The trail provides

About a week ago, Caroline and I decided to take a period of separation for reflection, isolation, solitude etc. It was my idea and something that I felt was crucial as a final(ish) step to achieving the personal growth I came out here for-- fears and issues surrounding comfort zones and anxiety that I really came nakedly face to face with the past few days. The first two days were miserably rainy, muddy... thunder storms every hour... For days, everything I owned was soaking wet. I had to put on wet socks, wet underwear/bra, wet boots that caused blisters and chafing everywhere. Blisters between every single toe... Chafing on my underarm from my shirt sleeves... You get the idea. Miserable. And I had no one to turn to, no one out here to commiserate with and even if I had wanted to cry to someone back home, I had no service. And all that was okay because I just kept telling myself "I won't be wet forever", "the sun will come out, even if it's not today", "my clothes and gear will eventually dry"...basically this is ALL temporary, like everything in life. I knew it would end and I set my focus on doing a 30 mile day the next day it was sunny. I woke up and was REALLY slow getting out of camp because everything was still soaking wet. My boots were still sloshing with every step, I had a big mountain with pretty intense elevation gain in front of me and by 10am, my wet socks and shoes were already rubbing my toes, heels, ankles to raw blisters. But I told myself I would do this. I had committed. I went back and forth throughout the day and as it got later, I kept missing mile markers I had hoped to reach by that time. I reminded myself that no one knew I was doing this and, therefore, no one would know if I didn't do it. But I had made a promise to MYSELF and I wanted to give that promise the weight it deserved. Plus, when I really examined it, it was fear that was at the heart of my hesitation. I came out here to lean into fear, not listen it to and let it guide me. So I kept pushing. Then, at mile 29 I reached a beautiful peak and I thought to myself "I can't NOT camp here, it's too perfect", so I adjusted my goals. I didn't reach a 30 mile day but I got pretty darn close and, more importantly, I pushed myself beyond what I thought I was capable of. I conquered my pain and leaned into my fear. But then came the real challenge...camping on an isolated mountain, completely alone. I did it but it was really, really scary. I wanted to turn on my phone to see if I at least could look at Facebook or text someone to ground me and remind me I was okay. But instead I journaled and I read. I had my phone, pepper spray and knife with me in my tent and I had sent out a "spot check in", so those following my progress had the exact coordinates of my location. In reality, I was perfectly safe. I knew that logically I had nothing to fear and I reminded myself that I was just as safe here (if not more safe) as anywhere else.

The next day, I went though a similar feeling. I woke up to find that mice had climbed the tree to where my food bag was hanging and chewed through the stuff sack and gotten into several packages of my food. (It's UNENDING....) Soo... I hitched a ride into town to buy food with a woman who was throwing up (yes, seriously) but once in town, I had no idea how I was going to get back to the trail, or even where it was. Then I hiked 4 extra miles because I couldn't find a place to sleep. 

Even now, I'm laying in my tent, not a person for miles and miles, totally alone and I'm really scared. I don't even know of what exactly...I don't even want to go there. But I'm here and I'm pushing through that fear. I haven't talked to anyone for more than a few minutes in the past week and have spent hours upon hours inside my own head. It was maddening at first but I'm learning to trust myself to be by myself through that isolation. Just when I think I can see the finish line, I am reminded who is in charge. I am a visitor here. This is not my land. I don't own the trail. Throughout this hike, the trail has taken on a life of its own. It is proud and powerful. It demands respect. It is not always an easy lover or a patient teacher. It's lessons are uncalculated and, therefore, can be harsh and painful. That is what is simultaneously so terrifying and so wonderful about it.  

My heart swells with pride when I think about what I worked though and that feeling fills me with love for myself that I've never known before. Nothing compares to intimately knowing the terror of not just confronting fear but leaning into it-- engaging with fear, actively seeking it out as a teacher, and then coming out the other end. The pride and sense of accomplishment that comes with overcoming great fear is unlike any other feeling. That empowerment brings an unparalleled self-love and self-trust. 

I enter this final part of the hike a calmer, more whole person. There is a saying on the AT that "the trail provides". It doesn't always provide what you want, or even what you need. Stretches without a water source, unclear trail markers, slippery rocks, thorny bushes, inadequate food stores, days of Thunder storms, rodents that chew holes in your food bag at night, loneliness... All these things are ways the trail provides by NOT providing. Each challenge provides an opportunity for growth. 

"I step out of linear time and thinking, away from learned experience-- into daydream. For days-- weeks if I'm on a long trip-- I empty my brain and wash the decks of my mind, to live within the moment, the hour, the present. In this place. Untutored, my imagination and intuition rise to embrace these exquisite surroundings. I don't calculate or plan, just take it all in, alerting all my senses to respond to nature and her stimuli, accept it, become a part of it and move blissfully along with the flow of the river. I become highly light sensitive, and adjust to shapes and motion, rather than ways and means. 

...We're not crazy, those of us who have these flash dances with wilderness. We've been given a gift of finding a way back to our private zone in the natural world." -Katie Lee, Sandstone Seduction

 
 
 
 

When the bears come marching in...

So... It's been a while since my last post, largely because not much has changed in the past month or so. Waking up in my tent, walking 20-30 miles with my whole house on my back, cooking over a butane canister, pooping in a hole in the woods...all feels normal. We'd fallen into a daily routine and everything had begun to just feel normalized with no huge surprises or changes... until last night. 

We had picked a spot to camp, set up our stuff, I'd eaten dinner, gotten cleaned up, hung my bear bag and backpack and was journaling and listening to music in my tent. Caroline had made a fire and was finishing her dinner. Things were as they always are and we were feeling good with fresh legs from a day off. Suddenly, Caroline ran over to my tent frantically shouting, I thought, "what have you done to your hair?!" Confused and annoyed at being disturbed during my down time, I looked up grumbling, but immediately knew by the look on her face that something was very wrong. "Bear! There's a huge bear with cubs.. Get out of your tent!" I quickly unzipped my tent and leaped out without any shoes... Or pants... And we both started making as much noise as we could to scare the bears away, screaming at the top of our lungs, clapping, throwing rocks, banging on pots...anything. But nothing worked. The big mama bear had walked right past Caroline while the cubs climbed up into the surrounding trees, as Caroline described it "in synchronized fashion, like ninja cubs". 

I'm going to take a brief pause in the story to give a bit of background information. For those who aren't familiar with bears or how to handle a bear encounter while camping: they are fairly harmless, as long as you stand your ground and assert yourself as something to be feared, rather than running away, like prey. They are naturally afraid of humans, as are most wild animals, and therefore, making your presence known usually scares them away pretty immediately...except in two circumstances. The first is a mother bear with babies, who will often act aggressively protective over her cubs. If you come across a bear with babies, or even just the babies, back off. The second instance is when bears have become habituated to humans and/or dependent on humans for food. Yesterday, Caroline and I found ourselves confronted with both circumstances-- a mama bear and her cubs, who were all habituated to humans and completely unfazed by our presence. 

Now back to the story. After about 15 minutes of screaming and even hitting the unfazed bears with rocks, we realized they were not going to leave and decided the best approach was to back off because their behavior was not normal, and therefore, unpredictable and dangerous. It started to get dark so we walked up to the nearby ridge line, about 200 feet away, to wait it out, and found another thru hiker, named Beaver, watching the sun set. Barefoot and in only my underwear, I started to explain what was going on to Beaver but he seemed unable to grasp the severity of the situation and responded with "Bears?! Cool!" and asked me if I wanted to borrow a pair of his shorts in the meantime. I quickly reminded him that the noises we could hear coming from the campsite were the sounds of a family of bears tearing through all of our belongings and that the fact that I didn't have pants and the importance of capturing the moment on video were not my primary concern. He walked over and exclaimed "Oh you're right, there are bears here! Whoa!" but failed to react to their presence in any other way. Meanwhile, Caroline and I had succeeded in scaring them away enough to reenter the campsite. It was dark at that point and we had decided that we needed to get our things together and leave the area as soon as possible. When I finally reached my tent, Caroline was already there and, before I could even process what had happened, she turned around saying, "oh no...I'm so sorry, Chlo... I'm so sorry.." I looked at her feet and there was my tent torn open and crushed into the ground. I couldn't believe my beloved tent, my sanctuary, my little home, had been so invaded like that. I have NEVER eaten in my tent, I don't even keep anything scented inside of it, but it didn't matter. These bears equated all things human, with food and they had gone through every bit of our gear. But Caroline's things were in much worse shape. Her backpack had been torn open, some of her food had been taken, her toiletries bag was completely gone, her stuff sacks were tattered and ripped and both of our nalgene water bottles had been chewed and punctured. We were horrified, but relieved to have access to our belongings again. No sooner had we begun to pack everything together though, I looked up at Caroline in the light of my headlamp and noticed a pair of eyes glinting in the dark behind her. "Caroline...", I said, "we need to leave again... Now." We grabbed everything we could and shuttled it up to the ridge line where Beaver was sitting eating pop tarts. We had agreed to camp there for the night, figuring that the bears couldn't, or at least wouldn't, climb up the rocks to the ledge. Again, we waited for them to leave and made noise until they were scared far enough away that we could go back to get the rest of our things. Throughout the entire affair, my bear bag had remained untouched hanging in a tree outside of the campsite, so we decided to leave it there and hang both Beaver and Caroline's food as well. We added to the bonfire while we were at it to keep the bears away for good this time. I sat down to tend the fire and called my mom to tell her what had happened and ask her advice since she has done a lot of backpacking in the past. All of the sudden, I heard Caroline and Beaver screaming again. I looked towards the ridge line but all I could see was the light of their headlamps, seemingly on top of the boulders next to the ridge. "Guys??!", I shouted in blind desperation, "What's going on?! Where are you??" But got no response as they climbed further into the darkness of the ridge line. "Caroline?!", I tried again, "are you okay? Where are you?" She shouted that the bears were back and that we shouldn't be separated. At this point, my headlamp was nearly out of battery and the only light illuminating my surroundings was the fire. I couldn't see Caroline. I couldn't see the bears. I couldn't even see anything beyond the 10 foot radius of the fire. All I knew is that at least one of the bears had followed Caroline and Beaver up over the rocks and that the others were likely around. "Chloe!", Caroline yelled, "we shouldn't be separated. You need to come here now!" I didn't know what else to do, so I just walked blindly through the woods towards her voice and headlamp, hoping I wouldn't reach the bear before I reached her. When I climbed over the rocks and onto the ridge, the bears were gone and Caroline and Beaver were assessing the damage of the third encounter. By that time it was nearing 11:00pm but we nonetheless agreed that we couldn't stay on the ridge and decided to push on to the best shelter 3.5 miles away. Beaver was lagging behind from the outset and, after a mile, he announced that he was just going to camp there for the night. I reminded him that the bears weren't far off but he said he felt safe and was too tired to continue that night... so Caroline and I continued on without him. Stumbling over rocks, down hill and uphill in the dark and still quite shaken, the hike took half an hour longer than it should have and we reached the shelter sometime after 1:00am. I blew up my sleeping pad, slid it in between the hikers laying in the shelter and crawled into my sleeping bag. 

It's been 4 days since that night and I still can't believe it really happened. To US. Of all people, of all thru-hikers... me and Caroline. We hang bear bags EVERY night. Bear bags with not only all of our food but containing anything we own that is even slightly scented-- toothpaste, face wash, hand sanitizer... It has never even been a question of whether we'll hang bear bags, it is just part of our nightly routine. We are SO careful with food, so careful to not leave any trace of our presence that might attract animals or harm wild life. Because that is what makes wild animals dangerous. Human beings are what make animals dangerous. Caroline and I did everything right, yet WE were the ones who had to face the repercussions of other people's actions. We had to deal with the consequences of people dropping food, wrappers, or even actively FEEDING wild life. The morning after, we talked to other hikers at the shelter who had seen the same bears, several of whom had seen day hikers getting close to the bears to take pictures and giving them food. There's a saying on the trail, "a habituated bear is a dead bear". And it's true. When bears learn to be too comfortable with people, when they are no longer afraid of humans, they become disruptive and dangerous. We ended up calling the national park service to report the incident and they will likely tranquilize and move the bears, if not euthanize them altogether. It's really sad, because it's not the bears' fault, they are simply acting out a learned behavior. Its the people who are not respectful of "leave no trace" policies or do not treat bears like wild animals that are to blame. 

 

Ultimately, the experience served as a reminder of how important it is to follow proper camping policy. We are visitors in this land. These are not my woods. This trail is a road through land that we all share-- with other people and with the wild life that lives here. 

 

Hiking your own hike

25% done. 1/4 of the way to Katahdin. 39 days since we left Springer Mt, Georgia.

 

We've been taking the past few days off staying with Caroline's parents in Chapelhill, NC and this morning, we're heading BACK to Damascus, VA for a festival called "trail days". Neither of us knows exactly what to expect, except that trail days is apparently something EVERY hiker HAS to go to. Most of the big name gear companies will be there doing repairs, replacements, selling new gear, etc. there is everything from foot massages and showers to live music, cheap beer and free food. This past string of days, followed by trail days will be the longest stretch of time we've taken off BY FAR since we started, which, surprisingly, seems not to be the norm. I briefly touched on this in previous posts but it is truly fascinating how many different ways there are to hike this trail. Even the word "hike" is loosely defined. There are a variety of different takes on the original "white blazing" which originated from the white painted marks or "blazes" that mark the path of the Appalachian trail.

Hikers have coined the phrases "blue blazing" to refer to the side trails which lead around mountains, rather than over them, and meet back up with the AT after a few short cutted miles. "Aqua blazing" is available to those who would like to kayak or canoe alongside the trail in certain areas when it's available (especially at Harper's Ferry, VA). There's even "yellow blazing" which refers to hitch hiking or driving to bypass a certain portion of the trail. 

Beyond the different ways of "blazing", there are just a variety of hiking paces, schedules, mentalities, personality types and reasons for hiking the trail that create fundamentally different experiences for hikers. One of the most common sayings on the trail and the number one piece of advice that I got from past Thru hikers is: Hike your own hike. People warned though that this is easier said than done and even the phrase itself can be defined differently. Like any subculture (and the AT very much IS its own subculture), there are expectations placed on you by others, norms, implied social obligations, forms of inclusion/exclusion, it's own language and just general components of community and socialization. For some, mainly college-aged students, the trail is a social experience. The shelters are places to talk, drink, share food, have fires, play music, often creating a bit of a party scene. The trail is about meeting people and experiencing new places. The towns the trail passes through are as much a part of the experience as the trail itself. The people, both hikers and local townies, play an integral role in the journey. Some stay in towns for days or even weeks, while others only stop for a few hours to restock their food. For others (Caroline and I belong to this camp), the trail is an internal, reflective experience. 

I spend most of my day alone, often only seeing even Caroline in the morning and evening. At night, Caroline and I camp away from the shelters in pretty, cozy little secluded campsites. We often cook on our own and then head into our shelters to read or journal. I've enjoyed the times I've spent talking to people and hiking with others intermittently but I took on the trail as an internal journey and a time to think, reflect and be in conversation with myself. Thanks to the transformative Summers I spent working for the Appalachian Mountain Club at Echo Lake camp in Maine, I got that social-in-the-woods experience. Those Summers played a crucial role in the person I am today. In fact, I don't think I'd be hiking this trail at all had I not worked at Echo Lake with Caroline. That being said, I'm looking for something different at this point in my life. For the first time, I have no social obligations. There are no social repercussions. If I'm not in the mood to talk, I don't have to. I'm an introvert by nature, which may surprise some people who know me, because I'm fairly outgoing, but at the end of the day, I recharge alone. My respite and my way of working through things is internal. I have felt guilty my entire life for that. I wanted to be one of those people who spent all their time surrounded by others. Despite my desperate need for alone time, I judged and criticized myself whenever I wasn't with others. I didn't understand why I felt different and it took me years to accept that there is nothing wrong with that. Introversion is very different from shyness, unfriendliness or anti sociability. For me, it is most prominent in the way I process information and work through things. I am still learning to accept my introversion but, on the trail, for the first time in my life, I am allowing myself take as much alone time as I need. I can accept that THAT is what I want. I may want to want to have a social hike, but at the end of the day, I have to hike my own hike. Really, if I'm honest with myself, what I want an internal journey. This trail is teaching me to accept that. And to listen, rather than judge or fight myself. This is part of being in honest conversation with myself. Often more difficult than examining yourself, is being kind and accepting and just quietly listening to yourself. 

All that is not to say that either Caroline or I is unfriendly or antisocial, but rather that this is an internal journey for us. But it is NOT that way for everyone. 

 

Again, as I have often found during experiences like this whether it's traveling or moving somewhere new, being exposed to a new culture, there is no one, right way to be human. Over and over again, the trail has illustrated itself as a microcosm of the world and life. Only without the distractions and complications of daily life as most of us know it, everything is clearer. I wake up and face almost no decisions whatsoever. I have a limited amount of food to eat and I know exactly what I will be doing all day. We walk. Yet the same phenomena that classify human nature exist everywhere, only they are easier to see and understand in their unclouded presentation. Similarly, the same patterns and behaviors I see in myself in "real life" (like my introversion) also exist on the trail, but in a clearer, more discernible form, which is easier to examine. I don't know where that clarity will lead me or what it will teach me about myself and the world around me. Those lessons are still solidifying but one thing is for sure, I'm looking through a lens I've never known before. 

 

There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.

P.S. Wild ponies EXIST!!!!

Walking tall

Here we are, nearly a month into our journey and 340 miles since the start. As predicted, honey moons don't last forever. Since I last wrote, I feel like I've been to hell and back in a lot of ways. The joy in simple things and the pleasure in overcoming challenges have only grown more prevalent... But so have the challenges. Currently, I'm sitting in my tent, reveling in the warm night and dry sleeping bag in comparison to the storm we endured last night. Just the simple fact that my clothing is dry and my rain tarp is hanging on a tree next to my tent, rather than being helplessly blown about, feels like luxury.  

As the weeks have gone on, Caroline and I have stopped hiking together every moment of every day. Partially because it is a lot of time together but mostly because this is a reflective experience for both of us. Often, we spend the mornings hiking alone or hiking with others, have lunch together and then hike to the place we will be camping that night. Yesterday began exactly that way. I woke up and left camp earlier and Caroline was having a slower day so we didn't reconnect for lunch. Instead, I ran into a "trail angel", which is the term out here for people who help out thru-hikers by giving food, rides into town, water etc. It's shockingly common to suddenly stumble upon a group of past thru-hikers who have set up a table with fresh fruit, candy, cold drinks-- basically everything a hiker could want! Some people just enjoy being involved with the Thru-Hike and meeting new people even if they don't want to hike it themselves. Basically, the conclusion that I've come to about these acts of kindness and the "angels" who always seem to appear when you need them most is this: we are out here living with just what we can carry on our backs. The smallest thing (a ride into town to use a proper toilet) means EVERYTHING. You can fill someone with joy just by giving them cold filtered water. I can only imagine that "trail magic" and "trail Angels" exist because they can be a part of the journey and play a crucial role on the trail by giving simple, yet deep, joy. 

 

Anyway...the trail angel I met yesterday was driving a big, colorful van and asked if I needed anything. Laughing, I said, "a bathroom" and she immediately offered to drive me and another hiker into town. I bought some snacks and waited for Caroline when I returned. She texted me that she was going to take her time that day so I decided to push on without her and we agreed to meet at the next shelter 5 miles away. 

2 miles into the hike, it stated to rain. Sprinkling at first and then down-pouring and eventually hailing. Everything was soaked in minutes. My boots were filled with so much water that I felt like I was walking on sponges. As water soaked deeper into my backpack, gear, clothes and shoes, everything got even heavier. Annoyed, I hiked faster figuring that I only had 3 miles to go and would reach the shelter soon. About half an hour passed and I noticed a power-line, which I remembered was the marker for 1 mile until the shelter in the guide book. Encouraged, I pushed on, thinking I would reach the shelter in about 15 minutes. Suddenly, the woods opened up onto a huge, broad bald on the top of the mountain. Rolling hills of meadows as far as the eye could see. I was shocked but figured still that this must be the small gap before the shelter. The path was completely flooded at that point and the sky blackened with a huge clap of thunder and bolt of lightning. I started into the meadow, thinking it would lead to the shelter but as I approached the top of the hill, another enormous rolling bald began to appear. I saw 3 tiny dots moving up the bald and realized they were 3 of the hikers I had been chatting with an hour ago. Shocked, I was brought back to reality by the sudden, overwhelming boom of thunder and immediate strike of lightning, which meant the storm was very close. I quickly realized not only was I farther from the shelter than I had thought but I had miles of wide open, exposed, rolling fields in front of me, which were sitting in the eye of the storm. I panicked and began running, trying to reach the shelter before the storm enveloped the bald. Suddenly, I realized I was in the middle of a field, thousands of feet up, holding metal poles. I had visions of myself being struck by lightning and all of the sudden my mind drew a complete blank on what I had been taught about the basics of electricity and safety when hiking during an electrical storm. Metal conducts electricity, I knew that and lighting hits the tallest thing around, right? So was I supposed to be close to the trees since they were wooden and taller than I? Or would that put me in danger of being struck if something near me was hit? How much danger, really, was I in? Was I panicking unnecessarily? How often do people actually get struck by lighting? The odds were in my favor. But that's what everyone thinks. I suddenly remembered the 15 mile stretch of trail we had to skip due to an uncontrolled wild fire ripping through North Carolina. Wild fires often start with lightning, don't they? My mind began racing with another whole set of fears. I saw myself engulfed in smoke and flames because I had run into the woods to avoid getting hit by lightning. I wished I was with Caroline. Surely she would knew what to do. But I wasn't. I had only myself and I had to get to the shelter, fast. I snapped back to reality and noticed a tiny dot of a person in front of me. I recognized him as a man I'd seen on the trail every now and then journaling or listening to music. He was never in any rush and seemed to always be calmly hiking at his own pace. But now, in the storm, he was sprinting in a b-line away from the trail through the bald and into the woods. I wasn't sure if he was heading there for cover or for another reason but I decided that I needed to follow my instincts and get underneath the trees. I kept the trail in sight and eventually caught up to him. We briefly acknowledged the danger we were in but mostly we ran in silence towards the shelter. It was all we could do at that point. It felt better just to be with someone else, and as the trail went back into the woods,  I knew the shelter would be within sight soon. After what felt like hours, we reached the shelter. I left a note for Caroline and went to set up camp. She soon showed up and we talked about what had just happened. Thinking back to it now, I can imagine how ridiculous I looked soaking wet, crying, hyperventilating, talking to myself and sprinting across a meadow into the woods. I was at my raw, unfiltered, core self. You don't get to experience yourself that way very often. It's not a state you can imagine or force yourself into. It comes with deep, adrenaline-filled fear. It is a complete lack of control. When you're in that place, you have only yourself to trust.

This story is not meant to scare relatives or friends who might be reading this or to discourage anyone from taking on a great adventure. It is quite the opposite. This is what I came for. To see myself fully and to trust myself. Like life, there are times when you feel terrified and completely out of control. There are times when you are alone and you have to make your own decision and trust that the choice you make is right. There are trail Angels and fellow hikers out there providing support but, ultimately, I am the only one responsible for myself.   

Those are the times when you really see your raw, unfiltered self and learn what you are capable of. Those are the times when you grow stronger. Those times are terrifying but rare and precious. Today, I walk just a little bit taller.  

 

Its a dangerous business going out your door. You step onto the road and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.  

Honey mooning

Honey mooning with my hiking poles, the smell of woods, the soreness of hiking with 35 lbs on my back all day, the first time drinking fresh spring water, the first time getting through a thunder storm...all of it. Mostly my hiking poles, which I was skeptical about at first but have saved my life on several occasions. But it's all still so new. The novelty is exciting, fun, challenging and rewarding. Every time I successfully drink my filtered water without getting giardia or hike 10 miles through snow and sleet is a victory. This is the honey moon phase. I've been warned that it won't last forever so enjoy it while you can. Enjoy the little victories and the new simplicity of daily life. 

We've made it 53 miles in 5 days and are finally taking our first overnight off of the trail in Hiawassee, GA and this shitty motel is the most glorious place I can imagine. The hot shower was literal luxury. Our trip to the grocery store was so magnificent it was overwhelming.

This, is part of the why people go on Appalachian trail. To get away, to disconnect, to think but also to relearn to take pleasure in simple things. Having something warm to eat and a tent to crawl into with a book at the end of each day is something I look forward to when the hiking gets tough and tiring. Finding a stream where we can wash and get water is a small victory. 

Right now, we are still getting used to this new daily life. We made it past Neels Gap where 20-30% of people who are going to drop out, leave. That was a huge victory. We made it past 50 miles, that was a huge victory. Even though I know this honey moon phase won't last forever, I think breaking the trail into small goals is what keeps people going. In a way it's a microcosm for everything in life. Think too far ahead and you risk becoming overwhelmed with the task before you and forget to enjoy what's in front of you. The goal is to get to Maine but, more importantly, the goal is to enjoy  the journey. We're only a week in and have a long way to go but I want to continue to revel in those small victories, take pleasure in what I used to take for granted and enjoy the challenge of the journey I'm on. 

 

It begins...

Only 3 days left until both Caroline and I leave for Atlanta! It's been a whirlwind of a week-- wrapping up my last few days at work after 2 years, driving across the country in 6 days and finishing up preparations before we head out.

We both fly into Atlanta Monday morning where a shuttle from Hiker Hostel will bring us to Fannin county, where the hostel is located and the trail begins. We'll spend the night at the hostel and then take our first steps in the AT the next day! It still feels surreal but nerves are definitely starting to kick in. I gave up a lot to do this trail and have received an overwhelming amount of support from family, friends and even friends of family and family of friends. I know that if I don't do this now, I never will and I will regret it forever. That both fuels me forward and applies an enormous amount of pressure. Only 20% of hikers who start the trail actually finish it. That is a terrifying statistic. Every single hiker who started the trail thought, as I do, that they would reach Katahdin. What separates those who finish from those who do not? How will I feel next week? Next month, assuming I make it until then? A lot of the time I feel like I am jumping into a black abyss of unknown. I've backpacked before but this is something else entirely. 

Caroline sent me an "emotional and psychological guide to the AT" which guided readers through the emotions that accompany walking 2,000 miles for nearly half a year. The book encourages readers to write out 3 lists: "I am hiking the AT because..", "when I finish the AT I will.." and "if I give up on the AT I will.." When things feel impossible and thoughts of quitting come up, those lists are there to serve as a reminder of what I wanted to get out of this experience when I first started. I shared my "I am hiking the AT because.." below and then I have to finish packing everything up to head out tomorrow morning! 

-I want to be in fearless, raw conversation with myself

-I want to learn to trust myself fully

-I need to take time to process the past few years of my life before I can move onto the next chapter 

-I want to meet interesting new people

-I want to see the eastern seaboard from a different perspective and see parts of the country I've never been to (the smokies!) 

I want to test my body and strength and push myself 

-I want to live outside of my comfort zone

-It's like sleep away camp with my best friend every day! (Plus a lot of blisters, bug bites, sweat, dirt, swollen feet and general treachery...)