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Or, thoughts from the injured list.
Mama K said there’d be days like these.
Day 5 & 6: Shelter from the Storm (Atlanta)
Luna, Molly, and Cooper were instrumental in getting me off Trail before crazy storms rolled in!
After hiking into Neel Gap the day before, I now found myself back in Atlanta with my family. The forecast was calling for intense rain, winds, and potential tornadoes; so when the ATC decided to pull the Ridgerunners off the Trail, I followed suit. Here I was, begrudgingly taking my first zero only four days into my hike.
The promise of spending more time with my family softened the blow. My brother, sister-in-law, and niece and nephew had seen me off from Amicalola Falls and I had hoped to see them again while I was in Georgia. Be careful what you wish for, I suppose. Still, I felt lucky to be able to shelter with them. These days also offered a chance to check in with myself and the increasingly troublesome pains I’d started to feel in my hip flexor and groin muscles. I figured it was nothing a good Epsom salt bath and some rest couldn’t fix, and for that I appreciated the storm’s timing.
Day 7: Neel Gap to Dispersed Camp (Mile 32.3)
When the storm passed and it was time to hit the Trail again, my sister-in-law and the kids shuffled me back up to Mountain Crossings. I once again found myself under a stone threshold fashionably late in the afternoon, and only walked a mile before setting up camp for the night. Did I want to go more than one mile that day? Of course– I was antsy to get moving again! But for such a short day I was feeling disproportionately sore.
Saying goodbye to the best support crew!
That night became another in a series that humbled me under the power of wind. I awoke in the middle of the night, thinking I heard faint grunts and chortles outside my tent that belonged to feral hogs. I sat up and began making noise in an attempt to shuffle them away, only to realize… there were no hogs. The noise was my tent poles bowing under nearly 40mph wind gusts! I don’t know if fighting off imaginary hogs at four o’clock in the morning counts as Type 2 fun, but it sure made me laugh like it was.
Day 8: Walk of Shame to Blairsville, GA
“Well well well, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions”
After my worst night of sleep on Trail, I was spiritually exhausted from my night of “hog” wrangling, and physically tethered to an increasing pain in my hip whenever I attempted to sit up in my sleeping bag. I looked at the weather. The windchill was reported at 18ºF, and I had a crushing realization. I had done exactly what I knew I shouldn’t have: I had gone too hard too fast, and staying on Trail was only going to do more damange. I called a shuttle into Blairsville, GA and hiked the mile back to Mountain Crossings to meet it. It was the longest mile I’d ever walked and it felt more like a walk of shame than a hike. Every piece of advice had warned against the intoxicating allure of high-mileage days before your body is ready. And still, I had fallen right into the trap.
While I waited for the shuttle, the wind died down enough that I could focus on the sun’s warming rays instead. I knew future me would be grateful for the call as well. But despite what we may say outwardly, our culture still struggles to praise rest over quantifiable achievements like mile-crushing days and base weights. While I intellectually knew this thinking was flawed, it didn’t help this sinking feeling I had. The A.T. was right there, but I was not on it.
In short, getting off Trail brought with it FOMO of the highest degree. Fear of Missing Out, that societal scourge that tells us something more fun is happening somewhere else, with cooler and hotter people. I battled resentment as I saw other hikers getting out of shuttles and heading for the Trail, taking photos that I had less than 24 hours before. They say hike-your-own-hike, but when I couldn’t hike my own I became a level of bitter I never wanted to feel towards my fellow hikers.
Through tears of frustration, anxiety, and self-ridicule, my muscles did start to relax a bit over two and a half days in Blairsville. And I don’t want any of this to come across as a pity party, even though that’s what it felt like at the time. Rather, I think it’s important to acknowledge that even someone very experienced and confident in their backpacking skills will struggle with their inner saboteur out here. I’m having the time of my life, but that doesn’t mean comparison and even jealousy factor in from time to time. They’re a natural part of the human experience and the woods are not exempt from that, especially this early on. I’m just happy I was able to get over myself enough to swallow my pride when I needed to.
Why would I rush through views like these?
Ultimately, I was grateful I had legs that hurt, that even through discomfort had carried me to beautiful places. I was grateful that some part of me had the foresight to pull the rest of me off Trail when I needed to. I was grateful for the motel staff that had put me in a room on the first floor after I told them of my predicament and had given me Epsom salts for good measure.
And you know what? I’m doing something I’ve dreamed of my entire life! Why would I rush that? Instant gratification is not why you go on a 2,200 mile walk; not only do I know that, but it’s part of why I’m doing it in the first place! I feel lucky that I got away with a close call, and not a more severe injury that pulled me off Trail for the whole season. It was a crucial reminder not only to listen to my body, but allow give myself the grace to take the advice I would give to others.
It turns out the third time was the charm at Mountain Crossings, and my first day back on Trail is still one of my favorite so far. I still get antsy and fight the urge to push more miles because that feels like what I “should” be doing. But Katahdian will be there. And at my own pace, on my own time, so will I.
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