Finding a reason – The Trek

I’m not going to lie to you readers, walking for long periods of time up and down uneven terrain for days at a time is really difficult. But it’s difficult in a different way than you would normally expect. Sure, it’s not without its physical demands, but it’s nothing that a little time lifting weights and exercising in your free time can’t fix. I’m not being dramatic when I tell you that your brain will give up long before your body. It is important to exercise your mind just as you would your body. This means many things to different people. Heck, what it looks like to me may not be what it looks like to you. But one thing everyone can agree on is that it’s generally a good idea to know why you want to hike before you hit the trail.

I can see that the reasoning behind this is sound. The stronger your conviction to complete the goal you set, the more likely you will be to finish what you started. Saying you want to go out and walk 530 miles across an entire state is one thing, but having a reason why you want to do it in the first place sets a purpose. Sometimes on the tough days, when you’re cold, wet, hungry, and your feet hurt, that reason may be the only thing inside you worth taking one step in front of the next.

I could never put into words why I wanted to hike. Truth be told, after completing my first Wonderland Trail hike the previous year should have been reason enough to stop. It rained the first two days of the trip, I was cold and wet, my gear wasn’t tight, I was carrying too much food, I had plantar fasciitis in my left foot, I got trench foot and I cried a lot. I was fine and miserable for part of the trip, that’s true. But even now, to tell you the truth, when I look back and see the suffering and tell those stories, I laugh.

I laugh because if I didn’t I would probably cry again! Ha! No, in all seriousness I just discovered what people often describe as type two fun. It’s not funny at all when it happens in the moment, but as soon as it’s over you can laugh at how dramatic you were in that moment. If you ever talk to me, I’ll probably tell you a funny story about a time when I was miserable and I hope it makes you laugh as much as it makes me.

For me, my reason was not something I could definitively put into words; It was more or less just a feeling. It wasn’t until I saw this bright neon pink Indian paintbrush poking out of the ground off the trail after a super nasty climb in the rain that I got excited. I had spent the last year and a few changes working in the emergency room as a registration specialist. I had seen and heard a lot of suffering during my time there. I could always keep my feelings inside me and move on no matter what. Yet somehow, when I saw how pretty, fluorescent, and strange this flower looked, the only thing I could think of was the laments of a grieving mother over the death of her little baby.

You never forget a noise like that. It is primal, visceral, and I believe that, as a species, we are called to collectively cry when we hear a mother’s cry of anguish. Their screams echoed throughout the unit and for a brief moment everyone stopped. I felt transported to that moment and did what I couldn’t do then; I cried. I think I felt guilty for containing my sadness. I think I also felt how fragile and fleeting life can be and I wanted to see something big. I went out to see glaciers, mountains, and a really big volcano to feel small and commune with my place in the universe. But that little flower was what pushed me over the edge. I cried because I was alive and that child was not. I could see that flower and he couldn’t.

I didn’t think much about it until recently, but I think my whole trip around that mountain was a way for me to feel alive. A way to make the most of life because he had been closer to death than ever. It was uncomfortable and scary and I needed an experience that would make me uncomfortable and push me over the edge.

I felt more alive there than ever. Surrounded by beauty. When I saw my first glacier after another disgusting climb in the rain, it felt surreal. I walked to the edge of a steep crevasse just before the descent of the Emerald Ridge and watched in amazement. To this day I can picture myself in third person huffing and puffing up to that vantage point and seeing in my eyes the reflection of that big white slab nestled into the side of that rock wall. It feels like something I’ll replay when my life flashes before my eyes just before the particles that make me scatter across the Earth. Biblical.

I started planning my Colorado trip before I even got home. I needed to be there more than anything else in my life. The compulsion I felt to get out on the track consumed me. Everything I did felt like it was something I had to do in order to get out and walk. Seriously, sometimes I wonder if I’m completely boring to the people around me because, even today, my next trip to the mountains consumes me.

I think about the terrain, resupply strategy, what kind of weather to expect, what obstacles I might face, and what kind of equipment I need. I think about sleeping alone under my tarp and Google how to handle wildlife encounters as a solo hiker. All of these things are good to know and are a vital part of anyone’s planning process, but they weren’t the reason. They just helped me control the fear and reservations I had about how safe I could be in the countryside.

When I finally got to the TAC I did it alone and I did it scared. But I wasn’t afraid for long. All the planning I did was a way of training my mind to handle the unknowns and uncertainty of the path before me. For the first half of the ride I found myself chasing friends I had made along the way. I could spend the entire day alone in the woods, but I was still mortified at the thought of spending a night alone on the trail. I was putting in the miles and ignoring the growing, all-too-familiar pain of plantar fasciitis that plagued both feet this time.

For most of CT I continued like this. I never walked more than sixteen miles in a day, the pain in my feet kept me moving slowly most days. An experience at the CT really changed my way of thinking and I truly believe it was the only reason I walked this far.

July in Colorado is known as monsoon season. However, I have found that if you really want the rain to stop, all you have to do is take the time to put on your raincoat. Most days on the CT it rained enough to justify stopping to take off my backpack, take off my raincoat, and put on my jacket. I put my backpack back on and started walking about three feet down the trail before the rain turned to a drizzle before stopping completely. Thunder could be heard in the distance and you would think that maybe it would start again. Then you keep walking (usually uphill) and then start sweating for about a quarter mile before the thought of being rained upon seems more pleasant than using an expensive garbage bag.

This was no such day at CT. It rained all day and by afternoon I was completely soaked. Night was closing in on me and I had made the executive decision to walk ahead of some companions who were camped at the base of the next unforgiving climb. I needed to get to Buena Vista and my hitchhiking buddy was somewhere along the way. I really wanted to stop for the day, but I didn’t want to risk running out of food, so I kept going. I started climbing and finally shed a few tears of frustration before I got halfway up the climb. I looked around at the empty camps around me and felt fear bubbling inside me.

The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping. I knew I couldn’t walk any further or I might risk hypothermia. I’d have to camp alone and hope to find my hitchhiking buddy tomorrow. I scoured the area looking for the flattest space with good tree cover and set up my tarp. I made my bed, put on my dry base layers, and snuggled into my sleeping bag. I ate a big dinner with stove stuffing and finally fell asleep listening to the sound of the rain hitting the tarp.

It rained well into the night, but I stayed warm and dry under my shelter. When I woke up the next morning I saw the sun shining through the trees. I made hot coffee and felt proud of myself for making the right decision in setting up camp when I did. I felt proud of myself like I had never been before. I recognized that I was putting myself in a dangerous situation if I kept going and I had the means to recognize it and do what was best for me. I prepared for bad weather and my gear selection paid off. That morning, as I drank my morning coffee, I felt outside of myself that I had what it took to survive on my own. I realized that it was really lovely to have friends along the trail, but I didn’t need to walk until I was miserable to reach them. I could do hard things on my own.

I met my hitchhiking partner at the top of the climb after reluctantly putting on my cold, wet hiking clothes and breaking down my camp. We fist bumped and finally got a fix in Buena Vista and ate big plates of Mexican food. I felt different from that day on the road. I tried something on myself and I think that’s exactly what I was looking for. Maybe I didn’t realize it at the time, but after several months thinking about my adventure, I think all I ever wanted was to prove that I could do hard things.

On this trip through Washington, I’m once again not entirely sure why exactly I’m doing this. But I’m excited to finally embrace the mantra of doing your own hike. I feel excited to get out and go through nature at my own pace. I feel like I’m about to embark on a pilgrimage. I wonder what new revelations I will discover about myself and the world around me. I hope to find the freedom and happiness I found in Wonderland and CT. I hope to find a community like I found on my previous walks.

Life is short, readers. Don’t spend a minute of your life wishing you had done more for yourself. Trying new things is scary, but don’t let fear stop you from doing something difficult.

Thank you for making it to the end of this blog post. I found it very difficult to write something so personal, but I hope you enjoyed reading my hiking trip. Whenever I find what I’m looking for in Washington, I’ll be sure to let everyone know! In the meantime, feel free to share with me why. If you don’t have an exact answer, that’s okay (I sure didn’t have one when I started). You are also more than welcome to share a story from a previous hike.

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