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HOW BARRE3 HELPED ME TRAIN FOR AN INCREDIBLE ADVENTURE
In May, Willie McBride, co-owner of Wy’esast Wolfpack, shared how barre3 was helping him train for a major physical feat: summiting two mountains in one day. On June 16th, he woke before the sun and put all that training to the test, climbing first Mt. Hood and then Mt. Adams. Below, read his essay about how his adventure went, and (spoiler alert) how barre3 played a role in his success.
The Native Americans of this area told a story about two brothers, Wy’east and Klickitat. They fought over the land, so the Great Spirit angrily cast them apart—Klickitat to the north, Wy’east to the south—and placed a great river between them. The terrible fight between the brothers deepened when they both fell for the beautiful Loowit (Mount St. Helens) and further clashed in competition for her love. This juvenile display so enraged the Great Spirit that the brothers were banished forever to their respective sides, sky-scraping mountains marking where they lay.
SUMMITING MT. HOOD—BUT FIRST, COFFEE
On Sunday, June 16th, I awoke to a 2 a.m. alarm in the back of my truck in the Timberline Lodge parking lot. I slowly got myself up and ready to go, making coffee on a camp stove and taking final stock of my gear, water, and food. By 3:05 a.m. I was taking my first steps up Wy’east (Mt. Hood), solo, beginning the 5,200-foot ascent from Timberline to summit, the highest point in Oregon.
The first steps are always the most difficult, mentally. I was attempting not only to climb Wy’east but also Klickitat (Mt. Adams) in the same day. It was daunting to look up at the climb before me with the knowledge that Wy’east was less than half of the challenge that lay ahead. I had to stay present and mindful, and not dwell on the exhaustion I would undoubtedly feel later that day. One step at a time, over and over again.
The sun rose and cast a great pyramidal shadow of Wy’east across the cotton-candy sky to the west. My legs and body felt strong and stable, and my mind confident. Training had gone well, running and hiking as usual plus 1 to 2 barre3 classes a week. The mindfulness demanded in those workouts, the presence necessitated by my trembling legs and screaming quads and glutes had made an impact. I was ready to go.
I found a good rhythm and ascended past the top of the Palmer snowfield, where the chairlift ends and the untamed mountain begins. I measured my steps and managed my mind chatter on the uneven snow and ice leading to Crater Rock, and soon I reached the classic Hogsback feature—a thin ridge of snow that forms a saddle between free-standing Crater Rock and the rest of the mountain.
The exciting—and more exposed—climbing begins there. I moved quickly through the Pearly Gates, two narrow chutes of ice allowing passage through the looming cliffs. I took the left chute, and a short while later was standing on the tip top, at just before 6 in the morning. The view of the surrounding landscape is always arresting no matter how many times I’ve seen it. The volcanoes of the Cascades north and south, the Columbia Gorge, and the Coast range to the west, the vast open, dry expanses to the east, all bathed in breathtaking light. Straight to the north lay Klickitat, across the mighty Columbia and into the great state of Washington. It was hard to believe, gazing at its summit from such a distance, that I would be standing there myself in just a matter of hours.
The descent was fast: 56 minutes from summit to car, to be exact. I was careful but confident on the no-fall terrain and got through it and back to Hogsback with no mishaps. The lower I got, the faster I moved as the terrain eased and the grade mellowed out. I realized I could break four hours for the climb and descent, so I pushed the final 1,000 ft. from Silcox Hut and made it with just 4 minutes to spare.
THE TRUE TEST: DEALING WITH FATIGUE, SELF-DOUBT, AND MENTAL CHATTER
I changed out of my climbing gear back at the car and took off for Hood River to meet my friend Greg for breakfast. After food and (more) coffee, we caravanned to Trout Lake for permits and then drove the long, washboarded road to the trailhead at Cold Springs, where he’d be joining me for the climb. I wanted to be solo on Wy’east, but was happy to have a friend to keep me company and safe on Klickitat as the day wore on.
Transitions are tough, and getting moving again was not only mentally challenging, facing a more than 7,000-foot climb to the 12,280-foot summit, but physically challenging, too. I’d gone faster than I’d anticipated on Wy’east and was tired from the effort, and I hadn’t slept for long before my 2 a.m. wake-up call in the first place. When we finally started up Klickitat it was 11:30 a.m. and hot. Sweat poured from my brow and stung my eyes. I thought about barre3 classes where I shook with lactic acid and sweat flowed freely. This sensation was familiar; I was used to it. There were still moments of self-doubt, self-questioning, snippets of the dreaded mind chatter that exists solely to stifle our potential, but I managed to keep those demons at bay.
There were plenty of hours left in the day, and I believed in myself. I had earned that confidence through experience and training, always seeking comfort with discomfort. Nevertheless the conditions on Klickitat were draining—the heat, the loose, slushy snow, the altitude. We aimed for patches of shade whenever possible in the bright white around us, lingering in the delightful bits of relative cool before forcing ourselves onward.
MINDFULNESS ON THE MOUNTAIN
Mountaineering is conducive to mindfulness, the rhythm of the kick steps, the planting of trekking poles, the patterns of following a Milky Way of boot prints in snow. As we ascended, the crowds we’d seen from below earlier in the day vanished, and upon cresting the false summit we realized we had the entire upper mountain to ourselves, a surreal and otherworldly treat. The final push was expectedly grueling, which made reaching the summit even more elating. Greg and I tagged the summit at 6 p.m., celebrated with hugs and high fives. He took pictures while I looked back at Wy’east—where I’d stood 12 hours before—tiny in the distance.
In some ways, the space between the two mountains felt immense and like the challenge I’d tackled had been a significant one, and yet, in other ways, all I could think was “a day is a long time.” It wasn’t belittling my accomplishment; rather I felt excited, grinning at all of our human potential, and the endless possibilities of a single day.
I thought about the story of the two brothers and about conflict and forgiveness, and how rifts that seem unapproachable maybe just take a little extra effort and intention to overcome.
We descended by glissading and running and boot-skiing down the calm and quiet mountain in the setting sun. I jogged the last few miles to the parking lot in the golden, glowing light, finishing Klickitat in 8 hours and 55 minutes round trip. (Wy’east had taken 3 hours and 56 minutes. The total climb time was 12 hours and 51 minutes). We made a fire and ate food, staring at the flames as the sky grew dark. Starlight pinpointed the inky surface overhead, and a full moon rose to the east. Sleep came quickly when we finished our celebratory beers and turned in, horizontal at last.
ALL IN A DAY’S WORK
As I drove the dusty, bumpy road back to Trout Lake the next morning, I reflected on the previous day and on the training I’d done to make it possible. Without question, barre3 played a large role in that preparation, getting me mentally and physically ready to take on the task. My legs, my core, my mind—all felt strengthened and sharpened by the classes, by pushing myself outside of my comfort zone and trying something new and difficult.
Over and over again, the words rang through my head as I drove: “A day is a long time.”
Are you training for a major physical feat? With low-impact movements and a fully-body, balanced approach, barre3 can help you reach your goal. Try a 15-day free trial of barre3 online or take a class at your local studio!
In May, Willie McBride, co-owner of Wy’esast Wolfpack, shared how barre3 was helping him train for a major physical feat: summiting two mountains in one day. On June 16th, he woke before the sun and put all that training to the test, climbing first Mt. Hood and then Mt. Adams. Below, read his essay about how his adventure went, and (spoiler alert) how barre3 played a role in his success.
The Native Americans of this area told a story about two brothers, Wy’east and Klickitat. They fought over the land, so the Great Spirit angrily cast them apart—Klickitat to the north, Wy’east to the south—and placed a great river between them. The terrible fight between the brothers deepened when they both fell for the beautiful Loowit (Mount St. Helens) and further clashed in competition for her love. This juvenile display so enraged the Great Spirit that the brothers were banished forever to their respective sides, sky-scraping mountains marking where they lay.
SUMMITING MT. HOOD—BUT FIRST, COFFEE
On Sunday, June 16th, I awoke to a 2 a.m. alarm in the back of my truck in the Timberline Lodge parking lot. I slowly got myself up and ready to go, making coffee on a camp stove and taking final stock of my gear, water, and food. By 3:05 a.m. I was taking my first steps up Wy’east (Mt. Hood), solo, beginning the 5,200-foot ascent from Timberline to summit, the highest point in Oregon.
The first steps are always the most difficult, mentally. I was attempting not only to climb Wy’east but also Klickitat (Mt. Adams) in the same day. It was daunting to look up at the climb before me with the knowledge that Wy’east was less than half of the challenge that lay ahead. I had to stay present and mindful, and not dwell on the exhaustion I would undoubtedly feel later that day. One step at a time, over and over again.
The sun rose and cast a great pyramidal shadow of Wy’east across the cotton-candy sky to the west. My legs and body felt strong and stable, and my mind confident. Training had gone well, running and hiking as usual plus 1 to 2 barre3 classes a week. The mindfulness demanded in those workouts, the presence necessitated by my trembling legs and screaming quads and glutes had made an impact. I was ready to go.
I found a good rhythm and ascended past the top of the Palmer snowfield, where the chairlift ends and the untamed mountain begins. I measured my steps and managed my mind chatter on the uneven snow and ice leading to Crater Rock, and soon I reached the classic Hogsback feature—a thin ridge of snow that forms a saddle between free-standing Crater Rock and the rest of the mountain.
The exciting—and more exposed—climbing begins there. I moved quickly through the Pearly Gates, two narrow chutes of ice allowing passage through the looming cliffs. I took the left chute, and a short while later was standing on the tip top, at just before 6 in the morning. The view of the surrounding landscape is always arresting no matter how many times I’ve seen it. The volcanoes of the Cascades north and south, the Columbia Gorge, and the Coast range to the west, the vast open, dry expanses to the east, all bathed in breathtaking light. Straight to the north lay Klickitat, across the mighty Columbia and into the great state of Washington. It was hard to believe, gazing at its summit from such a distance, that I would be standing there myself in just a matter of hours.
The descent was fast: 56 minutes from summit to car, to be exact. I was careful but confident on the no-fall terrain and got through it and back to Hogsback with no mishaps. The lower I got, the faster I moved as the terrain eased and the grade mellowed out. I realized I could break four hours for the climb and descent, so I pushed the final 1,000 ft. from Silcox Hut and made it with just 4 minutes to spare.
THE TRUE TEST: DEALING WITH FATIGUE, SELF-DOUBT, AND MENTAL CHATTER
I changed out of my climbing gear back at the car and took off for Hood River to meet my friend Greg for breakfast. After food and (more) coffee, we caravanned to Trout Lake for permits and then drove the long, washboarded road to the trailhead at Cold Springs, where he’d be joining me for the climb. I wanted to be solo on Wy’east, but was happy to have a friend to keep me company and safe on Klickitat as the day wore on.
Transitions are tough, and getting moving again was not only mentally challenging, facing a more than 7,000-foot climb to the 12,280-foot summit, but physically challenging, too. I’d gone faster than I’d anticipated on Wy’east and was tired from the effort, and I hadn’t slept for long before my 2 a.m. wake-up call in the first place. When we finally started up Klickitat it was 11:30 a.m. and hot. Sweat poured from my brow and stung my eyes. I thought about barre3 classes where I shook with lactic acid and sweat flowed freely. This sensation was familiar; I was used to it. There were still moments of self-doubt, self-questioning, snippets of the dreaded mind chatter that exists solely to stifle our potential, but I managed to keep those demons at bay.
There were plenty of hours left in the day, and I believed in myself. I had earned that confidence through experience and training, always seeking comfort with discomfort. Nevertheless the conditions on Klickitat were draining—the heat, the loose, slushy snow, the altitude. We aimed for patches of shade whenever possible in the bright white around us, lingering in the delightful bits of relative cool before forcing ourselves onward.
MINDFULNESS ON THE MOUNTAIN
Mountaineering is conducive to mindfulness, the rhythm of the kick steps, the planting of trekking poles, the patterns of following a Milky Way of boot prints in snow. As we ascended, the crowds we’d seen from below earlier in the day vanished, and upon cresting the false summit we realized we had the entire upper mountain to ourselves, a surreal and otherworldly treat. The final push was expectedly grueling, which made reaching the summit even more elating. Greg and I tagged the summit at 6 p.m., celebrated with hugs and high fives. He took pictures while I looked back at Wy’east—where I’d stood 12 hours before—tiny in the distance.
In some ways, the space between the two mountains felt immense and like the challenge I’d tackled had been a significant one, and yet, in other ways, all I could think was “a day is a long time.” It wasn’t belittling my accomplishment; rather I felt excited, grinning at all of our human potential, and the endless possibilities of a single day.
I thought about the story of the two brothers and about conflict and forgiveness, and how rifts that seem unapproachable maybe just take a little extra effort and intention to overcome.
We descended by glissading and running and boot-skiing down the calm and quiet mountain in the setting sun. I jogged the last few miles to the parking lot in the golden, glowing light, finishing Klickitat in 8 hours and 55 minutes round trip. (Wy’east had taken 3 hours and 56 minutes. The total climb time was 12 hours and 51 minutes). We made a fire and ate food, staring at the flames as the sky grew dark. Starlight pinpointed the inky surface overhead, and a full moon rose to the east. Sleep came quickly when we finished our celebratory beers and turned in, horizontal at last.
ALL IN A DAY’S WORK
As I drove the dusty, bumpy road back to Trout Lake the next morning, I reflected on the previous day and on the training I’d done to make it possible. Without question, barre3 played a large role in that preparation, getting me mentally and physically ready to take on the task. My legs, my core, my mind—all felt strengthened and sharpened by the classes, by pushing myself outside of my comfort zone and trying something new and difficult.
Over and over again, the words rang through my head as I drove: “A day is a long time.”
Are you training for a major physical feat? With low-impact movements and a fully-body, balanced approach, barre3 can help you reach your goal. Try a 15-day free trial of barre3 online or take a class at your local studio!
