A medical emergency is not something that nobody wants to experience along the way. But it is something that anyone who recreates in the field must be prepared to deal with. This is not the publication of the blog I planned to write when I started this adventure. This is a publication about recognizing when the path has requested more than you can surely. It’s about making the most difficult decision that a hiker can take.
A zero day in Daleville
After completing the triple crown of Virginia, I decided to take a day off. We were in week 3 of the consecutive heat waves, and had enough tasks of the city that knew I needed to finish. Trail Angel Dale had contacted me a few weeks before gathering in Daleville for a little magic of trails. He and his girlfriend picked me up for what I thought it was just a standard refueling day.
We went to lunch first (priorities). Then we stopped at the local outdoor store, where I collected a friend’s package, as well as a new set of trekking posts. One of my posts had bit the dust in that last section, and trekking posts are an essential team for me at this point. Subsequently, we made a Kroger career to fill the gaps of my refueling: my friend’s package had been in charge of most of my needs for the next section of the path.
It was one of those perfectly ordinary days of Trail Town (very special made by Trail Angels) that you really do not think too much until later when you realize that it could have been the last. Dale and Teresa treated me as a family, which took me through the city with the type of patience and generosity that makes the community of trails so special. When they left me in the shelter that night with a box of a dozen donuts to «share with the other hikers», I felt grateful but also ready to return in the morning the next morning.
Hitting the 1/3 road score
Any mile marker on the trail of the Apalaches feels good, but especially those who proclaim significant progress! Hit 1/3 of the way the score that morning felt incredible! I was excited to be on the way back after my day zero, but I was also a little nervous. The shelter that had been housed in Lost Power (and water) last night. I was already starting the day quite sweaty and dehydrated, but more about that later.
I am convinced of milestones like these are so special because they take the abstract concept of walking to Maine and make it something tangible. You can’t help thinking: «I am doing it! I have walked more than 700 miles to reach this point here!» It is proof that this crazy dream of a walk is really. I could feel the weight of all those days and miles behind me, every physical pain and every beautiful dawn that accumulates for something significant. My daily routine had become a second nature and had developed a particular level of comfort with life in the forest. Every time he left the city, he was happy to return home.
I took my mandatory photo and did what any other hiker that has come to this point has done. I kept walking north. If I had only known at that time that sometimes no amount of determination can overcome what your body is trying to tell you.
Something is wrong
Looking back, things probably started that night in the shelter, although I did not recognize the warning signals for what they were. I did not drink enough water, the room was incredibly hot and began the next day that I was already running in reserves instead of feeling well rested and hydrated. When I reached 7 miles to the first water crossing of the day, something felt fundamentally off. Not only do I get tired or hurt, but I really didn’t feel like me. I immersed my arms, legs and face in the water, waiting for the refreshing current (although it is definitely not cold) to restore what happened to my system.
But instead of feeling better, I found myself dropped by that current for approximately three hours, observing that my condition deteriorated instead of improving. Each instinct told me to continue moving because I knew that if I needed to rescue, my closest exit was forward, not back. When I finally got to the next transmission, I installed the early camp, but by then I was vomiting any liquid that I tried to consume and feeling dizzy and nausea in a way that began to worry. I had to stop every 15 minutes just to rest and try to remember what was supposed to do next. Basic tasks such as filming the night, filtering water or configuring my store became monumental challenges that required multiple thoughts.
To be honest, I thought I would have to call Sar. I knew there were other hikers camping at the nearby shelter, but I was terrified to get away from a water source when I could barely work. The question of how the energy was going to gather to get to the road the next morning was almost impossible to answer, but knew for the training of the first aging of the desert that the self-rescate, if possible, is always the best type of rescue. I spent most of that night awake, alternating between sweat and trembling, knowing that I had not had much food that day and had dangerously low liquid.
It took me three hours unbearable to break the camp the next morning, a task that usually takes me about an hour at this point on the road. Fortunately, I arrived at the road, and even more fortunately, Blue Ridge Parkway was open before what I expected. In the second that the coldest air in the air of the car hit me, I began to feel a little more human, but all my muscles felt that they had 10 lb weights together with them. That feeling lasted days, even after arriving at the local clinic and spent several days in the bed of a hotel. I survived with chicken and meatballs of the barrel of cookies down the street and tried to accept what had happened. This is not a fun blog post to write, but sometimes the path teaches you lessons that have nothing to do with perseverance and everything to know when to hear your body before it is too late.
The clinic doctor said he had probably experienced a limit heat stroke. He explained that my body was still in a very vulnerable state, and needed to rest and rehydrate for a few days. But ultimately, I could take my organs for several weeks to completely recover from this experience. And if I had to have heat exhaustion soon, it could lead to a more serious medical emergency. I took his words into consideration and spoke with several nearby friends.
I concluded that It is good to press pause in an adventure when you no longer feel safe. I left my attempt of 2025 through the walk. But I’m not leaving the way. From now on, my plan is to return to the Glasgow area, it goes in autumn, when temperatures are a bit faster to walk towards Harper’s Ferry until I need to return home to work. My dream of walking the whole path has not died; You only need a little adjustment.
It is not ideal. And it’s not what I thought it would be. And in the last 3 weeks since I left the path, I have been dealing with many emotions. I keep seeing publications and receiving messages from my friends on the way they are progressing. I am very happy for them, but it saddens me because, in a nutshell, I also want to be there. I am working hard to rethink my mentality of one of «I failed to achieve this goal» until «how incredible almost 800 wonderful miles on the trail of the Apalaches this year!» I am grateful for the miles that I got on the way this year. But I can’t wait to heal and go out again!
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