And Thru It All, We Overcome

209 Days.

From 18 March through 13 October of the year 2024, I lived in the woods.

I’ll back it up a bit, for context.

The Hundo was lovely, but the end of it hit me with a hard realization: Achilles and I would not be sharing our first summit together.

I knew it, and had been saying I wanted it that way for months at that point. But the reality of it hit me like a ton of yellow bricks. It felt like the Shennies all over again, and I began to dread summiting with the feeling that it would just be Harper’s Ferry take two. I was so nervous that I would be miserable at yet another huge trail milestone — the last one — because of my desire to share this experience with Achilles in a different way than he wanted and needed.

We hit the Golden Road, but it didn’t feel golden. Ketchup kept asking me periodically if it felt golden yet, and it did not. I despondently hiked my way through Blueberry Ledges with the tramily, set on just ending things to avoid the disappointment. I didn’t want to see Achilles when he was at the ranger’s station as we approached, I didn’t want to talk to him. I understood and was proud of him for why he needed to summit this way, but it hurt too much to deal with. When he came to hang out with us at the lean-to Scatter booked at Katahdin Springs, I barely interacted with him until I decided it wouldn’t be fair to not communicate my feelings. I went to bed that night not knowing whether or not he would wait for us in the morning rather than attempt a sunrise summit.

In the morning, he had already left.

I sat on a picnic table and sobbed into Ketchup and Scatter.

It wasn’t just about not summiting together. I was disappointed in myself, in my inability to achieve one of the biggest goals I set for myself on this hike. I felt like a weak, small, frail idiot for not being able to enjoy myself without my partner being there with me. It seemed as if I had wasted seven months, that I failed myself by falling in love and that if I had never loved Achilles I would have been successful. I kept thinking about the things some no-longer-friends had said to me about how they could no longer support me because I was dating Achilles, because I apparently hadn’t made progress if I was so attached to him.

It felt like they were right, and that I had failed myself and wasted this journey.

I didn’t even want to summit.

I did it for Ketchup and Scatter, who had spent so much of this journey supporting and loving me. I did it so I wouldn’t regret not doing it.

So we and Walmart began our ascent up the Hunt trail.

The weather was supposed to be bad, but manageable.

40 MPH winds with some snow and ice at the summit. Hard, but doable. We wore all the layers we had.

We hiked along Hunt with Ketchup checking in to see if it was golden yet intermittently. Every time, it was not, and I felt further and further disappointment in myself. I never wanted to see Achilles again. I was so ashamed.

But then… it happened.

I was berating myself for not being able to enjoy this experience with my friends when I realized: All I have to do is try. The best parts of this trail haven’t been because of Achilles, they had been because of my friends. My tramily. Which, yes, he is a part of, but not the entirety of. I am so lucky to be able to climb this mountain with the two best friends I have made in this entire experience, I thought to myself. I’ll be damned if I don’t embrace the joy of that. I’ll be damned if I let this fear ruin a love so good, pure, and true.

I turned to Ketchup. “It’s kind of golden!” I said, with a smile creeping its way into the corners of my mouth.

And then we started to hit the beginnings of treeline. And it was golden. We had come so far, so incredibly far, and worked so hard to make it here. We were doing it, we were climbing Katahdin!!! We were SO CLOSE to the end!

And shortly after, there he was.

The Greek prince himself, huddled behind a boulder eating ramen while freezing, and waiting for me.

I ran to Achilles and buried my face in his chest with my arms around him. I told him how proud of him I was, that I loved him, that he did it and did it so perfectly the way he intended. He asked if I wanted him to come back up with me, and I said yes.

Then he showed me the pictures of his summit.

The winds were not 40MPH.

They were at least 60, not including gusts.

He couldn’t see the blazes or cairns. He was slip and sliding across the ridgeline. He wasn’t sure if he was still on trail. It was one of the few times on trail he actually felt in danger. And this is when the winds weren’t as bad as they were as he told me all these things.

Well… what an opportunity to be a badass with the person I love. I had never been more excited to absolutely send it up this mountain. I had emotionally summited, achieved all the growth that I had intended to with that last realization on the way up. Time to physically summit. My body felt great, the Aleve was working, so why the hell not?

Scatter didn’t feel so gung-ho.

She gets very anxious about bad weather, validly so. It was dangerous. But we decided to reassess as we got further out of the treeline.

I had decided to summit regardless of who turned back so long as The Nightcrawler didn’t turn around. I felt safe as long as he felt safe. No matter how many thru-hikers turned back — even the 200lb man who said the wind was knocking him around — I was ready. And I had Achilles and Ketchup with me, so I felt safe.

But Scatter did not. We got barely above treeline, and a huge gust hit us. That was it for her, it was too dangerous and she didn’t want to continue. And as my friend sat there sobbing, feeling like she wasn’t a thru-hiker, sending it no longer felt worth it. I could be a badass another day, but I couldn’t let my friend turn around feeling like a failure on her own. It wasn’t worth it to summit without her when we had the opportunity to reassess and return again in the next few days. The mountain wasn’t going anywhere. I looked at Ketchup with eyes that he knew meant he had to send it for me, and send it he did.

The rest of our tramily ended up turning back as well.

I don’t blame anyone for this call. It was scary. It was dangerous. Just because I wanted to treat this like another challenge to overcome doesn’t mean anyone else is weak or a failure for making that call.

Achilles’s parents picked us up from the base of the mountain, we went out to eat and celebrate the most noble hiker of the trail, and then Achilles and I went to share that celebration with Ketchup at the 100 Mile Inn.

And the tramily decided October 13 would be the day.

The next day, Cheeto picked up ice spikes for all who felt the need.

I stayed with Achilles and his parents at the cabin they rented and rested my way through a stress flare-up, fevering and radiating with intense soreness all over.

I wasn’t scared of the bad weather, but I was scared of the flare-up. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to make it up the whole way. I was scared my mom would be disappointed in me for not summiting (irrationally, I should add, as my mom loves and supports me greatly). I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to fulfil the biggest goal of the hike: following through with a commitment I made to myself to get to that goddamn sign atop that goddamn mountain.

I tried to calm down. I watched some reels from a content creator in NYC that I love, listened to some music, finally relieved most of the stress. But the fever and pain remained. I could barely eat anything to the point that Achilles had to convince me to try and eat dinner. He was worried I wasn’t fuelling myself enough to summit the following day. So I ate dinner, and we went to bed.

In the morning, I was packed up and ready to go with one minute to spare.

USS Boat (the tramily) were all packed into their respective cars on the way to the mountain when we picked Ketchup up from the 100 Mile Inn. Scatter and Walmart decided not to summit and left that day. The rest of us made our way to Mama K.

When we got to the entrance of Baxter, we were met with a long line of cars entering the park. The wait to get in was long enough for us to find the rest of the tram fam behind us in line and coordinate our plans. Achilles’s dad dropped us off at the Abol campgrounds, as we had decided to take that trail up and back down. The three of us waited for the rest of the group, and then it began.

The final ascent of the Appalachian trail.

I was still flaring up.

Still feverish, but the four Aleve I took were helping with the pain. Up until we started scrambling uphill, I had to stop frequently to catch my breath and regulate my heart rate. My fear about not making it to the top accelerated, but we are here to overcome.

I looked at Achilles and asked him if he thinks I can do this.

Of course you can. You got this.”

And on we went. And my god was it Golden.

The weather was perfect. The hike was incredible, shorter than Hunt but more technical in a way I love. The view kept expanding and getting even more beautiful each time we turned around to see it.

It got even more beautiful once we reached the ridgeline.

All of the rocks were covered in a thick layer of rim frost, but the trail was clear.

On our way up the ridge, we were applauded by descending day hikers. We ran into friends who were coming down from their final summit, and friends who were on their way up that we caught up to, embraced each other and shared in the joy of this completion. We could see the sign!!!! It was almost over, and we were so close. So very close.

And then… we were thru-hikers.

I ran to Starlight, who had gotten there a couple minutes before the rest of us, and wrapped my arms around my friend while breaking into tears. “We DID IT!” I sobbed into her shoulder. Keggy joined the hug. We sobbed together, tears of pure joy and accomplishment. We hadn’t even touched the sign yet, but we did it.

We touched the sign, took our photos (individually and in groups), and celebrated the end of the journey.

For 209 days, I lived in the woods.

I had never done anything like this before. I learned to radically reject all that didn’t serve me, both in gear and in life. I learned to poop in a hole, to embrace the unknown, to hike uphill in smaller steps to make it easier. I learned I could do this on my own, and spent many days alone in the woods with nothing but my thoughts. I learned it was indeed possible to love in the ways I’ve wanted, and I learned how to embrace joy in the face of fear regarding my attachments. I learned how far my body can go, what my limits are, how insanely strong I can become both physically and mentally.

I met incredible people with incredible stories and various reasons for coming on this journey. I have so many family members now that I connected with in this 2200 mile long, 2 foot wide small town. I sang. I danced. I mastered dungeons. I laughed. I cried. I loved, so very much and so very hard. I kissed so very many of my friends (mostly on the last day). I played beautiful music with people I love.

I did it. I did it with a flare-up.

I am capable in a way I never knew before coming out here. I am incredible. I am a beast, a force to be reckoned with. I have never in my life been so incredibly proud of myself. The person I was on the 18th of March is no longer who I am on the 14th of October. As Achilles said, “On Friday I felt accomplished. Today, I feel complete.”

I can’t believe it’s over, yet it is also just the beginning.

Now it’s time for rest. Time to cuddle up to the person I love, revel in the accomplishment we have achieved, and let it all sink in.

If you’re considering a thru-hike, do it. If you aren’t considering one, start. And then do it. Thank you, Appalachian Trail, for the greatest gifts. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

And me? I’m gonna keep on dancing.

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