I’m still thinking about quitting smoking

I didn’t think about giving up when I realized that by accepting a two-mile hitch to VVR, I had inadvertently ended my continuous journey from Mexico to Canada.

I didn’t think about leaving it. Instead I thought, Well, now you’ve wasted all that effort. Instead I thought, Forgive yourself. You don’t have to be perfect. Instead I thought, Come back and fix it.

I didn’t think about giving up as I ran frantically through Mammoth, knowing that with each passing hour Paz and UpDog were only getting further ahead of me.

No, I reveled in the avalanche of words that I had no choice but to stir up. I wanted to be faster, more efficient, but I knew it was a luxury to be able to sit in that library, with nothing to do but write. I thoughtMaybe being slow is not a defect, but rather an ethic.

I didn’t think about giving up as I flew toward the mountain, Red’s Meadow Hot Springs, just eight miles away.

But with Van Gogh and Jefe advancing behind me, drunk after an afternoon drinking beer by the tankard, I knew my current arrangement was not sustainable.

I didn’t think about quitting when Vivi stayed in town due to an injury.

Vivi would return in just three days, but after that she would leave in a week. She had only planned to hike to Sonora Pass and soon I would be alone. Just me and the boys. Or… I could walk 30 and try to catch up with Roei. Or you could slow down and wait until you find a group of hikers to continue with. There were options.

I didn’t think about quitting when I fell into streams and slipped in slushy snow.

I thought, This is getting ridiculous. How many times can a person fall in a day? Stream crossings had moved beyond beginner mode: either a rock jump either a balance beam log – to Expert: big jumps from bench to bench, lethal running combinations water and slippery surfaces, each crossing was a puzzle that had to be solved.

I didn’t think about quitting, even when I got so tired I couldn’t do anything right, not even simple tasks like packing a suitcase.

It was surprisingly easy to pack everything into my bag when I left Tuolumne Meadows, which should have been a warning sign. Sixteen miles later, I was unpacking my bag when I realized my mistake: I had left the body of my tent behind, drying in the sun. There was nothing to do but laugh as I set up my rain-style bivy, drilling my tent poles into the mulch to keep my shelter stable. Vivi told me she admired how calm I could be, even when faced with disaster.

The next day we walked thirteen more miles and arrived at camp early enough to observe a couple of Sex and the city episodes. I unpacked my bag, excited to set up my bivouac after the previous night’s success, when it hit me: I didn’t have my tent poles. I dropped them off at camp that morning.

That’s when I started sobbing, in disbelief at my stupidity. It was a level of exhaustion I hadn’t experienced since high school, lack of sleep, and hours of APUSH homework to do. Apparently my winning mindsand was present as always, forcing me to continue going far beyond what I was capable of doing well.

There was nothing to do but cowboy camp, nothing to do but hope the rain and mosquitoes stayed away long enough to get to town.

I started thinking about quitting smoking when my knees started hurting.

I had been waiting for the pain to come back the entire way, feeling like I was walking in stolen time. Maybe it was the constant climbing of Yosemite stairs, maybe it was the few extra pounds in my backpack, or maybe it was the lack of rest, but for the first time I was afraid. I took two ibuprofens, then four, then six.

Vivi reminded me that I’m tired. That even though I feel depressed now, I shouldn’t let myself get carried away. But once I started thinking about quitting, the floodgates opened.

I think about leaving it while the mosquitoes swarm.

They say that from here the situation is only going to get worse.

I plan on quitting when the Sierras come to an end.

They say that from here the situation is only going to get worse. Knockdowns, burns and 30 mile days as we race to get this over with. I only have 1,000 miles on it. That means there are 1,650 miles left to go.

I think about leaving him every time I think about him, the guy who broke my heart in Big Bear Lake.

I miss him. It’s been months and it’s not getting any easier and I don’t feel patient..

I’m thinking about quitting so I can go back to work.

How crazy is that? In fact, I miss my job a lot. And I can’t help but consider applying now, while there’s still a window open to get a good job.

A friend texted me: «I’m your anti-FOMO guy. You don’t miss a thing in the real world. Stay where your feet are and dance every day.» I’m trying to listen to it. I’m really trying to listen.

I’m thinking about quitting because I want my old life back.

I want chats in cafes with my friends, dance classes, nights out on the town. The perfect roommate, bike rides around my neighborhood. It was a simple life, but it was happy.

I’m thinking about quitting because I’m not happy. I’m not happy here.

I know it’s a question of mentality. I’m trying. Would you be happier if you listened to music? Ok, let’s listen to Giveon and Fightmaster for the next few hours to see how it feels. Would you be happier if you got a zero? Then take one in Kennedy Meadows North and take another in South Lake Tahoe. This doesn’t have to be so difficult. I don’t have to keep punishing myself.

What is the line then? What’s the line between challenging myself… and torturing myself?

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