A Mountain, a Mindset, and Me

Blog author, Lauren Glenn Manfuso, on the DeCaLiBron loop in Colorado, crossing from Mount Bross to Mount Lincoln, elevation ~14,000

When Sportrock announced its first alpine mountaineering trip—a three-day expedition up Mount Baker in Washington State—it took me two deep breaths and a quick look at my credit card balance to decide that I was in.

Full disclosure: I’m a Sportrock employee. So, when the trip sold out soon afterwards, curiosity got the better of me: I had to snoop and see who else had registered.

I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t recognize a single name. What did surprise me, however, was that out of 14 spots, I was one of only two women (though, ultimately, another spot opened up, allowing my dear friend Whitney to become Chick No.3). My first thought: Really? Doesn’t everyone dream about standing on top of the world?

But it was my second thought that I couldn’t shake: In a group made up largely of men—most younger or more experienced or both—how in the world can a 44-year-old mom with arthritis avoid being the lowest common denominator?

"I’ve always believed that, deep down, everyone wants to strap on crampons and chase after summits (even people who won’t admit it). Signing up for Sportrock Climbing Guides’ first alpine mountaineering adventure is teaching me about the difference between wanting to do something and wanting to be someone who can." 

But First: This Isn’t a Blog About Who Belongs on the Mountain

Before I proceed, I need to give massive credit to Sportrock and its commitment to inclusivity. Sportrock Climbing Guides, the company’s outdoor guiding program, is run by Sean Taft-Morales, who’s not only a highly respected fixture of the climbing community, but also fiercely dedicated to creating spaces for any and everyone outdoors. Likewise, I have 100-percent confidence that everyone on this trip—guys included—will treat me as an equal.

That said, let’s be honest: If a 25-year-old guy comes up short on the hill, he’s unlikely to think, “Oh man. Now everyone is going to think that men in their 20s can’t cut it.” But as a mom in her 40s, it’s impossible not to wonder, “If I fail, will I become one more bullet point in someone’s argument that women are less capable? Even worse, will I become one more reason that another woman doesn’t try?” 

Now, I’m sure at least a few people reading this are thinking: “Oh boy, here we go. What does being a woman have to do with training for a mountain?”

On paper, absolutely nothing. The physical training for mountaineering isn’t inherently different for women and men. Rest easy, m’dudes. This is not a blog about whether one demographic is more or less capable outdoors. 

It’s about the limitations that we put on ourselves.

It’s About Deciding for Yourself Where You Belong—and What You’ll Do to Get There.

Ask anyone who’s ever watched Legally Blond, and they’ll tell you: Our biggest critics and rivals as women aren’t always men. They’re us. They’re the voices in our own heads telling us that we aren’t ready, that we can’t possibly hold our own, that we’re going to embarrass ourselves trying, and that even if we do succeed, we’ll have to try twice as hard. 

Spend enough time in that mindset, and you can talk yourself out of pretty much anything—especially something so physically and mentally demanding as mountaineering. Of course, that voice isn’t even exclusively female. It’s just human. After all, I’m sure I’m not the only person preparing for this trip and wondering if they’re in over their head.

Lauren and Whitney, putting in weighted mileage on the Stairmasters at Sportrock Alexandria, in preparation.

Since signing up, I’ve asked myself that question multiple times. The conclusion I’ve come to is this: The only person who can decide where I belong is me. And so, in preparing for Mount Baker, I realized my training needs weren’t just physical. I had mental work to do. I needed to convince myself that I belonged.   

Here’s How I’m Coping With High-Altitude Cerebral Imposter Syndrome

If you want to get super-semantical about it, no one really belongs on a mountaintop, at least not past a certain altitude. Humans haven’t evolved to survive in places without reliable shelter, water access, food sources, and suitable oxygen levels. 

For adrenaline-fueled and adventure-loving climbers, however, that’s all the more reason to get after it. Still, I’m not a gambler. And so the question becomes: How can I improve my mindset and, as a result, my odds? Here’s what I’ve come up with.

1. I’m Indulging in Brutal Self-Assessment.

It’s said that the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one. As it turns out, I have lots. 

For starters, my endurance needs improvement. And sometimes I mistake discomfort for pain. There’s a frequent misalignment between my ambitions and my abilities. I also have a goldfish brain: One trip around the bowl, and I’ve forgotten pretty much everything I learned between points A and B. Oh, and I can be critical of myself to a degree that makes people uncomfortable.

I could go on for pages. And maybe one day I will, if (or when) I set my sights on a bigger, badder glaciated peak and need to narrow my margin of error. But for now, this is all the critical introspection my self-esteem can handle.

2. Then, I’m Bridging the Gap through Preparation (Mental and Physical).

Here’s the thing about brutal self-assessment: It quickly becomes self-fulfilling prophecy unless you look for solutions. Sure, admitting that my endurance needs work is a solid start. But it’s not the first step that takes you to the finish line—it’s the thousands of steps that come after.  

And dear god there’ve been a lot of steps. I’ve taken thousands (upon thousands) of them on the Stairmaster, often with 30-plus pounds of weight on my back. (Which, by the way, sucks exactly as much as you’d imagine.) I’ve taken almost as many steps just trekking around my neighborhood in mountaineering boots (which, FYI, don’t pair well with suburban sidewalks). And I took 100,000 in a single weekend, completing a 32-mile backpacking loop with 5,000 feet of elevation gain alongside a couple of girlfriends. (That one was brutal, but it ended at a brewery, and there were fries.) 

I’m also learning everything I can about the equipment and gear needed to complete the trip safely and successfully. Sportrock graciously held a demo with Scarpa, allowing participants to get a feel for mountaineering boots. They also held a gear clinic to help us learn about the equipment needed for the climb, allowing us to get our hands on tools and gear that most East Coasters have zero reason to see in real life. I’m now the proud owner of crampons and an ice axe, possibly making me the first Alabama-born woman who can say that. (I’m mostly joking. Mostly.) 

3. I’m Also Preparing for a Showdown Between My Inner Wimp and My Inner (Ahem) Winner

It doesn’t matter how vividly I imagine myself barreling up the mountain with the stamina of Reinhold Messner and the fearlessness of Alex Honnold. Ultimately, the winner in me always faces off against my inner wimp—and the competition is often uncomfortably close. 

Over time, I’ve realized that the key is not drowning out my inner wimp with my inner cheerleader. That just lets my inner wimp sneak past all the commotion. Instead, I have to listen for signs that my inner wimp is approaching—and then barricade the door. (For me, that usually involves snacks, sneaking a rest by pretending to tie my shoelaces, and avoiding anyone who says it’s okay not to finish.) 

4. Finally, I’m Controlling What I Can and Accepting What I Can’t.

Adventure is an investment, which makes it hard not to worry about everything that could go wrong. What if the weather doesn’t cooperate? What if I get some weird respiratory illness on the flight from Washington D.C. to Washington state? What if we have the hottest summer in history and the entire glacier melts away before we get there?

I can’t control any of those things—and every moment spent dwelling on them is time I could spend preparing for the factors I can. 

I can’t guarantee I won’t get sick, but I can do the physical work necessary to increase my odds of summiting. I can’t control glacier conditions, but I can acquire and learn about the gear needed to cross it. And I can’t control the weather, but I can take advantage of every opportunity available to prepare for the ascent and increase my possibility for success. 

Ultimately, That’s What This Is About: Raising the Bar for What’s Possible, if Only to Myself 

Engaging in intensive self-criticism, pushing yourself physically, and accepting what you can’t control aren’t particularly fun. Honestly, mountaineering itself is often, at best, Type 2 fun (i.e., miserable in the moment, but enjoyable to reflect on later). I assume Mount Baker will, more or less, be the same. 

All in hopes of proving to that voice in my head that not only is trying worth it, trying might actually be the point and the most important part of the experience. 

As I’m writing this, the trip is barely more than a month away. I have no idea if I’m ready. 

What I do know is this: I still believe that, deep down, everyone wants to stand on top of the world. 

More importantly, though, I want to be someone who can. And maybe, just maybe, being someone who’s willing to do the work is the same thing. I’ll let you know.