Love, from the Bottom of a Backpack {Love Story}
Written by Lisa Mullis of Frenetic Fitness

Several years ago I was in the puppy lust stage of a new dating relationship with a man who was “outdoorsy”. His closets held things like 4 season tents, down sleeping bags that compressed into sacs barely larger than my head, multiple backpacks, titanium cooking utensils and Gore-Tex hiking boots. My closets were full of slingbacks, pumps, ballet flats, clutches, totes, satchels, my Mikasa china and a down comforter that would need its own U-Haul when I moved. He owned a road bike and a mountain bike and could read topographical maps and UTM coordinates. I hadn’t been on a bike since I was in elementary school and didn’t know what a topographical map was, much less UTM coordinates. He took semi-annual weeklong backpacking trips out West with his college friends. I took trips to the mall. I was more familiar with line dancing than zip lines. I could work out one of those bras that had 7 configurations but couldn’t figure out how to strap on a backpack without help. Sleeping under the stars? Yes, but only if there was a giant skylight in my bedroom. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise that as the relationship progressed, he would need to find out if I was going to fit in with that part of his life. He arranged a test: a weekend backpacking trip to North Sylamore Creek near the town of Fifty-Six in the north central part of the state.

How was I, a person who had moved to Arkansas as a child and had spent all her formative years here so unfamiliar with the outdoors, he wondered? Because my parents were not outdoor people, that’s why. My dad was a Vietnam Vet who had done his share of bivouacking and told us from the time we were little that camping was out of the question. That was not an experience he would repeat without being paid to do so. I did go to church camps a few times as a girl, and did not enjoy it. But I liked this guy and while he was more certain about our relationship than I was at this point, I thought I should at least try to see what he found so appealing about this camping thing. So with my hiking boots of questionable quality, a borrowed backpack full of borrowed gear and one new nylon shirt purchased that morning because I had packed cotton, not realizing that was a big no-no, we set out for our first joint backwoods experience.

Within an hour of starting off down a well worn trail, I realized he was leading me farther and farther away from the familiar rut. Soon we were “bushwhacking” in the wilderness. Was he trying to see if I’d freak out? Perhaps he expected me to complain about the rough terrain or the weight of my pack. I was passing the test with flying colors, we were 3 hours into the hike and I was still having a great time, a much better time than I had expected. Soon it was time to get back on the trail so we could start looking for an overnight campsite, but the best place to get back to it would involve climbing a tree up to a ledge above us. Yes, climbing a tree. Was this part of the test? If it was, I figured my grade was about to drop. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to climb a tree. Somehow I managed with less effort than I thought it would take and we journeyed on down the trail, sometimes chatting away about the things people chat about when all their stories are still fresh and haven’t been heard a hundred times over by their partners and sometimes walking in silence with little but the sound of wind in the trees and boots on the ground. After what seemed like days, but was in reality only a few hours, we found a primitive campsite close to a water source. Did I mention he expected me to filter my own drinking water too? I was exhausted. So I was quite happy to let him set up the tent, unload all the gear, start a fire and make me dinner. And then he did something a little unexpected. He pulled out chocolate pudding cups and a little bottle of Grand Marnier for dessert. On our very first date, he ordered Grand Marnier so we could continue to occupy our restaurant table until closing. It was a nice touch, a reminder of romance and that special feeling you get when you connect with someone, and I hadn’t envisioned it happening in the backwoods of Arkansas, pulled from the bottom of a backpack. A girl could get used to this.

I have had plenty of time to get used to it because I fell in love with backpacking on that trip and finally admitted to him what he had suspected for weeks, that I loved him too. Now I have my own backpack and much better boots and we spend as much time out in the woods and on the trails as we can manage. I learned to love it so much that I agreed to go backpacking for a portion of our honeymoon. Okay so it was backpacking in Peru but it was still backpacking. We still hike and backpack, sometimes just the two of us but more often it’s a family affair because we know that as much as we love each other and the beauty of Arkansas, we need to help our kids find their own love for it so it will be treasured and preserved for their kids to love.

I’m a Wife and Mom. I’m a microbiologist. I’m a mountain biker, hiker, backpacker, sometime runner, and workout enthusiast all while being addicted to good food. I write about it at http://freneticfitness.wordpress.com. I also write for www.ArkansasOutside.com about other people who love to play outside too. I’m fueled by pizza, red meat and goat cheese risotto. And sometimes I sleep.