Keep Calm and Grit On by Althea Lasseter

“Does anyone have any other ideas for our fourth value as a group?,” asked my instructor, Sam, during our group living agreement at Wood Lake in Montana. I thought of suggesting a value that I’ve used in past agreements, but didn’t know if it would apply to our group setting. I decided to share it anyway. “I’d like to suggest the word grit, meaning the physical and mental state we can try to embody in these next six weeks,” I suggest, with multiple snaps fronm my classmates in responsive approval. Soon enough, I was writing in sharpie, “embody grit” on our group flag made of a trash bag and decorated with drawings of rats and flowers.

To me, grit means a lot of things. During my ultimate frisbee season at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, my team had a similar conversation about expectations and goals for our season. The decision process was much similar to the one that WRFI introduced to me. When I endure something with high demand both physically and mentally, my inner mantra points me towards grit. During my freshman year of college, I had a frisbee coach that introduced me to grit in conjunction with our desires to make it to nationals, and since then, I have relied on this word and feeling to get me through my rigorous frisbee seasons. I believe that grit is the definition of a mental and physical challenge, where instead of shying away from difficulties, I end up embracing it and accepting the possibility of failure and success with unknown obstacles ahead. In a frisbee game, I exude grit through drawn out points, 40 mph crosswinds, ankle injuries, or even when my team has been defeated. I use grit to keep going even if the trail isn’t in sight and show up physically if I’m not mentally capable, or vice versa. When I signed up for Conservation Across Boundaries, I knew the path would be strenuous. I was hesitant about backpacking for stretches, as physical rigor can be mentally tough on anyone, but to maintain a level head throughout it is crucial.

It had been a week into our first backpacking trip in the Bob Marshall Wilderness when it was my turn to be LOD (Leader of the Day). The night before, I was running through the next day and mentally mapping out our trail. I found myself becoming more anxious as I thought about it, as I don’t necessarily insert myself in leadership positions. As an LOD, I’m in charge of boiling water before everyone wakes up for breakfast, ensuring timeliness through the group, helping navigate our route with topographic maps, and finally, setting the pace for the day. What made me the most anxious though, was the unknown possibilities for our next day of backpacking, and that can be terrifying.

Luckily, I got up in time to have boiled water ready for everyone at 7:30am. As a group, we had breakfast packed up and began our trek to our destination somewhere between 6 and 7 miles, to ‘Pretty Prairie,’ as marked on the map. The first couple miles were smooth with WAMs (wonder and appreciation moments) left and right, and a breathtaking view of snow-covered peaks across a luscious green valley speckled with wildflowers, for lunch. Once I finished my rationed out meal consisting of Parmesan cheese and Triscuits, with half a bar of dark chocolate, I rounded up the group to begin hiking again. We hit our trail, covered with deadfall of burnt trees from a fire we had learned about that happened years ago. It didn’t take long to realize that a majority of the remaining hike would be scrambling over thousands of trees to only somewhat know where the original trail was. I could feel the apprehension coming from my group. As we climbed each hill, hoping to see Pretty Prairie in the distance, the view of endless fallen trees matched our discouraged and fallen faces. However, as LOD, part of my job was to keep people in high spirits. I found myself hyping up my groupmates and offering snacks and water, similarly to how I would engage with my teammates at halftime. My LOD duties began to flow naturally from a field I was familiar with, grit. After scaling hill after hill only to see deadfall, the only thing that was running through my head was“ I’ve done it before and I can do it again.” It was no longer a question whether we were going to make it to Pretty Prairie or not. My feet ached, my hands stung, and my mouth was dry from the mountain air, but I knew I wasn’t stopping until I saw that prairie.

Once we finally exited the dead fall zone, a.k.a. my nightmare, we were faced with one final test. A tree had fallen down across an unstable rock trail on the side of a cliff, sloping down to the prairie. It was too risky to go around the tree near the edge of the cliff, so our only option was to remove our packs and pass them under the tree to the other side of the trail. From there, we would have to shimmy our way under. For some this could have been the breaking point. Why would anyone want to put their pack back on after spending 8 hours navigating deadfall on a 3 mile stretch? As much as I could’ve told my group I was done with leading for the day, I instead noticed our success from the entire day thus far, and knowing that Pretty Prairie was a mile away, I took my pack off, shoved it to the other side of the trail, climbed under the log, and held my hands out to receive my group members’ bags. The release of my pack’s weight was a feeling that I can’t even describe. Weight had literally been lifted off my shoulders, and by the looks of it, my groupmates felt the same. At this moment, thoughts were running through my head, stating, “is it over yet?“ or “is the end ever going to be in sight?“ Instead of giving myself to these thoughts, I continued to help my group, whether that was a hand or passing their bag down to the next person. My mindset had switched, there was no other option but to make it to Pretty Prairie.

The rest of the hike flew by. Once we arrived at the prairie campsite, it was then that I let myself collapse into my feelings. The end had come, and what seemed endless, was now completed. We had done it.

Before this summer, I was skeptical of my ability to embody grit outside of my frisbee team’s context. It comes easy to work towards such a concrete goal of winning a game, and when it came to other challenges in my life, I was uncertain of the application of my grittiness. I know I am gritty when I can feel my physical and mental strains met in the middle to not give up despite tough circumstances, but feel joy and gratefulness that I get to push myself as far as I can. This feeling is not only reserved for my sport, but can extend beyond frisbee and into parts of my life that require grit. Being LOD on that day was a privilege, as I was able to see not only my own grit, but my entire group embracing our agreed value.