What a Rucking Retreat Taught Me About Doing Hard Things
Our take
The allure of pushing personal boundaries, of venturing beyond perceived limitations, resonates deeply within the modern pursuit of self-discovery. The author’s recent experience with a “rucking retreat” in Costa Rica, documented through a playful video of scaling a strangler fig tree, perfectly encapsulates this trend. It's a story that speaks to a generation increasingly seeking transformative experiences, often outside the conventional comfort zones of everyday life. The brother's initial disbelief, captured in a simple text message, highlights the surprising nature of these choices – a willingness to embrace the unexpected and confront challenges that might initially seem daunting. This echoes a broader cultural shift, moving away from purely material pursuits toward experiences that foster resilience, self-reliance, and a deeper understanding of one’s capabilities. It’s a journey mirrored in the broader wellness space, where individuals are actively seeking out methods, both physical and mental, to cultivate inner strength and overcome adversity. Consider, for instance, the growing interest in skincare routines designed to promote cellular regeneration and overall skin health, as detailed in Can You Use Azelaic Acid and Retinol Together? Dermatologists Reveal Why the Skincare Combo Is So Powerful, demonstrating a commitment to nurturing oneself from the inside out.
The narrative of embracing the difficult also aligns with a broader fascination with figures who defy expectations and achieve extraordinary feats. The story of Kiana Glanton, who earned a bronze medal in blind baseball despite losing her vision, is a powerful testament to human perseverance and the ability to redefine limitations, as explored in First She Lost Her Vision, Then She Earned a Bronze Medal in Blind Baseball. This kind of narrative underscores the idea that vulnerability and challenge can be catalysts for remarkable achievement. The rucking retreat, with its inherent physical and mental demands, becomes a microcosm of this larger theme. It's not about the destination – reaching the top of the tree – but about the process of confronting discomfort, building resilience, and discovering inner resources. The detail of the author's playful, slightly irreverent approach—climbing the tree and sharing it with family—further softens the intensity, making the experience relatable and inspiring, rather than intimidating. Even the seemingly unrelated pursuit of preserving tradition, as discussed in Queen Elizabeth Wanted to "Preserve the Mystery Surrounding" One Particular Tradition, According to a Royal Historian, speaks to a desire for safeguarding authenticity and resisting the relentless push for transparency in a world increasingly dominated by instant gratification.
The rise of these kinds of experiences—retreats, outdoor challenges, and even seemingly simple acts of pushing personal boundaries—reflects a deeper societal yearning for authenticity and meaning. It’s a rejection of the curated perfection often presented on social media and a move toward embracing the raw, imperfect journey of self-discovery. This trend isn’t necessarily about achieving a specific outcome, but rather about cultivating a mindset of adaptability, resilience, and self-belief. The emphasis is on the process, the struggle, and the subsequent growth. It's a shift from a culture that values external validation to one that prioritizes internal strength and self-acceptance. The Costa Rican jungle, with its inherent wildness and unpredictability, becomes a fitting backdrop for this exploration, offering a space to shed societal expectations and reconnect with a more primal sense of self.
Looking ahead, it’s likely we’ll see a continued proliferation of experiences designed to challenge and transform. The lines between travel, wellness, and personal development will continue to blur, with individuals actively seeking out opportunities to expand their comfort zones and cultivate a deeper sense of self-awareness. The key question becomes: how can these experiences be made accessible and inclusive, ensuring that the benefits of pushing personal boundaries are not limited to a privileged few? And, perhaps more importantly, how can we integrate the lessons learned from these challenging experiences into our everyday lives, fostering a sustained sense of resilience and self-compassion beyond the retreat setting?
"Never in my LIFE would I imagine you'd do something like that," my brother texts in our family group chat. He's responding to a video of me climbing a 70-foot strangler fig tree . . . then jumping from the very top. My harness quickly catches me as I swing through the canopy of leaves, flipping upside down to see Costa Rica's Matapalo from an entirely new perspective. In the video, I'm laughing with my arms spread wide and upper body dangling towards the ground like a human bat. Any fear I initially felt while clambering up the tree's giant, gnarled trunk has dissipated, and for a few rare moments, I am completely free.
A week prior, I wouldn't have imagined myself doing this either. But with GoRuck's annual Ruck & Flow Retreat, that's kind of the point. GoRuck is all about pushing your limits, going the distance, and taking a leap of faith (sometimes literally) in pursuit of your highest self. The women-only itinerary includes strength training on the beach, a five-mile jungle ruck (weighted walk) deep in the Osa Peninsula, and a nine-mile trek across Corcovado National Park. Challenge accepted.
As a stroke survivor whose illness culminated in the loss of her right eye, I have complicated feelings on what constitutes a "challenge." Some days, I think brushing my teeth would qualify. I once dragged a chair into my bathroom because standing upright for two minutes felt like too big an ask. Rebuilding my strength after the umpteenth flare up is another challenge that never really gets easier, and not only for physical reasons. The line between a challenge and a breaking point is a delicate tightrope, and I do my best to walk it with grace. But after embarking on this rucking excursion myself, I learned a lot more than I bargained for. Here's how it went, including some of my biggest wins, struggles, and overall takeaways.
My Rucking Experience
15 minutes into my first-ever ruck, I fall to the back of the pack, watching people pass me as I catch my breath on our 4.75-mile venture through the Costa Rican rainforest. "Most people don't have such broken bodies," I remind myself, sweating under the weight of my 12-pound rucksack. I feel quietly envious of this as I search for a reliable foothold among the fallen leaves. What would it be like to pursue your highest potential without the fear of sending yourself into a flare? To ruck onward without worrying the physical stress may trigger an avalanche of pain and inflammation later on?
I consider quitting several times before eventually reaching the summit. Accomplishment sinks in faster than the muscle soreness, and staring out on the vibrant tropic landscape, I see why people sometimes refer to rucking as "type-two fun." Painful in the moment, but happy to look back on, even minutes later. This may also explain why rucking has become one of this year's hottest fitness trends (although the impressive physical benefits could also have something to do with it).
Enjoying an endorphin-induced high, I follow fitness expert Jen Widerström back down the steep trail, trying hard not to lose myself in her six-pack. Despite my best efforts, I'm still one of the last to complete the ruck in its entirety. As I approach the finish line, I see that 20-something GoRuck participants are already anticipating me, assembling a bridge with their hands and hollering at me to run through. "This is so embarrassing," I whisper to the tour guide tasked with making sure none of us swallow a poison dart frog (or some such). But ducking under the hands of my fellow ruckers feels sweeter than I expected. Putting my ego aside, this celebratory moment becomes the highlight of my day.
The next morning, the group is promised a leisurely hike to the strangler fig tree . . . which, of course, means we're on our hands and knees, scrambling up a waterfall. In the moment, I remember grappling up a ledge and cussing out the powers that be. But looking back, I can only really recall the happy moments: pausing to sip directly from a natural spring; laughing with my new Ruck & Flow besties; and hearing our tour guide describe Costa Rica as his personal paradise. What kind of rucking sorcery is this?
Scaling and leaping from a massive tree isn't exactly low stakes (especially with a small audience watching down below). With my heart pounding, I debate whether I should even try. But, making a conscious effort to approach fear with levity, I shrug off any self-doubt and decide to take the plunge. Who cares if I fail? At least I'll have some fun on the way up.
Later, our Ruck & Flow group discusses how it felt to push ourselves in this way, deciding where to place our feet, which branches to grab, and when to jump off. "Keep doing things scared," one woman says at dinner. "Because one day you're 40, and it gets so much harder."
My Rucking Takeaways
As I stood in the jungle, swatting at beads of sweat like mosquitoes and swearing I'd never ruck another day in my life, my fellow Ruck & Flow participants demonstrated a completely different mindset. Whereas I found myself wallowing in a certain amount of disappointment every time I didn't exceed my own expectations, challenges merely seemed to re-invigorate them. A tough ruck just made them want to try again, get stronger, and prepare better for next time.
Being that this is only GoRuck's second Ruck & Flow retreat, I asked co-founder Emily McCarthy whether this group felt like a total switch up from last year. She surprised me by shaking her head no. Ruck & Flow attracts a certain kind of person, she explained. It's often women looking for something different. Women striving for their best — whatever that may look like to them. "It's about moving at your own pace, rather than finishing someone else's race," McCarthy said.
"It's about moving at your own pace, rather than finishing someone else's race."
After spending so much time in the rainforest with them, I agree that GoRuck attracts exceptional women. Not just in terms of physical prowess, but in spirit, grit, and resilience. Elite coaches and professional athletes, yes, but also healthcare workers seeking adventure; a woman who didn't get to properly celebrate her 50th birthday as the milestone it is; a former free solo climber still trying new things.
I entered the retreat feeling like a bit of an outsider among bonafide rucking superheroes. But I've come to view myself as a pretty exceptional woman too. I'm proud of finding joy (and a little silliness) in the face of fear. I'm proud of knowing my body well enough to assert its boundaries. And more than anything, I'm proud to have done things I never would've imagined — all at my own pace.
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Chandler Plante (she/her) is a staff writer and PS Fit Producer. She has over six years of industry experience, previously working as an editorial assistant for People magazine, a social media manager for Millie magazine, and a contributor for Bustle Digital Group. She has a degree in magazine journalism from Syracuse University and is based in Los Angeles.Read on the original site
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