The three-day effect
The Three-Day Effect
6:15 am. I silenced the alarm on my phone, crawled out of bed, and pulled back the dingy drapes of the motel room window. The bright morning sun on the Olympic Peninsula assaulted my tired eyes. Just 12 hours before, the plane had idled on the runway, waiting to take off from Washington Dulles International Airport after a FIVE-hour weather delay. I had been grounded in Washington- the capital not the state, the east coast not the west- and that was not where I wanted to be. The extended time spent in the airport, Philadelphia then Dulles in a layover that stretched for eternity, the boarding and deplaning and boarding again, had taken its toll. My stomach was full of processed snacks and ten-dollar lattes, and my brain was overstimulated from watching people rush around the airport like a colony of worker bees. I passed the time looking at magazines, memes, eBooks, and text messages, scrolling through Facebook stories and feeds, until my eyes could no longer focus. When that no longer held interest, I visited the Hudson news store again, fluorescent lights and plastic packages abound, and bought an overpriced pack of gum and Reese's peanut butter cups. The shopping and the sugar gave me a quick dopamine hit. I needed to get away from this place, and FAST.
The next morning, as I drove through the Hoh Rainforest ranger station into Olympic National Park, I could feel the anxiety of the previous day melting away. I was embarking on a five-day mountaineering trip with International Mountain Guides. The trip entailed a total of forty-five miles of trekking and mountaineering from sea level to summit, 8,000 feet above, all while carrying a forty-pound pack. At the end of the Hoh River Trail, past the Glacier Meadows campsite and up the Blue Glacier, was a canvas of wind-sculpted snow and the summit of Mount Olympus, the most prominent peak in the Olympic mountains. It was drastically different than the temperate rainforest below, where ferns, mosses, Sitka spruce, and hemlocks dominated the landscape. 
While I love the physical challenge of backpacking and climbing mountains, the best part is getting far away from civilization. The farther you climb, the less people, and mental distractions, that follow you. I seek solitude, simplicity, and mindfulness when I venture into the woods. David Strayer, a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of Utah, discovered the "three-day effect" over a decade ago, and it's since gained momentum. It is the idea that we undergo a kind of "neural reboot" when we spend extended time (in this study, three days) in nature. This was based on perceived and measured, quantifiable improvements in cognition (creativity, problem solving, and attention) in a group of backpackers who were tested before and after an extended outdoor experience. It's since been validated in other groups of hikers. And the cognitive benefits of the three-day effect are unique to outdoor trips; studies have shown that vacationers who stay indoors don't reap the same benefits. Getting outside is imperative if you want to take a "mental break." On the Mount Olympus trip, which pushed way past the three-day mark, I would have plenty of time to rest and reboot my distracted, multitasking brain. I was ready to feel the three-day effect.
On Day One, I had to be patient. The restorative effects of nature aren't instantaneous. First, I had to get used to being in nature again, extracted from both the luxuries and the annoyances of my suburban existence, like traffic and strip malls and the chaos of working in a hospital. Before I could enjoy nature, I had to move past the pulling and straining of my heavy pack against my shoulders and neck. Did I really need to pack an extra pair of socks? Would I eat those extra fig bars and snack bags of cashews? On backpacking trips, every ounce counts, and the decision to bring moisturizer and chocolate-covered graham crackers suddenly seemed gratuitous. I had to get used to the feeling of sweat running down my temples, down my sports bra and back, knowing that I wouldn't get to shower off the salt and grit for days. I had to get used to the mosquitoes, and the sticky feeling (and taste) of insect repellent as I doused my exposed skin with it. Day One was hard, and tiring, and I longed for a hot shower, clean pajamas, and a thick mattress. Instead, I slept on the ground in my sweat-crusted clothes, propped up by a thin sleeping pad and a balled-up soft shell jacket that doubled as a pillow.
But just as I expected (and had experienced in other multiday mountaineering trips), the following days were more enjoyable, and the discomforts of Day One faded into the background. Of course there was muscle soreness, fatigue, and a few blisters on my feet along the way, but that was typical for the amount of strenuous activity I was doing each day. We reached the summit on Day Three, a round trip that started at four AM from high camp and ended back at high camp twelve hours later. I proudly held up my ice axe at the top for a summit photo; it was a huge accomplishment to reach that summit, and the panoramic views of the snowy peaks were spectacular. Like any millennial, I used those few glorious moments of LTE signal to send the picture to my husband, but then the iPhone was once again forgotten. I shoved the phone, and the urge to check the twenty-seven missed emails and texts, back into my pack.
That night at camp we settled around two small cookstoves, boiled water from the stream, and dug into our dehydrated dinners and mugs full of Chai tea and hot cocoa. The brilliant blue skies of summit morning were now clouded over, as if the mountain was retiring for the evening too. It was only 5:30 pm, according to the mountain guides. Somewhere along the way, my Garmin watch had stopped telling time correctly; but did it matter? My cell phone was powered off and stashed in my tent; the search for cell service was futile and the battery was dying, so I turned it off and let it rest. Just like my mind. Seated on the dirt and pine needles, I stared at the meadow next to our camp, gazed up at the tall trees and the clouds, and stretched my legs. Still hungry from a long summit day, I ate the chocolate-covered graham crackers, glad I had packed them after all. Life was simple. I had everything I needed to survive for five days in the wilderness, and nothing more. There were no decisions to make, no tasks to juggle, no diversions; and I didn't care. As someone who gets easily bored, nature is exceptionally adept at getting me to chill out.
By Day Five, I was fully entrenched and in mountaineer mode, but the trip had to come to an end. As we hiked back out toward civilization, the trail flattened, populated by more and more day hikers with each passing mile. I pulled off my baseball cap and ran my fingers through my unbrushed, matted hair, unruly strands poking out in all directions. Maybe a shower wasn't a terrible idea after all... But I would miss this place. For me, being in the mountains is a perfect mental respite. If you are brave enough to submit to the three-day effect, to take a break from the turmoil of everyday life, to live uncomplicated (and un-showered), just know that others, including myself, have walked the path before and loved it. And once you're out there, really out there, the hardest part is actually turning around.
Additional reading/resources:
Creativity in the Wild An REI Co-op Publication
