Dip Lips and Why I Never Liked the Gym

The back pockets at Ruidoso have a permanent circular imprint where their dip has worn away the fabric from years of belonging there. Men and women alike collect black, tar spit into Gatorade bottles like it’s liquid gold. When they are done with their chaw, they keep that too, and little flecks of tobacco are left over in teeth crevices as if they’re saving some for later. Elk hunters claim identities as conservationists as they plan their fundraising banquet, complete with shotguns and rifles as grand prizes in auctions and raffles. What an odd banquet this will be that I’m volunteering for this Saturday. I imagine a solid ocean of cowboy hats, dip lips, and beer bellies. Miss New Mexico will be there. I understand where they are coming from I guess; in order for them to continue their sport, the elk populations must flourish, and so they put their funds into habitat conservation. One could venture to say that if it weren’t for the hunters efforts, Ruidoso might be more developed, as well as the surrounding forested area. But it is a national forest, and there are such listed species as the spotted owl and Kuenzler cactus, whose habitat is well protected regardless. Elliot says that most hunters are conservationists.
Why I’ve never liked the gym, and the mountains are so much better- Larry took us to an MSO site yesterday which required a bit of hiking up to an exceptionally windy ridge. Larry estimated wind speeds at 50+ mph, which would make hooting a waste of energy as the caller and responder’s calls would be lost in the wind and probably not found until Arizona. The hike up to the top was steep and bumpy from the many secret passageways of underground mammals. Larry said when he was a young biologist a long, long time ago, him and his fellow biologist friend would always be in competition to get to sites and up mountains the fastest, and he was in really great shape back then. As he was talking, I quickened my pace so I was in front, and then challenged him to a race (admittedly unfair on my part, being 30 or so years younger and having a head start). I ran up the mountain, jamming my toes into the soft soil, feeling the burn in my calves and my lungs, but driven by a light-hearted competition. I didn’t care if I won or lost, the other interns joined in too. Elliot, running three times my speed, but I still persevered- we all did. Stephanie, are newest intern, is about the same pace as me, but I like that we both, though slow, don’t give up and see things to the end. When we reached the top of one ridge, I challenge everyone further to the very top. Unable to resist a match, everyone powered his or her way to the top. The gym is monotonous movements going nowhere and seeing nothing but other sweaty, resentful, joyless people hating the chore of exercise. You read a magazine, watch television, or crank up your iPod to drown out your panting and the voices in your head telling you how much this sucks. You live for the scale and you bombard yourself with guilt if you have a bad week. You become obsessed with your body, and scold it if it doesn’t meet some goal you’ve set for yourself, as if your body is cognitive and should know better.
When I hike through the mountains or run through a grassland, the wind hugs every part of me, the sun warms me, the air makes me feel alive; I am happy and filled with joy like a child. When I scour the ponderosa pine and douglas fir with my eyes, playing hide-and-seek with the owls, and waiting with baited breath for them to tease me with a response of Polo to my Marco, excitement fills me with anticipation and curiosity. Their camouflage is dynamite and my eyes are weak. In the woods, one is constantly reminded of how unadapted they have become to the wilderness. It’s a constant challenge and aspiration to be better; to see like the owl, to move like the deer, to hunt like the cat. The woods remind you that being human is a disservice here; this is not our territory anymore.