I feel very vulnerable sharing this. It’s easier to pretend like everything is easy, that every challenge is simple and that I have it all together. The picture above makes me want to hide. Why am I showing that to the world?

I believe in authenticity.

I had never been so frustrated in my life as the day in September, 2016 that I saw this photo:

Six days a week CrossFit. Running. Hiking. Eating right. Why wouldn’t that thing around my middle go away?

I’d never been skinny that I could remember. But there are a few fat times that really stick out in my mind, many of them as a teen.

There’s the time I felt embarrassed browsing for size 18. There’s the times I looked at pictures and wondered why I looked so fat. There’s stepping on the scale, seeing “180” and vowing to never see that number again (although I would). That was immediately followed by the undiagnosed eating disorder, when I decided that just not eating anything would solve the problem and make me “perfect.” I was 16, and felt huge on the outside, but shaky and scared and small on the inside.

Then there were the days after college that I decided to start eating “low fat” versions of things instead of the regular kind, because why not. And it did help. That was followed by years of a never ending flow of Diet Coke (it literally has zero calories — like some kind of voodoo magic) that I made me feel full. Also, it was delicious and made my brain feel good. I supplemented it with low-fat wheat thins, and modeled my eating habits on those I saw from women while growing up. What’s wrong with a diet coke, a handful of crackers, cheese and apples for meals? And why didn’t it result in fitness and weight loss?

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I spent the entire summer gushing to out of state friends about how much I love Alaska, and how they just have to come here and experience the glory of the summer, and the colors, and the wildflowers, and the mountains, and the glaciers. I am head-over-heels in love with this place and its midnight sun. Insert all the heart emojis here.

So much did I talk about my new adoration that I started to sound like I was telling people about a hot summer fling. Hey everyone — come meet my new boyfriend, Alaska Summer. He’s the best.

The problem? Summer love affairs end. And that this one is now fading is breaking my heart.

Starting on Memorial Day weekend I have done something outside with my boyfriend Alaska Summer every single day, regardless of weather. I wanted to take advantage of the daylight, and it forced me to experience all the nuances of where we live. My commitment to getting out there led us to new places. I spent weeks parading around the state — I hiked, backpacked, paddled, floated, traversed, cycled, ran, swam and climbed.

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If you’re like us, you’re facing a harsh reality in the coming weeks. Summer vacations are behind you, school supplies have been purchased and it’s back to the grind. You can’t quite smell all things pumpkin spice in the air, but you know it’s coming. Summer — and that fine, warm outdoor life — is almost over.

We’re pretty sad about that. In Alaska the end of summer means the beginning of winter. None of this long Autumn stuff.

OK, sure, there’s a few weeks of Fall tossed in there. But as the yellow starts to creep onto some of the trees, you know that winter isn’t far off. Soon the “termination dust,” a sifting of snow high atop nearby mountains, will fall. Temperatures outside will drop. The wind will sweep through. And that’ll be that for the summer.

We’ve made a strong, purposeful effort to get outside every single day this summer, regardless of the weather. (That’s basically the opposite of what we did last year, I fully admit). But we know our outside time doesn’t have to stop with the end of summer – and neither does yours.

It’s all about making getting outside a daily priority despite the back-to school-season. Here’s how.

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There’s little about Alaska that is not dramatic. Mountains. Seasons. Rivers. Even the people.

Like anything, however, when you’re living it the changes seem incremental. It’s looking over the past in photos that makes everything seem so sudden.

Our first year in Alaska was one of milestones paired with the changes of the seasons. Summer, the start of school, suddenly fall, suddenly winter, back to outdoor adventures after our recovery hiatus. In one blink winter had turned to what we call “break-up,” as the thick layers of ice that coat parking lots, sidewalks, driveways and parts of streets start to melt in the increasing sunlight.

A few weeks of gross mush and dirt covering everything and – bam! – spring was summer. Sunlight, temperatures in the 50s and 60s, and green covering all the things.

For Alaskans there is no real off season. Oh sure, there are days in the long and dark winter months where you have more time for things like sipping coffee by a fire with friends or hitting the movie theater — things we most definitely do not have time for when the sun sets for a mere four hours a day but it’s actually light all the time. But Alaskans just put on more layers and do snow things instead of summer things — snow-machining  (or “snowmobiling” in the rest of the U.S.), skiing, snowshoeing, tubing, dogsledding, ice fishing.

We did adventure a little in our self-inflicted pre-actual-winter off season. We hiked a glacier, filmed a TV show, did a short hike here and there in Eagle River and the “The Valley,”as the area north of Anchorage is known, visited the local Reindeer farm two times and hit some of our local festivals (and Alaskans *love* festivals).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The days get increasingly shorter and the air increasingly colder through mid-December, until the sun rises at around 10:15 a.m. and sets again around 4 p.m. On a practical level, that means things start to get a little light somewhere around 9 a.m., and darkness has settled by 5 p.m. or so.

And yes, it does make you want to sleep a lot. And, yes, it is a little depressing.

It didn’t take us long to discover, however, that the key to success was getting outside a little bit everyday anyway. Darkness be damned, and all that. So we bundled up and tried new winter things one step at a time.

The Anchorage area had what, I’m told, was usually cold weather this year, getting down to -30º. Yes, that’s 30 degrees BELOW zero. That kind of cold hurts unless you are well dressed against it — lots of layers and appropriate shoes. None of this “I can totally just dash from the car to the store in my Toms” stuff.

But we went out anyway. We shoveled our driveway. We tried cross-country and downhill skiing. We took a Christmas trip to Seward. We went tubing. We snowshoed. And, yes, I went running.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finally, spring came to Alaska — marked most clearly by melting, slushy, muddy snow and a lot of ice as the wind came through and froze over the melt.

 

 

 

 

And then, just like that, leaves were out and warmer weather had arrived by early May. And for that we are grateful.

“Follow us as we move to Alaska,” we said. “Be a part of our big life adventure!”

And you did. And you were. And then we disappeared.

Just over a year ago we made the dramatic decision to sell most of our stuff, let some military-hired movers pack the rest, cram what we could in our station wagon and move far away to a place we had never been to start life over. It felt crazy. It was crazy.

And then we arrived and started to settle in.

It was a wonderful adventure — but hard in ways I can’t really put into words. The overwhelm that came from buying our first home, settling in, unpacking, learning our new town and the unique Alaska culture, making friends, helping our kids adjust, finding a church, adjusting ourselves, helping everyone except me (Amy) start new schools, all while working full time, was simply exhausting. Shortly after our arrival Luke’s brother who lived in Ohio suddenly and unexpectedly died. We were truly running on empty. I barely had anything left to give my family, much less the outside world.

From when we arrived in mid-June to late December we did precious little Alaska exploring, save a short hike here and there with our local Team Red, White & Blue chapter. 

You’re thinking “why not get out there and explore?” But the truth is that the six months almost to the day that it took for me to feel at home is a pretty normal span of time to settle into the growing pains of living somewhere new. We welcomed that landmark time without thinking through the passage of time. As if on cue, we were ready and took an Alaska winter road trip to Seward. 

It was the beginning of being ready to once again spread our wings.

And now, just over another six months after that rebirth, we’re back and ready to welcome you along for the ride again.

You’re probably wondering what we’ve done since we last spent any time with you, and we’ll be giving you some highlights soon.

In the meantime, thanks for coming back again. Ready to live like it’s all a great big adventure? Awesome — we are, too.