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I've often heard people say, "You never see a motorcycle at a therapist's office." It's this kind of tongue-in-cheek way to imply that riding a motorcycle is the therapy. And maybe you've heard something similar: "The mountains are my therapist," or "A good powder day is all I need." I get it. I said all of that myself once. I rode motorcycles, I snowboarded, I jumped out of planes. I told myself I was keeping myself healthy, that these adventures were my medicine, and maybe in some ways they were. But if I'm honest, I was mostly engaged in what psychologists call experiential avoidance. I wasn’t addressing what was really eating at me—I was just running from it, with a nice adrenaline boost along the way.
If you live in Salt Lake City, this approach might feel really familiar. Our city sits right next to a beautiful wilderness, the kind of place people dream about. And people take full advantage. We ski the backcountry, bike the endless trails, run the ridgelines, and climb the endless lines in and out of the Cottonwoods. There’s a culture here of going hard—of using the mountains to get out of our heads. Adventure becomes the ultimate coping strategy. And let me be clear: there’s a lot of good in that. Movement is medicine; connection with nature is powerful. But when we lean on adventure sports as our only way to manage anxiety or tough emotions, it can quickly shift from a healthy outlet to a kind of trap.
The Trap of Experiential Avoidance
Experiential avoidance is what happens when we do everything we can to not feel uncomfortable emotions. And in a place like Utah it's easy for adventure sports to become the perfect tool for avoidance. Feeling anxious about work? Hit the trail for an all-day ride. Dealing with grief? Book a ski trip and chase powder for a week. Feeling lonely? Push yourself into an ultra-marathon training plan. These activities might keep the bad feelings at bay for a while, but the underlying issues never really go away.
When adventure becomes a way to avoid hard emotions, it starts acting like a drug - you need it more and more to get the desired effect. The highs from skiing or biking or running have to keep getting higher. It’s not about enjoying the activity anymore—it’s about keeping the anxiety away. And the moment you can't get outside—maybe you're injured, or work gets busy, or life just intervenes—those emotions come flooding back, stronger than ever. You’re left without a way to cope, and the anxiety you were avoiding now feels even worse.
You might be wondering, "how can I tell if I'm doing this?" Well, one sign is a feeling that you "need" to do your sport to feel ok. Another is that you have an existential fear of injury and down days. Often, I can tell that my clients' hobbies have drifted into experiential avoidance as they explain how uncomfortable they feel when they can't do their activity. Sometimes, I hear them describe drinking, smoking weed, or burying themselves in work when they can't do the thing and not understanding why.
Finding a Different Path Forward
So, what’s the alternative? How do you balance the good that comes from movement and adventure without letting it become your emotional crutch? It starts with learning to allow your feelings to exist, even the really tough ones. Instead of running from them, can you let them be there? Can you be curious about them?
One tool that can be helpful is mindfulness—practicing staying present, even when the present moment is uncomfortable. You might notice your anxiety before a big meeting, and instead of hitting the trail to escape it, just take a breath and acknowledge it. What does it feel like? Where is it in your body? Sometimes just turning toward those feelings, even a little bit, is enough to make them feel less overwhelming.
Another helpful step is to bring balance back to your adventures. Can you climb because you want to climb, not because you need to avoid your feelings? Can you run because it brings you joy, rather than because you can’t stand being alone with your thoughts? This is usually accompanied by letting go of bigger and more intense missions and allowing yourself to play. Reconnecting with the simple pleasure of these activities can be a powerful shift.
Moving Forward—For Real
Adventure is a beautiful thing, and exercise is good for mental health. But it’s not a substitute for doing the deeper work of addressing what’s really going on. If you find yourself leaning on adventure to keep the bad feelings away, it might be time to try something different. Facing those emotions directly, maybe with the help of a therapist, can actually make your relationship with adventure healthier and more fulfilling.
If you're ready to explore what’s underneath—to step off the trail for a bit and do the deeper work—let's talk. Sometimes the scariest adventure is just being with ourselves, and I’d love to help you navigate that path. Book an introductory phone call, and let’s start figuring this out together.
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