I don't want to share this with you.
I don't want to let you in, to be vulnerable, to try and explain how I am feeling. I don't want to, but I've put myself in a position to be obligated to you. So please, forgive me, as I write this from a place of sadness.
On July 23rd, I left the PCT and boarded a plane in Seattle. The day was cloudy, but as we gained altitude and soared into the sunshine I saw her- Rainier. I've seen the mountain many times, but never like this. It felt like I could reach out and touch the summit if I really wanted to. Suddenly, three more peaks appeared. Hood, Shasta, and Whitney I thought, although maybe I was reaching. All I knew is I was looking south along the pacific crest, upon which my feet should be walking. Instead, I was leaving my friends and my footsteps behind in a cloud of jet fuel.
I've always taken injuries seriously, even as a young child. Every cut, scrape, or bruise required thorough analysis and proper treatment; I guess that's what I get for being the youngest woman in a family full of nurses. After my shoulder surgery last year, I've become even more sensitive to my body's cues. But my knee injury didn't require sensitivity to notice; it was crying out for help with every step. By the time I knew I had to seek serious medical care, it was devastating. I had been on and off trail 3 times, each time soliciting more advice from physical therapists, friends, hikers, family. No one gave me what I was looking for: an answer. Was I being weak? Should I continue to hike through the pain and uncertainty? Was it something more serious? How many times do I try before I stop trying? I can't even count the sleepless nights I spent battling myself to make the right decision. Finally, it was unavoidable. My insurance wouldn't cover me out of state, and I needed to see a doctor. So for the second time in just over a year, I flew home and began the grieving process.
It's been about a week since I landed in Michigan. I haven't been sleeping well, my appetite is minimal, my muscles are tied in knots, my friends want to see me but I've refused them every time. Some mornings I feel pretty good- but several hours into a day devoid of activity, I find myself crying or raging or desperately seeking attention. I am frustrated, angry, sad, relieved, confused, annoyed, discouraged, bored, ashamed, envious, and heartbroken. I have been planning this hike for so long that it has become the only part of me I believe in. But here I sit, out of time, out of money, and out of patience.
The upside is that I'm already established with a doctor I know and trust. Radiographs and an MRI show a deformity in my kneecap, likely from an injury last summer. Next week, I'll have an exploratory arthroscopic scope. The recovery period from this surgery is relatively short (about 4 weeks), but having spent all of my time and money seeking treatment, my thru-hike is over for this year.
It is impossible to hide from your weaknesses on the PCT; what else is the trail for but to show them to you? If I learned anything, it is that those 2,650 miles are not going anywhere. I will try again next year, and the year after that; as long as it takes until I feel I've succeeded. I will listen to my body above all else, I will embrace all hikers as friends, and I will NOT bring a stove because Lord knows I can't cook so why try.
It is all part of the journey; life is a thru-hike, and I am still walking.
Mt. Everest is littered with people who didn't listen. To their group leaders, to their bodies, to the plan that must be followed, to the tiny urge saying 'Turn back!' being shouted over by the athlete's natural confident 'YOU GOT THIS!'. They weren't being brave by going on, or strong. They weren't proving themselves to God, the world, their own doubts. They had the fever, and gave into it, and paid the price.
ReplyDeleteIf there had been a wall of ice a mile high, would you have scaled it? If word came through that there was an inescapable 200-mile water carry ahead, would you walk into it? If there were lightning on Whitney, would you still go past Trail Crest? If you had gone on until your knee reached the utter end, with who knows what recovery possible, would it have been worth it?
It takes so much bravery, and strength of character, to know when the time has come to end one's thru-hike. To share it with others in a manner like this, even more so. I am a stranger. You do not know me, and we have never met. But I am still so, so, so proud of you.
Snickers,
DeleteThank you, thank you, thank you for this. Your words touched me and I am so happy you came here to read. It is the attitude and support of people like you that make this situation bearable ❤️❤️❤️
I spent the summers of my youth on the PCT in the Seven Lakes Basin, Sky Lakes Basin, and Mountain Lakes Basin. Hiking with my dad and fishing those beautiful lakes. Mink Lake, Harriet Lake, Margurette Lake, Blue Lake, and many more. I will never forget those times. Just me and nature. Such a beautiful part of this world. I read the book Wild and thought back to those days long since gone. The last time I was there was in 2001. I took 5 young men from my church into Harriet Lake for a week of growing and expanding their minds beyond a video game console. The other youth leader, these 5 youth, and myself. They lasted 2 nights and on the morning of the second night the other leader took me aside and said “I can’t deal with it! The mosquitos, and the cold are making me miserable. I hadn’t even noticed either. I was like a kid in a mud puddle happy as a clam. I spent that day hiking all over those neighboring lakes and remeniscing of carefree happy summers with my dad and my fishing pole. The next morning I ate, packed my pack, and broke camp and said goodbye to the lake and hiked the 12 grueling miles back to my suburban. I never once stopped as I hiked out through the mustard fields that litter that area of the PCT. I tripped and fell down a slope at one point and when I came to a rest I oooked around and thought I had fell to heaven. I can still remember the smell of the air and the bright blue sky that was void of the Southern California smog that I typically saw and smelt. I sat there for a few minutes and shed a few tears as I knew I would probably never return again to that place. So many happy memories of my youth lie along those trails. I have probably logged over 500 miles on the PCT. not near as many as a thru hike for sure but enough to be jealous of those that still get to spend time on her taking in the majestic mountains and crystal blue lakes that dot her path. Thank You for your blog. It brightened a rough day and made my heart happy. And all because I was looking for a car and saw your 4Runner for sale. I hope your knee heals and your able to continue your dreams. Please post more pictur3s as I would love to see them. ✌️
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