Goodbye to training – The Trek

I start the PCT NOBO on May 24. I have to be an expert on all the difficulties of starting so late. Extreme temperatures. Water has the same weight as a bowling ball. And those to come later: wildfires and snow in October in Washington. Much of my prep work involves strength training and more intensive exercise. Cue the featured image, where I look absolutely ridiculous on the StairMaster at my school’s recreation center. Two weekends ago, I did the 4 States Challenge on the AT’ to help prepare me for the stress of long days backpacking in the desert. However, as I train and deplete my college savings to purchase gear, I’m also preparing for a significantly smaller and (perhaps) equally important hike.

Three days before I start the PCT, I will graduate from Johns Hopkins University. I have never been one of the sentimental ones. At my high school graduation ceremony, I played Subway Surfers on my phone and almost missed having my name called. I can’t say I’m looking forward to sitting in a flimsy plastic chair for four hours while the names of a thousand people I barely know are recited. But I think I might get a little emotional. Having to say goodbye to friends I’ve lived with for years. Classmates I have studied with and teachers who have given me life-changing advice. Some of these people I will never see again. Others maybe once or twice before the tornadoes of life sweep us away and we lose touch. I can’t help but think that these goodbyes, these last memories with people I really care about, are better training than any session on StairMaster.

Big days and little moments

As I said before, I completed the 4 state challenge a few weeks ago. My friend and I headed out, with my backpack loaded with the unhealthiest fuel you could imagine, and began our hike from Harper’s Ferry at 3:30 in the morning. I thought it would be a great workout: almost 45 miles of steep Appalachian Trail. But what I came to value during the 17-hour day was not my strengthening muscles or my dependence on my backpack. It was the little moments with my friend. Laughing at the rain, throwing buckets at us for the first three hours. Lose your mind and make birdsong on the many miles of trail. Or accidentally hitting it with my trekking poles because we walked too close. What started as a workout turned into a day with a friend that I will always remember.

Along the way I will meet so many amazing people. Hikers from all over the world. Some I will walk with for days, maybe months. Others I will greet with just a passing conversation. When I first prepared for my hike, I found a lot of advice on physical preparation. I downloaded gear lists and read ultralight discussions on reddit. There were even complexities like where to put the used TP and how to (correctly) use the trekking poles. What they don’t tell you is how to deal with all the people who come in and out of your life along the way. There are no manuals on how to say goodbye to people. Do you give them a hug and say goodbye? Maybe a fist bump or a hat swipe? Recently, of the goodbyes I have already given, I like “Have a great life!” It seems to encompass everything.

Lasting lessons

Over the next few weeks, I will say goodbye to the people who have trained me. You’ve seen me at my best and worst. I’ve spent a lot of time at the Johns Hopkins Outdoors Club (JHOC) as a caving and backpacking instructor. I give credit to this club and its people for developing my confidence on the field. Without them, I probably wouldn’t even be writing this blog post. I will say goodbye to these amazing people in a couple of days. But they won’t let me. When I’m filtering water on the trail, I’ll remember learning about giardia on my first camping trip with them. I will think about my whitewater canoeing training trip at every river crossing. And when I lift my backpack every day, I’ll remember my first backpacking trip on the AT.

I hope to take this advice with me on the PCT: you will never say goodbye to memories. They will be in every dusty footprint you leave along the way.

This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any products or services you purchase using links in articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price they would otherwise pay, and their purchase helps support The Trek’s ongoing goal of bringing you quality backpacking information and advice. Thank you for your support!

For more information, visit the About page of this site.