At the end of June, I will be 90. The number measures years but reveals nothing about who I am or how I live.
And so . . . 

A few days ago I was hiking up a steep trail and met a couple and their daughter who were coming down. They hadn’t hiked this trail before and asked me about area trails. After explaining how the trails connected, the imp in me said, “I’m in training.”

“What for?” they asked.

I told them, “After moving to Santa Fe in 2001, a former student wanted to know how I’d like to celebrate my birthday. I said I’d like to do a nice hike. He suggested Nambé Lake. It was so beautiful I decided to do the hike every year. Since then, I’ve only missed one year, when I was recovering from chemo. It’s the best way to celebrate turning 90.” 

They looked at me with disbelief. I understand. Nambé Lake was not an easy hike 25 years ago and now it’s a hard hike—about seven miles, more than 2000’ of elevation gain, climbing to over 11,000.’ Last year it was harder than the year before. This year? Who knows? I’ve told the two friends going with me it’s okay if I have to turn around before reaching the lake. They both know I’m lying.

Being strong is seen as a positive trait. What does it mean to be strong? Is there only one kind of
strength? What does it take to define one’s self as strong—or not? If we want to be/feel strong,
what can we do to make this possible? The stories, Holding On, Stairs, and Energy explore
different kinds of strength and what it might take to feel strong.

• World Tale: Strength (African)
  
• Holding On
  
• Stairs
  
• Energy
  

Hare did not like Lion. He watched disapprovingly as Lion strutted about, destroying animal homes, eating what and where he wished, disregarding the damage he caused, roaring to hear the sound of his voice. Hare especially disliked Lion boasting, “There is no animal greater than me.”

Hare realized Elephant might be stronger than Lion but Elephant went about his business without bothering anyone. Elephant was not a fighter. If Lion decided to attack Elephant Hare thought Elephant would go away rather than stay and fight. 

One day, after hearing Lion strutting and boasting how strong he was, Hare decided he had to do something to stop Lion, but he was small, and he wasn’t a fighter. What could he do? For days he could not think of a plan. Maybe there was nothing to be done. 

I was studying Akido with a teacher who said very little but felt vitally connected to all of us students, gently and kindly suggesting small shifts in the way we were moving with almost no words. During a break, one man, as tall as our teacher but much heavier, began telling us how much weight he could lift. I saw our teacher watch. As the man talked, he looked at me, easily the shortest and smallest person in the class, as if to accentuate his strength and my weakness. I felt uncomfortable but remembered what our teacher said to do when we felt challenged—to breathe. I guess it helped a little.

I was teaching elementary school physical education, and like all teachers, had hall duty. Every
day I watched a beautiful little girl (I’ll call her Lilly) with cerebral palsy being carried up the
stairs by a big-for-his age, heavy-set boy (I’ll call him Henry). Her tone of voice was piercing,
commanding, strident—as if she were a spoiled princess talking to a servant. He meekly obeyed.