn't a problem for him. Still, when he said he was going hiking again this weekend, I didn't offer to go. I wanted him to challenge himself in ways that being with me would not really afford.

Traveling back down was much more enjoyable for me than hiking up. We were able to keep pace with each other and I was even able to finish my sentences during our discussion. Continuing a Korean tradition, we placed small rocks in the pillars erected by former hikers as a way to finish our journey. Seeing the piles of pebbles reminded me of the altars, the Ebenezer stones, built in the Old Testament as remembrances of God's faithfulness: Joshua, for example, commanded the twelve tribes of Israel to gather apparently-hefty stones from the River Jordan to create a memorial of their crossing, just as the LORD had instructed him (4:1-7). I added mine as one more reminder of His guidance.