Once, when I was out of breath on a climb, a hiker named Young Buck told me about «the cave of pain.» This was a term that described the place your mind goes when you’re exerting all your energy and feeling, well, pain. He described it as a sacred place where your brain unlocked thoughts you would never have otherwise. It’s an opportunity to examine your psyche and use suffering as a tool to explore the mental cave that people rarely enter.
I created another silly song as a reminder of this:
My mind is not my body and pain is just a feeling / Just like being sad or happy, emotions flow through me / Pain is not my identity!
I take good care of myself when I’m on the road, usually through little nursery rhymes like these. When you are in the “cave of pain,” it is difficult not to feel like your entire being is tied to the pain you feel in your lungs and muscles. I find it helpful to remind myself that my soul It has nothing to do with the physical pain I’m experiencing. As long as I keep walking, I’ll be doing something right. The rest of life on the trail is just a bonus.
I left the Smokies with a new excitement. People say the first two weeks are the hardest, and that may be true in terms of the physical and emotional toll, but I have found that the third week is the hardest. challenging. Anyone can try a lifestyle for two weeks and let it warp them into strange shapes for a temporary amount of time. When the holidays are over, you look back fondly and try to learn some life lessons. But what can In fact Change in two weeks? Hiking is not a weight loss program or a get-rich-quick scheme. You’re playing the long game. The third week was when that reality set in.
A diary entry:
I look back at pictures of myself before the trail and feel like I’m looking at a dead person. The house I lived in, the body I had, the knowledge I didn’t have. The first week on the trail I felt like I was trying on someone else’s skin. The second week was like begging to have my skin ripped off. Week three feels like «okay, I’m still me, I just live in the woods now.» I heard voice notes of me singing and thought, «Whoever this girl is, she has a really pretty voice.» Photos of me with long hair and makeup make me feel like I’m looking at someone else on social media. This experience has changed me very quickly and now that I am adjusting to this life, I am wondering how I can prevent the two versions of me from killing each other. That girl was not an athlete, but I am an athlete. That girl was clean, but I’m not clean. That girl looked in mirrors and browsed through hangers to find the perfect outfit. I wear the same suit every day. That girl went on stage and performed with any instrument she wanted. I just walk all day. What do I already know about her?
Dozer and I stayed at a lodge to freshen up quickly and then I got back on the trail for great views like Max Patch. The anticipation of Hot Springs had me uneasy, which was a feeling I had been missing. I discovered that curiosity is the best medicine you can give yourself when you are exhausted. Curiosity requires boredom, and it’s pretty hard to get bored with Internet access. If you’ve ever tried to use a phone while walking, you know that it usually ends with a tree root winning a fight you didn’t know you were having. So while I sometimes indulge in podcasts and music, most of the time I’m alone with my thoughts in the forest. Bored. I have discovered that those moments are where true growth comes.
If curiosity is your best friend on the road, apathy is the enemy. It’s okay if the trail glow ebbs and flows, but if you consistently don’t care about being a hiker, you’re in the danger zone! Fight apathy with curiosity any chance you get. Staring at a leaf for a stupidly long time. Talk to a stranger at a shelter and really listen to them. Eat more food than you thought possible. I’m no expert, but these are the pep talks I’ve given myself when I find my thoughts entering this headspace.
When I was really in the weeds of my apathy crisis, I started saying all my problems out loud while walking. I talked about a long list of trail problems such as: My feet hurt and my shoulders hurt and I’m sick of shelters and there were mice on the roof and there are no good water sources and… The list went on for a while. Then, the nail in the coffin, I remembered: And the stupid ziplock on my garbage bag is broken! For some reason this made me start laughing. What a ridiculous problem to have. I chose to live in the woods for five months and I’m having a rage attack over a ziplock bag? Sometimes you just have to laugh.
I guess the simple word for this feeling I’ve been exploring is endurance. I often ask myself: How much suffering can you tolerate? I also frequently deal with God, saying: You can make it difficult but not impossible! I’m still on the path, so the success rate for this tip is a staggering 100%!
With Hot Springs and Erwin close on the horizon, I decided to take control of my attitude and employ the old phrase of «suck it up.» I bought a new ziplock bag and all the mountains I complained about climbing, I climbed anyway. That’s pretty much all there is to it.
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