Forget roses. I don’t need chocolate. And the last thing I want to do for Valentine’s Day is go out to an overpriced prix fixe dinner. What I want for Valentine’s Day, and what I think is the most valuable gift from one partner to another, is to spend quality time together in the great outdoors. Time outside together is my love language.

My husband, Mark, and I have been married for 21 years. We started dating when he worked at Rock & Ice Magazine and I worked at Trail Runner Magazine. (It’s a very Boulder, Colorado love story.) We spent those early days trail running and climbing together. One of our first dates was a three-pitch climb on a very exposed face on Independence Pass—in the rain. He had overestimated both my climbing ability and my comfort level with exposure. I cried. He calmed me. He’d been a climbing guide and knew how to talk me off a ledge, literally and figuratively.

While we were dating, I occasionally dragged him into adventure races when my team and I needed another teammate. We still joke about the 24-hour race in California where his knee was bothering him about 22 hours in and we were reduced to a walk. I said something caring and comforting like, “Your knee is already hurt. We might as well run.” We did. He recovered.

We’ve since had two kids, and juggled jobs, finances, friends, and household chores. We often tag-team who goes to our sons’ soccer games on weekends while the other does their outdoor sport with friends, alone, or with the dog. Our relationship tends to collect dust, as does a lot of the outdoor gear that we’ve amassed over the years.

We’ve all heard about the numerous studies that prove spending time in nature,, and can even. And there’s a good reason why more therapists are adopting, either working with clients through dance or, especially here in Boulder, going for hikes. The mind-body connection can’t be ignored, and there is something to be said for opening up to someone and connecting while you’re not face to face—consider why running partners become so close; why kids often share more openly with their parents while in the car; and why two stubborn people who have been married 21 years actually talk more when outside doing an activity together.

A few recent studies have taken a look at how. But I don’t need a study to tell me that spending quality time outdoors together is good for my relationship with my husband. (That said, if I need to use science as an argument to get him out the door with me, so be it.)

One of my favorite ways to celebrate any event in the 23 years we’ve been together is to spend time on the trail. Right around our fifteenth anniversary, I was invited to a “couple’s-oriented” travel-writers’ trip on the island of Kauai. (The perks of the job are sometimes very good.) My husband and IĚý were treated to fancy dinners and stayed in nice places. But we connected the most—and I knew this would happen—when just the two of us hiked the on the Na Pali Coast. It didn’t hurt that the views were spectacular and swimming underneath a waterfall was otherworldly. But it was the walking and talking I liked the most—something we can attain anywhere, anytime if we just make the effort.

So, instead of spending money on clichéd Valentine’s gifts like flowers, chocolate, or jewelry—or even buying each other adventure-enabling gear that we’d likely use separately—all I want to do is dust off the gear we already have and head outside, together. It’s the time, and the space, that is most valuable.

We may go on a hike with the dog. We may get creative, put on headlamps, and go for a night hike. Or we may grab our skinny skis and the dog and glide through a snow-covered open space to a lake. That may sound romantic, but it’s more than romance I’m after. It’s the connection. And connection is everything.

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It’s a bluebird day at Val Thorens in France, the highest ski resort in Europe, and there’s still an hour and a half till the lifts close. But unlike your diehard last-chair Rockies skier, we’ve abandoned our skis. We’ve traded the lift lines for the queues at La Folie Douce, a famous outdoor bar above a steep blue run.

To my left, a group of skiers in Hogwarts regalia bops along to house music. Artificial fog engulfs the group on the table in front of me, where a flannel-clad man is dancing in front of the crowd. He and his friends are doing lewd things with a six-liter bottle of rosé—550 euros—and taking turns drinking straight out of it. A woman sways in black sequined pants. In the right lighting, she could be mistaken for a disco ball.

“Champagne… shower. Champagne… SHOWER,” the DJ starts to chant from a balcony overlooking the wooden deck, slowly building speed and volume. He waves for the crowd to join in.

“Champagne… shower,” we chant back. “Champagne… shower. Champagne… SHOWER. CHAMPAGNE—” and then we get what we want: three bottles are popped and fizz rains from the balcony. We scream and duck, but there’s nowhere to hide from the spray. We’re packed in tighter than ski bums jockeying for the first tram of the morning.

We’re above treeline, surrounded by views of sharp, snow-covered peaks, yet the Alps are forgotten. The mountains aren’t the point—they’re the vehicle.

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My favorite Tough Love question from the last eight years, the one I (somewhat inexplicably) recall most fondly, was from a woman whose boyfriend was grossed out that she used a pee rag—a.k.a. reusable toilet paper—while camping. We got a lot of impassioned reader feedback about that one: Pee is sanitary! Pee is gross! Bodies are normal! Women’s bodies in particular are gross! (OK, dude.) And though I’d phrase my answer differently now, I stand by the gist of it: If you don’t want your boyfriend weighing in on your wiping habits, don’t tell him about them. Wherever that couple is now, together or apart, I hope they’ve figured out how to pee in peace.

The secret about an outdoors advice column, of course, is that it’s basically a regular advice column with the words “while camping” tacked to the end of each question. Consider:

Should I break up with my boyfriend? He’s ignoring my boundaries while camping.

How do I stop hating my body while camping?

I’m desperately lonely. While camping, I mean. Obviously. Right?

“While camping” is şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř magazine’s “asking for a friend”: a framing that distances us just enough from our problems that we might gather the courage to speak them aloud. The questions that readers sent to Tough Love were almost never uniquely outdoors-specific. Rather, the outdoors served as both backdrop and shared language between asker and reader. A number of thru-hikers, climbers, kayakers, skiers, and runners wrote to me over the years, but their problems weren’t about, say, the best way to dry long johns over a campfire. They were about grief, illness, heartbreak, anxiety, and love. şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř’s community, more than anyone, should know that wherever we go, our shadows follow. And it’s often in the most spectacular places—a mountaintop at sunrise, a bonfire with friends—that our worries are cast in the greatest relief.

And yet there is something unique about an outdoors advice column, less in the specifics of individual problems than in the way those problems reveal the contours of bigger, communal ones. By far the most common questions I received, again and again, were variations on two issues. First: I am a man, and I’m struggling to find and date women who are outdoorsy. Second: I am an outdoorsy woman, and men won’t date me because I’m better/stronger/faster than they are. It would be too simple to suggest that the writers of these letters meet, date each other, and thus solve all their problems, because it’s precisely the contrast between these two categories that reveals the root of the issue. What is it? Misogyny (or to phrase it as generously as possible for individual men: the sexist pressure on them to be more accomplished than their girlfriends or wives). Men, if you want to date outdoorsy women, there are plenty available—but you might need to work on your insecurities first. As for women who date men? At least some of us are outta luck.

At the core, advice columns are gossip. It’s a myth—an excuse we tell ourselves, as part of the writer-columnist-reader triad—that their purpose is to deliver wisdom to the letter-writer. Instead, the whole dynamic is a collaboration, an exchange. Readers rubberneck, reassuring themselves that although they make plenty of mistakes, they would never make that one. Alternately, they take comfort in the fact they’re not alone. And the letter-writer shares something vulnerable, under cover of anonymity, in exchange for being seen.

I never shared letter-writers’ identities, even with my editors. A few questions were written by celebrities. Some were sent by my friends. Some people were so cautious that they wrote in under fake names, from fake email addresses. And at least one question was my own. (A great exercise, in a tricky situation, is to imagine that you’re an advice columnist and someone sent in a letter about your exact situation. How would you reassure them? What would you recommend they do? And if you happened to write an actual advice column, wouldn’t you be tempted to publish the exchange?) There were questions, too, that I never had a chance to answer, either because they were too similar to ones we’d already published, or because they lacked context. “What do I do next?” someone once wrote, as the entirety of their email. I just wanted to give them a hug.

Sometimes readers sent in advice for other letter-writers, pouring their hearts out over shared experiences, and I passed the messages along. Other times, folks corrected my takes, explaining details I’d missed or ways my response was short-sighted. Regarding a woman with asthma whose boyfriend accused her of abandoning him when she had to leave a campground due to wildfire smoke, I received, to Tough Love’s email address, this phenomenal piece of reader feedback: “The fact that your advice to this poor woman was decent enough does not justify your presuming, as a dogsledder, to answer her deeply concerning plea.”

I texted my friend a screenshot, delighted by the implication that dogsledders are uniquely bad at giving advice. “Does she think that advice columnists go to… advice column school?” she texted back.

In fact, at the time I started writing Tough Love, I was just out of grad school, living on $18,000 a year and supporting a fledgling sled dog team. I’d written an essay—a love letter, really—that went viral, and got passed around şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř’s editors. When they approached me about writing an outdoors relationship advice column, I felt like I’d won the lottery, and in a way I had: a steady freelance gig is practically as rare. I was on a road trip when I got the email. To give me practice, my now-husband read letters from Cosmo magazine aloud, tweaking details to make them outdoors-specfic. I still remember: “What do you do if you get cum in your eye,” he asked me, “in the woods?”

I had no idea. Stick your face in a river? I googled it. Then I regretted googling it. I probably wouldn’t get that question, I reassured myself. On the other hand, what if I did? I didn’t want to guide people wrong. Or make their eyes hurt. I felt then about the column, and always have, an intense pressure to do no harm.

I suspect my primary strength as an advice columnist is that I don’t think I have all the answers. For some questions, I dug deeply into my own experience.Those columns are still raw and near to my heart, whether they’re about grief, being a woman alone in the wilderness, writing a memoir, or the fear of losing a dog. But more often, I used the questions as springboards to approach and interview people—family members, friends, even strangers I admired—whose wisdom I wanted to both learn from and pass on. With particularly puzzling situations, I even brought up the questions at dinner parties, asking folks around the table to weigh in. It was in response to these strangers’ questions that people close to me shared some of their most tender truths. For that, I’ll always be grateful.

At the close of the column, I think its greatest lesson, at least for me, is this: we should ask each other for advice more. The questions don’t even have to be our own. Share situations you’ve read about, or heard about, or even seen on TV, and ask your loved ones what they’d recommend. Problems are inherently vulnerable; they invite vulnerability in return. You’ll be surprised by how often people will take the invitation to say what they’ve needed to say.

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My whole perspective on “belaytionships” (and how to improve them) changed when a friend referred to the task as a “sacred duty.” It’s common to view our turn on the ground as nothing more than filler time between pitches, or worse: a burden that we must bear in exchange for the joys of climbing. But belaying is more than just a necessary evil. The special relationship between belay partners is what elevates climbing from a myopic pursuit of personal excellence to a reciprocal experience. Supporting someone else on their journey toward the send can feel just as powerful as making that journey ourselves.Ěý

The best belaytionships have respect for both sides of the equation. Not only that, both parties put in the effort to learn and implement what their partner needs from a belayer to feel safe and secure while climbing. That’s no easy feat, considering how vulnerable the act of pushing limits high off the deck can leave a climber. The barrage of emotion often amplifies our fears and needs far beyond what they would be on the ground. A strong belaytionship takes all the havoc in stride.Ěý

But it doesn’t happen overnight. Just like in any other relationship, climbing partners have to go through their fair share of struggles in order to reach a state of mutual respect and support. Learn from some of the most long-standing belaytionships in the sport about how to weather the storms that plague even the most dynamic of duos in the sport, and foster the kind of partnership that will last as long as your love for climbing.Ěý

1. Prioritize the Person

Yes, your project is important. It’s what motivates you to crawl out of your cozy bed in time to catch the cool morning temps, stay out late until the sun sets over the cliff, and dedicate every spare hour to deciphering its coded messages. But we’d all do well to remember one thing: it’s still just a rock.Ěý

“At the end of the day,” says climber Andy Salo, “you’re going home with your partner—not your project. Whatever emotions and stresses you’re dealing with as a result of your project bounces off on your partner, and they have to carry that.”

Salo and his partner Whitney Boland have been climbing together for over a decade. They’re able to support each other best when the one on the wall exercises enough restraint to keep their worst wobblers in check. A charged reaction to what happens on your project may not be a personal attack on your belayer, but it sure can feel that way to them. Taking their presence for granted will inevitably push them away. Rocks are great and all, but they’ve got nothing on real live human beings. No project is worth losing your partner over.Ěý

2. Let It Go

That being said, wobblers will happen. Even the most restrained among us isn’t immune to the frustrations involved in climbing. When your partner’s feelings come out in a big way, stay grounded. Maggie and Chuck Odette, Maple Canyon legends who have been steadfast partners in all things climbing and life for the past 14 years, suggest “putting up a force-field” when emotions run high.Ěý

“It’s not about ignoring the other person’s feelings,” Maggie clarifies, “but more about protecting your own emotional state. It’s basically an agreement that just because I’m having a low-confidence or less-than-optimal day, I don’t expect you to join in!”Ěý

In that sense, belayers might have to take one for the team sometimes. Pick your battles. Some things are worth addressing with your climbing partner for the sake of improving your dynamic. Other gripes might be better kept silent if they’re more likely to cause trouble than good once they’re out in the open. In the wise words of good ol’ Dr. Phil: Do you want to be right, or do you want to be together?Ěý

3. Trust Their Tactics

It’s not just the climber that experiences heightened emotions. Belayers often go through their own emotional rollercoasters, especially when they’re in charge of protecting someone they care deeply about. You want to support them in their efforts…but you also want to get them back down to the ground safely. And in a sport like climbing, where there are very real risks involved, the two don’t always mix.

Salo and Boland emphasize the importance of trusting your partner’s instincts. “Whitney learned that if I felt confident enough for a scary lead, she could trust that I was going to be as safe as possible doing it—even though that was nerve-wracking for her,” says Salo. “Any fear she felt for me was best kept to herself,” he explains, because the expression of it would throw off the focus and confidence he needed to climb safely.Ěý

Trust is the foundation of any stable relationship, belaytionships included. Talk to your climber ahead of time about their expectations for the route and affirm your belief in their ability to make sound decisions. Address any concerns before they ever leave the ground. Then, when they’re off, follow through with that trust. It’s key to ensuring their safety.Ěý

4. Plan Ahead

Just because you’re climbing together doesn’t mean that your agendas will always align. Be careful not to assume that you and your partner have the exact same plan in mind. The Odette’s learned early on that they don’t tend to wake up at the same pace in the morning. Rather than let that turn into a chronic disagreement, they make sure to make a game plan for what the next day will look like before going to bed the night before.Ěý

Do your best to line up your ideal day with your partner’s. If possible, find climbs that are close enough to each other at the crag so that you can both have equal time on your projects. “If it’s impossible to hit both in the same day,” adds Salo, “give up one weekend day to your partner and trade off the next day. You might not send as quick, but you’ll keep from burning out your belaytionship.”

5. Fail Together, Send Together

“Always remember that even though you and your partner are in the same place, at the same time, doing the same thing, it’s not very likely that you’re experiencing it exactly the same way,” says Odette.Ěý

To find common ground, treat climbing as a team effort. “Most of climbing is failing,” Odette reminds us. “If you’re going to fail in front of anyone, your person is the best choice. And when one of you sends, it’s a win for the team!”Ěý

Put yourself in their shoes. Take on their failures and celebrate their sends. You might not know exactly how they’re feeling, but the effort goes a long way. Ask them about their experience and absorb every nitty-gritty detail. The better you understand their emotional state while climbing, the better you can share in their journey and tackle each pitch in harmony.

6. Nurture the Relationship

…not just the belaytionship. Salo firmly believes that “climbing will expose any shortcomings in the relationship between belay partners as a whole.” Whether you climb with your life partner or a close friend, your connection extends beyond the crag. Even if you only see your belay partner during climbing sessions, I’m willing to bet that your conversations between pitches go much deeper than “belay on, climb on.”

With that in mind, problems in a belaytionship often stem from elsewhere in the relationship. “If you haven’t figured out how to support your partner in other avenues of life, it likely will not happen in climbing either,” warns Salo. Dissect the conflicts that crop up with your partner while climbing. Are they really about the amount of slack in the rope or what your partner said while they were cruxing? Or do they have more to do with something going on at home? Try as you might, you can’t separate the two completely.Ěý

In the short-term, aim to resolve any outside disputes before you get to the crag—or at least press pause. The physical and emotional demands of climbing will only escalate those struggles until they’re worse than they were before. In the long-term, pick up on the patterns that dictate your crag conflicts. What do they say about more serious insecurities or disagreements plaguing your relationship? Get to the root of the issue. Nurture the relationship to save the belaytionship.Ěý

Also Read

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When I first started dating my boyfriend, he mentioned that he had a group of friends who went “camping” every month to practice skills for the future. I asked for more details and he said that they practice orienteering, tracking, and survival skills like that. He’s a really sweet, caring guy and nothing seemed like a red flag. Actually, my ex was less social and very clingy, so I remember thinking it was a green flag that he spent time with friends.Ěý

We’ve been together for a year now. In that time, this group has become a bigger part of his life. They meet up almost every week. They also started meeting at a gun club. When I asked why, he talked about social unrest and wanting to make sure that he can protect us. He’s also been obsessively watching the news about in New Jersey.Ěý

I was looking for something in the basement last week and came across a duffel bag filled with packaged food and ammo boxes. It was upsetting because I’ve asked him before if he’s a prepper. He told me he isn’t, but that he doesn’t want to be a frog in boiling water who doesn’t notice when things start to heat up. But I don’t want to be a frog in boiling water either. I really love him, but I’m starting to think there might be more under the surface that he’s hiding from me. How do I know when it’s getting to be too much?

Question: Does your boyfriend seem to enjoy all this? Is it fun for him? If so, then I want to hold space for the best possibility here, which is that prepping (and yes, this is prepping, regardless of whether he admits it) is his hobby.

Consider historical reenactment: a broad interest that gathers a lot of different skills and pastimes under one roof. Reenactors don’t just dress up like people in their chosen era; they also learn crafts, cooking, languages, and so on. Hobby preppers do the same, but in reverse. Instead of focusing on the past, they imagine a future when their skills in self-reliance might be put to good use.

That future probably won’t come to pass, but there are plenty of realistic scenarios where their skills could come in handy. It’s not that everyone who buys a zombie apocalypse bug-out kit is actually scared of zombies. It’s just that prepping for a zombie apocalypse is more fun than packing the exact same supplies so they’re ready in case of an unusually long power outage.ĚýĚý

Some people follow end-of-the-world scenarios like other people follow sports. Sometimes a bag of food and bullets is just, uh, a bag of food and bullets.

If that’s your boyfriend’s situation—if he enjoys thinking about possibilities, and trying new things, and he has a good friend group to try them with—then there’s no need to worry. That said, you mentioned a few things that do concern me, and I’d recommend getting to the bottom of them.

First, your boyfriend said he’s going to the gun club because he wants to be able to protect your household against social unrest.

To me, that says he’s imagining a near future in which he might have to shoot people, or at the very least, scare them away with guns. Not zombies; people. He’s couching the violence of that image under a fantasy of protection, but the point remains the same.

Does that mean that everyone who learns to shoot for self-defense is fantasizing about shooting people? Of course not. And presumably, he’s practicing at a range that emphasizes gun safety and responsibility.Ěý But given the anticipatory subtext of prepping in general, and the other details you shared—including his use of the phrase “heat up”—I think this development is concerning.

Secondly, and most important, you’re worried that there’s more under the surface.

You know your boyfriend well. You’ve watched his interests change and grow, and you’ve seen how he’s responding to the news. You saw the look on his face when you found his bag of food and bullets. You don’t seem like a paranoid or sensational person. If the hairs on the back of your neck are going up, that’s the most important clue that something is wrong.

aIn fact, even if everything else seemed perfect, that would still tell me that something’s wrong.

I’m wondering why your boyfriend denied that he was a prepper, when the term isn’t derogatory, and it seems so clearly accurate from the outside. Is there another term he uses for his activities, or his identity? If he’s willing to tell you, it might help clarify his agenda, his priorities, and where his head is at. If he won’t tell you–if he’s convinced that his activities are so practical and universal that they have no name–then that’s illuminating, too.

You haven’t been together very long, in the grand scheme of things. Do you really want to move into the future with someone whose vision of that future is fundamentally different from yours? If this isn’t the relationship you want, you don’t need a specific conflict or fight or reason to break up. Your feelings–and your discomfort–are more than enough.

If you stay together, keep your eyes open. Notice what’s going on. Remember that you’ve had concerns before, so if something else raises an alarm, it’s part of a pattern. If you live together, try to have a plan, and some money saved up, in case you decide to leave. After all, it never hurts to be prepared.

Blair Braverman writes ourĚýTough Love column. Previously, she has given advice on dating a sore loser.

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I recently moved into a new neighborhood where everyone is involved in each others’ lives. (Picture picket fences, etc.) I’ve noticed that when a neighbor needs to borrow something, like a snow shovel, they come to my door. In particular, there’s an older woman who lives alone across the street and seems to think that I’m her personal assistant. She’ll come over uninvited to ask for things every week or so, like to take her dog out to pee when she has an appointment, or even to reach things that are high up in her garage. She does bring me baked goods, which is nice. But cynically, I feel like she does it so that I can’t say no when she asks for favors in return. I have a physical outdoor job, and when I come home I just want to relax and protect my peace. I don’t want to be rude, but how much am I actually obligated to help people just because I live near them?

Surely, your elderly neighbor is baking you cookies in an insidious plot to put you in her debt, but joke’s on her—you never signed a contract! The answer to your question, clearly, is that you’re not obligated to help her at all. People aren’t credit card companies, measuring all interactions based on who owes what to whom, with a guarantee that at the end of the day we’ll all end up exactly even (or ahead). You can accept your neighbor’s cookies, but refuse to reach things off her top shelf. You’ll probably get fewer cookies over time, but that’s not because you haven’t earned them. It’s because she’ll assume that you don’t like her very much.

From my perspective, it doesn’t seem like this neighbor is taking advantage of you. The help she’s requested isn’t particularly time consuming, nor has she asked for anything she could reasonably hire someone to do. Sure, she could stand on a chair and reach things herself, but if she’s disinclined to do that, it’s probably because she knows something about her balance that you don’t. These are exactly the kinds of things that we should be relying on friends and neighbors for—and if the ask isn’t onerous (and sometimes even if it is), then yes, I believe we should all try to chip in when we can. Even you.

It may be that you’re overworked right now, and feeling extra irritable because you’re stressed and tired. If that’s the case, I think it’s a reason to lean on community more, not less. That’s exactly why your neighbor brings you cookies! She wants you to know that she’s thinking of you, and that she cares. Not just about what you can do for her, but about who you are and how you’re doing. If you fell and broke both of your legs, and you couldn’t take her dog out anymore, I’m 99 percent sure she would keep bringing you baked goods. In fact, she’d probably bring you more.

I’m curious what you mean when you say that you want to protect your peace. Does “peace” mean sitting in your house, undisturbed, free from considering the inconvenient needs of the people around you? What would it look like if everyone protected their peace the same way you do? What if you need a snow shovel one day, because your car is buried and you need to dig it out before you can get to the store to buy one? Your peace isn’t just yours; it’s contingent on living in a world where people have what they need, and part of that means that communities and neighbors are able to rely on each other.

Unless, of course, your peace is just yours—and it’s something you’ve learned to guard fiercely because no one else has protected it for you. If you’ve spent your life being taken advantage of, then it makes sense that you’d develop a laser-focus on self-protection, and would come to view apparently generous interactions through a lens of suspicion. If that’s the case, I’m truly sorry. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. You’re welcome to continue focusing on yourself alone, especially if it’s how you’ve learned to survive. But if there’s some spark in you that does crave an interdependent community, but feels vulnerable or afraid, then perhaps this new neighborhood presents a small opportunity to heal. I wonder if you even sensed this ahead of time, and were drawn to living here for that very reason.

One way to change your experience, ironically, is to learn to accept kindness. Even when that feels scary, because if it ends, you’ll be alone again. Enjoying your neighbor’s cookies doesn’t mean that you’re dependent on her generosity. It means you’re peering through the doorway into a world that’s full of cookies. A world where kindness is passed freely, without suspicion. To you. And from you, too.

There are an infinite number of ways to build that kindness. Instead of just lending a snow shovel, offer to come help dig. Hold a door for someone. Toss back a frisbee that comes your way. Or just smile and say, “Sure, I can reach something off your top shelf. It’s no problem. And why don’t I bring over some hot chocolate, too?”

Ěýwrites ourĚýTough LoveĚýcolumn. Previously, she has given advice on dealing with a weird neighbor.

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On the morning of Monday, May 6, the air on the Cumbrian Coast was 58 degrees Fahrenheit and very damp. ĚýThe tide was neither in nor out, and the surface of the Irish Sea looked like a restless version of the paved parking lot where my wife and I stood. Before descending to the beach, I loosened my shoelaces, jogged a few experimental steps, and tightened the laces again. Emma was stretching her quads and fiddling with the nozzle of her water bladder. We had giddy prerace feelings, though this was not a race, or even a run, and we’d come to England because we wanted to slow down.

Above the beach, a muddy path crept up a green sheep pasture to the top of St. Bees Head, a 300-foot sandstone sea cliff teeming with birds and mist. We knew from maps and books and online research that the Coast to Coast Walk, which we were there to do, traversed the mesa-like head for four and a half miles before veering eastward for another 188.

“How are they feeling?” Emma asked, nodding grimly in the direction of my feet.

“I’m hoping they’re just nervous,” I replied.

A fishing boat was humming alone in the sea fret. Beach pebbles clacked with fright, delight, or some other rocky emotion as they were tumbled by the waves. Because it’s a Coast to Coast tradition, we spent a few minutes on the shore picking among these oblate stones until one felt right—mine a mostly solid matte black, Emma’s black with green veins. Then we slid the rocks into our packs, dipped our feet in the sea, and clicked our Garmin watches on.

“I’ll race ya,” Emma said.

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When Katie Arnold and her husband Steve were invited to run the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, it was a lifelong dream come true. But then disaster struck in the opening moments of the trip, and the couple faced two daunting tasks—survive the river, and then fix their marriage.

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A lot of people got divorced during the COVID-19 years, and a lot of people fell deep into their addictions. Being an overachiever of sorts, I did both.

As the pandemic worked its way through the U.S. in the first six months of 2020, my three adult daughters, one of their boyfriends, my niece, and my son, who was a high school senior, were all living with me and my wife, Lisa, at our home in Camden, Maine. We sewed masks, worked out in the basement, cooked elaborate meals that sometimes took all day, baked better sourdough bread than 95 percent of you, played Scrabble and Boggle, and got into massive arguments during episodes of Jeopardy! As we stayed safely hidden away in mid-coast Maine, it was a never-ending summer-camp-cum-house-party.

Perhaps inspired by this atmosphere, we also drank. Some of us more than others—well, me mostly, and way more. I drank fancy drinks in the evening with my kids, and I also drank alone in the afternoons from a bottle hidden in the garage. The pandemic was the perfect excuse for increasing the everyday drinking I was already doing.

Lisa would occasionally suggest that I take a break, especially after catching me downing a slug of gin or smelling like alcohol in the early afternoon. I, however, wasn’t worried. I didn’t drink in the morning. I was fine. More important, to my way of thinking, I still had a choice about whether to drink or not.

But as the months went by and my own private party continued unabated, that first gulp of the day occurred ever earlier. By June, I was drinking before noon, and even I knew I had to do something. It wasn’t uncontrollable, I told myself. I just needed to stop for a while, and I decided to do it with help from an outdoor adventure. Setting an impossible physical task, getting in shape, and then achieving it—this was how I had operated for decades.

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