The Slog

It is inevitable. The slog, that is. We can’t avoid it. It is part of every hike, every backpacking trip, every climb, and even every paddle. If we want to go on expeditions – if we want to experience all of the summits and sunsets – we must endure the slog.

One of our most memorable slogs happened months ago, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We wanted to complete the Presidential Traverse, which is a challenging twenty-some-mile hike that climbs up and down thirteen peaks. But the traverse is normally done as a point-to-point hike, and we only have one car. So we decided to do half the route – the most difficult and most beautiful half – and then turn around and come back, all in one day.

It was a challenging goal. 6,300 feet of elevation gain in sixteen miles. But when we set off in the morning, we were brimming with excitement and energy. Our only concern was a small hot spot on my pinky toe. I knew it would be a blister by the end of the day, but it wasn’t going to stop me. I padded it with blister foam and decided to forget about it.

The beginning of the trail was unrelenting and steep, rising for several miles through forest before emerging above the trees onto a steep boulder field. We hardly noticed the mileage as we climbed in the dark and then as we continued while the sun rose. We were making really good time. This was going to be easy!

After spending a beautiful day enjoying the views from several summits, it was time to turn around and head back – back over each mountain and back down the steep trail through the woods. And it wasn’t until we were coming down the last peak, as we were heading down the boulder field, that I realized we had a problem. My pinky toe, which had been steadily growing more painful throughout the day, was now becoming something I could not ignore. But of course we had to get down. So I gritted my teeth and kept going.

A boulder field

By the time we reached the trees I was in agony. My pinky toe became my life, and my life became my pinky toe. Every step became a trial.

We were moving so slowly that soon it was dark. We all put on our headlamps, but that didn’t last long. One by one, they ran out of charge, until the seven of us were sharing two dim lights. Every few steps my toe would bump a root or a rock that I could not see, and I would cry out in excruciating pain.

The worst part was that the trail, which had seemed so short and easy on the way up, now stretched endlessly before us. Because it was dark, we had no reference to track our progress. We just kept thinking, Almost there. The trailhead MUST be right up here. It can’t be much longer! But it was longer. Much, much longer.

We trudged on quietly, numbly. There was nothing else to do but keep going.

We eventually made it to the trailhead, where I collapsed on the ground. Paul got the van and picked me up and we all went out for ice cream. And although it took a while, my toe did heal.

That was the end of that slog, but there have been many more. Once we thought we could outsmart the slog. It was the last day of one of our backpacking trips in the Wind Rivers. We had had a great time. But we knew it was more than thirteen miles to get back to the car. And we didn’t want to do it.

We didn’t want to do it so we decided to rush it. We ran. With our huge packs strapped tightly to our backs, we ran those thirteen miles. We ran and ran and ran – down the switchbacks that crisscrossed the side of the mountain, through the dust clouds that our boots made as our feet pounded the trail, over the rocks and streams that interrupted the route. We ran until we couldn’t run anymore and then we ran farther. We made it back to the car in four-and-a-half hours.

From that we learned that you cannot rush the slog. It will still be a slog. It will still be long, and hard, and boring. Only you will be much sorer the next day . . .

No, we can’t avoid slogs and we can’t make them go faster.

We reach a summit or some other goal, and then we have to come back down. And coming down is not exciting or fun. There is nothing to look forward to. There are always aches and pains. It is usually a boring walk through trees that we have already seen. We feel impatient to get it over with. We feel like we can’t keep going. No matter what we try to do to make it better, it still feels the same: sloggish.

There is nothing to do during a slog but keep going. Just do the next step. Then the next. Then the next. Eventually, we always make it out of the slog, but only if we keep going.

As bad as these slogs are, I think that a “spiritual slog” is much worse. I come down from a splendid summit, so to speak. God gives me victory over sin, or answers my prayer, or gives me new understanding of His Word. He feels close, and His promises feel true. Or maybe it is that I am coming up from a deep valley. God gives me comfort, and maybe even shows me how He is using the trial for His glory. Again, I feel like He is there beside me, helping me through.

But then out of nowhere the slog hits. Boring, level ground. I have done these tasks before. Read these chapters before. Prayed this prayer before. And it feels like God is far away. There is nothing exciting, nothing new. Nothing amazing to do.

During these times I feel the same as I do when I am hiking through endless spruce trees back to the trailhead. And I must respond the same way I do on those hikes. Take the next step. And the next. And the next. Keep going. Read my Bible today. And tomorrow. And the day after that. Keep praying. Keep trusting. Keep faithfully doing the tasks I know I must do day in and day out.

Eventually there will be more mountains and valleys. There will definitely be more slogs. Either way, I must keep going to the end. It will be worth it! (1 Corinthians 15:58).

It will be worth it!

Photos by Jenny Venturo

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