Why I’m on the Appalachian Trail again

So… Why are you hiking?

So many reasons.

I attempted a NOBO hike in 2023 and that trip ended abruptly in Virginia. My entire trail family left at the same time, each for our own reasons. Mine was simple: I didn’t have enough money to go all the way.

I would love to say it was bittersweet, but at the time it was just bitter. Horribly, horribly bitter.

That first time, I was walking to get to Katahdin. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do hard things. Life felt heavy and uncertain, and I needed something big, something challenging, something a little risky, to dedicate myself to.

Then, when I had to get off the road, it felt like everything fell apart at once.

The trip home was a wave of pain. Every fifteen minutes I would convince myself to turn around, to simply find outto make it work somehow. I even tried to turn the car several times, but my friends wouldn’t let me. Then I would cry for the failure that I was. Then reality would strike again (ahem… no money)and I would know I was making the right decision.

It was one of the worst days of my life, or so I thought.

When “failure” is not the end

Upon returning home without reaching Katahdin I felt that I had failed in this great goal that defined my life.

But time has a way of smoothing things out.

Months later, maybe even a year, I started to see it differently. Life didn’t end. I continued to grow. I achieved other goals. And little by little, my time on the trail stopped being marred by disappointment and began to become something I could truly appreciate.

The memories came back first. Then gratitude.

But the longing? That never really went away.

I don’t think I ever will. Even if I make it to Katahdin this time, I have the feeling that the trail won’t let you go. It becomes a part of you: a pain that lingers. The kind you wish would go away on hard days, but secretly love because it reminds you of what you’re capable of.

And I realized something along the way:

Unfinished things have a weight for them. They settle silently in your heart, appearing in small moments, reminding you that they are still there. And if you pay attention… in the end they ask you to come back.

So I did it.

This time it feels different

Katahdin is no longer the end goal.

Of course, I want to get there, but if I don’t, I now know it’s not the end of the world.

This time, I’m here to show up every day and give the trail everything I’ve got.

I want to create memories that I will carry with me for the rest of my life and maybe one day share them with my children. I want to continue building a stronger and more resilient version of myself.

The difference is… I know I can do difficult things.

Now I want to see what happens when I leave enjoy them.

The trail has been calling and this time I’m ready to answer.

The life I built (and stopped)

That attraction to the forest never went away. At times it calmed down: when I got engaged, I planned a wedding, I got married. When I traveled with my husband or spent time with friends in beautiful places. When I worked for other objectives.

But it never went out completely.

More like it was an itch that I couldn’t quite scratch.

After leaving the trail in 2023, I told myself that chapter was closed. I had my chance and I lost it.

But with the support of my friends and the unwavering support of my husband, I began to realize that everything would end only if I decided it would.

So… I quit my job. I dusted off my equipment. And here I am, giving it another chance.

Doing this alone (…it still feels wild)

This is my first real solo adventure.

In 2023, I went on a hike with my best friend and I honestly don’t think I would have made it through the first week without her. The incessant rain, the immediate blisters… would have been enough to send me straight back home before the hike really had a chance to begin.

So yeah, doing this without her feels a little surreal.

And then there’s my husband.

Since she got married, everyday life with him has felt like an adventure in itself. I wake up happy and go to sleep peacefully knowing that he is there. Leaving him, our two dogs and the cat, was not easy. They are my comfort, my routine, my joy. (Also, my very dedicated and persistent snack supervisors.)

And yet… I chose to walk over 2000 miles without any of them.

I had never traveled alone before. I usually go with someone or to someone.

So choosing to do this – waking up every day and fully trusting myself – is both terrifying and exhilarating.

There is no one here to share the decisions, the difficult moments, or even the small victories in real time. No one to say «hey, we’ve got this» when things get tough.

But maybe that’s the point.

This feels like the first thing that is truly and completely mine.

A chance to find myself here in a new way. To trust myself more. To prove, not that I can do difficult things, but that I can stand on my own two feet while doing them.

(And maybe you’ll also learn how to properly hang a bear bag without emotional support.)

one step at a time

So here you have to put one foot in front of the other.

Daily. For the next few months.

Back on the road…again.