What the Backcountry Taught Me About Pregnancy

By Kaeli Beckham

I was pretty confident going into pregnancy.

I had read the books, hired the dream team, and mapped out my postpartum support. I had a decade of experience helping women navigate pregnancy and postpartum as a pelvic floor physical therapist, so if preparation alone could guarantee a smooth experience, I should have been set.

But pregnancy taught me that preparation and control are not the same thing.

Learning to Move Through Pregnancy Differently

I entered pregnancy with high expectations for how active I would continue to be. Skiing, climbing, biking, mountain rescue — movement has always been a central part of my life and identity.

But by week five, I was celebrating if I only threw up once that day. The fatigue was an equal blow. It was a tiredness I could feel in every bone in my body.

Next came the alarmingly early pelvic floor symptoms, combined with immense discomfort every time I ran, which led me to make the difficult decision to stop.

What surprised me was not the physical changes themselves. It was the humility required to meet my body where it actually was, rather than where I wanted it to be. Somehow, I had thought my knowledge and experience helping other women would make me exempt.

Fortunately, running has never been my only outlet. If pregnancy was asking me to modify one thing, there were still plenty of other ways to move. The harder question came when I began thinking about skiing and mountain biking.

Rethinking Risk in Pregnancy and Adventure Sports

When it came to my adventure sports, I found myself frustrated by blanket recommendations. The advice was simple: “Do not do it.”

What bothered me was not that they were being cautious. It was that they weren’t willing to have a more nuanced conversation about it. It felt like they didn’t understand that giving up these pursuits held much more weight than giving up sushi. Maybe they didn’t know the profound ways these activities were connected to my mental health, identity, community, and sense of belonging.

Their advice also triggered a deeper worry: “What else would motherhood ask me to sacrifice?”

My friend Anna from my Mountain Rescue team and I sat in the ski lodge while I aired my frustrations. She was an MD herself who had navigated two pregnancies before me. Together, we reframed the conversation in a way that resonated deeply, given our shared love of the backcountry.

We talked about the risk/reward calculation the same way we talk about avalanches, considering both the likelihood and the consequence of the risk. We look at avy forecasts, terrain traps, exposure, weather, individual skill, remoteness, and finally, weigh the reward.

And to be fair, some people — most people! — will never choose to enter the backcountry because that consequence is just too high and safety is their priority. Yet others will still go because the untouched powder, serene remoteness, and adrenaline adventure shared with friends are worth that risk.

No right or wrong answer. Just nuanced and deeply individual.

Finding a Pregnancy Risk Framework That Felt Honest

That framework helped me approach pregnancy differently. Rather than asking whether skiing was completely safe or completely unsafe, I began asking how I could meaningfully reduce exposure while still preserving the parts of the experience that mattered to me.

Ultimately, I chose to ski through 25 weeks, sticking to more conservative terrain, and that was the right choice for me. I still remember standing at the top of a bluebird run one winter morning, asking my friend Katie to buckle my boots for me because I could no longer reach them over my belly. I felt acutely aware that I was no longer skiing only for myself.

The mountains felt familiar, but my relationship with risk had shifted.

I did continue training with Seattle Mountain Rescue, pregnancy harness and all. I even responded to a couple of missions, although admittedly, they were both rather commonplace packouts. I secretly had hoped there might have been a rock climbing call. The image of me and my pregnant belly rappelling down the rock to help a couple of young climber bros get their rope unstuck would be badass and absurd in all the best ways.

What Postpartum Recovery Still Taught Me

When labor finally arrived, my pelvic floor knowledge and preparation did actually help me significantly. I felt proud when my midwife complimented my pushing technique, and I left with only very minimal tearing. My team was incredible, and my body rose to the occasion, but I wasn’t out of the trenches yet.

Postpartum recovery still held several surprising challenges, including mastitis, night sweats, and more pelvic floor issues. Even with all my preparation and support, I still had blind spots and experienced things I hadn’t realized were a possibility.

At one point, I remember feeling even mildly betrayed. How had nobody mentioned these things?

And that thought really stuck with me. If I felt bewildered and disoriented despite my training, resources, and support system, how were other women feeling?

The Gap in Pregnancy and Pelvic Floor Education

Throughout pregnancy and postpartum, I kept encountering the same gap. There seemed to be a lack of meaningful, practical education about what women themselves might experience and, more importantly, what they can do to prevent and prepare for it.

I cringed at overly simplistic and outdated advice such as “don’t do planks because your abs will split” and “everyone just do some kegels.”

So much attention is rightfully given to growing and caring for a baby, but far less attention is given to preparing women for the profound changes happening within their own bodies and how they can stay active, injury-free, and even prevent some of the common issues.

That realization ultimately became part of the inspiration for my online class: Mountain Strong, Pelvic Floor Guidance for Active Pregnancy. I wanted to create something that could reach women far and wide, especially those in areas that might not have access to an in-person pelvic floor physical therapist.

Not because preparation guarantees control. Pregnancy has taught me that it does not.

The mountains never promise certainty either. What they taught me was that good preparation doesn’t remove the unknowns ahead. It simply helps us navigate them with greater confidence.

You can sign up for Dr. Kaeli Beckham's Summit Strong: Pelvic Floor Guidance Course here.