This past weekend I watched a documentary where survivors of the plane that landed in the Hudson River were interviewed.  They were people, seemingly just like me, who described their harrowing experience on that plane, an experience that didn’t end until they were safely on land.  They spoke calmly and precisely and I wondered how they could.

My husband is a man who was quite fortunate to grow up with the mountains of Vail as his backyard.  He has described himself as a teenager, back in the days where he would run home from school on a Friday afternoon, grab some basic supplies and head out into the back country, strap skis on his back and trudge up the nearest mountain to sleep on ledges steep and stare at stars that kept him company those long solo nights before he hit the virgin snow at the crack of dawn with his skis pointed down, down, down and there was no one but him and the mountain and speed.  How did he manage this?

Once, he took three men on a ski hut trip and got caught midway through in a blizzard so seismic it shut down the ski mountain of Telluride.  I’ve made him tell me that story a dozen times.  I love to hear about his resilience, his strength, his perseverance and how well he took care of the other men who were less experienced than he when they found themselves unable to make it to the next hut.  He built a fire and snow caves before he discovered he was left with a solidly frozen block of a sleeping bag for an interminably long night.  How did he do that?

I’ve wondered when I hear these stories how I would fare in any of those situations.  Would I be the one hysterical passenger trying to jump over people to escape the nearest airplane exit?  Would I, had I been on my husband’s expedition, gotten so tired, cold and worn out I would have simply sat on the ground and refused to budge?

This past weekend, my husband and I went to see “127 Hours”, the story of Aron Ralston, the Colorado climber who went solo hiking in the Canyonlands of Utah only to find himself in the most unthinkable of circumstances, taking a fall down a crevice and bringing a large boulder with him.  His boulder and right arm seemed fated to meet, and at the end of the fall, he slowly realized his arm was wedged into seeming permanence against the canyon wall with the boulder stubbornly protecting it.

My heart was racing when I watched this scene.  My stomach sank as I watched the character of Aron Ralston (played by James Franco) react as he realized his impossible and dire predicament.  It didn’t matter that I knew what was inevitably coming or that in present day, Ralston is alive and well.  I was terrified.

 “Do not lose it, Aron.  Do not lose it!” he told himself over and over again.  The next five days he spent with himself and that boulder transformed into a journey of the past, the present and the future.  Self-examination of the life he had so far lived became foremost present in his mind.

He realized his selfish ways, his taking for granted those he loved, his arrogance at not leaving a note to say where he had gone, and in the middle of that forlorn ancient place where his only company was a black raven who made a routine of flying over him each morning, he realized his inevitable death and sent messages of love to his parents and friends via modern technology in the form of a video camera.

As I watched the movie, I tried to imagine my own reaction.  My heart would race as I tried to anticipate what it would be like to be so stuck and powerless, and all I could imagine was pure terror and darkness. 

The movie takes a sudden turn when Ralston realizes if he breaks his bones, he could possibly amputate his arm.  This is when I closed my eyes.  Mercifully, the scene was brief and the joy Ralston experiences when he was finally free from the rock made me want to jump up in my theater seat and shout for joy!

I will still never understand how he didn’t faint, didn’t collapse after five days of virtually no food or water, and walked eight miles post his savage amputation until he ran into some hikers who had been alerted to look for a missing hiker.

As happy as I was for the outcome for Ralston, I felt somewhat dejected.  Actually, I was disappointed in myself because I felt I never could do what he had done.  And not because I would lack the physical ability to do so (although that is of course very questionable), but rather that I lacked the mental strength it would take to survive such an ordeal.

I read a poll recently where people were asked if they were in Ralston’s situation, would they have done the same thing?  44% of them said, “Yes”.  Wow.  That’s a lot of confidence those 44% have.  I’m not sure I could be so bold as to say that, despite wanting to believe it could be true of me. 

I got home from the movie and I couldn’t get it out of my mind.  I spent the next day pouring over the book Ralston had written about his ordeal and as many interviews of him I could get my hands on.  Repeatedly he would insist that he was an ordinary man and that anyone would be just as capable as he was of making the same decisions in that narrow stone grave.

It made my day more precious thinking of life and death and death and back to life again.  I thought about the things I keep such a death grip on, the things that keep me stuck, the things that serve me no purpose, time wasters, shallow pettiness and Bermuda triangle ruminations that zap me of energy and strength.

Ironically, the holidays have their own savage hold on us.  My office has been filled of late with those stuck between a rock and a hard place with the ridiculous expectations of shopping and presents they can’t afford to give to people who don’t need them anyway.

Inspired by Ralston’s story, I wrote my four children yesterday.  I told them my Christmas wish.  Spend the day with me.  Go for a long hike in the beautiful Colorado woods near our home, share a meal and stories of times gone by, soak each other up, enjoy the present moment, all that we enjoy now for none of us knows what lies ahead.

Now that is something I’d give my right arm for but I didn’t have to.  They all responded with enthusiastic YES’s and one, “Yeah, F…k presents!”

Gawd I love those kids, my husband, my life and… my right arm.

Feliz Navidad.