Days 184-194: The End is Nigh

What a time it has been.

Since my last (actual) update, Achilles and I summited finished the Whites, did Mahoosuc Notch and the Arm, and parted ways again. I met back up with the gang (USS Boat!) and hiked onwards with them.

And since then, I’ve been slowly accepting the nearness of the end of this journey. For one, the miles grow ever shorter as we approach Katahdin. For another, I’ve felt the miles on my joints in a way I haven’t until the Whites.

As I’ve noted many times, one of the most important lessons the AT has taught me is to roll with changing expectations and do what it is I need to.

Even if what I need to do is hard, and makes me sad.

My body has been exhausted. The ankle pain I’ve been experiencing since New Jersey and Massachusetts has gotten much worse, as easy as I’ve been on it. It feels like since we entered New Hampshire I haven’t been able to hike the way I normally do — at least not with my full pack on. Where I used to worry that my body wouldn’t be able to handle certain things because I’d never successfully executed them before, I now feel in my joints (especially in my ankles and knees) how heavy of a burden they’ve been carrying. I’ve been moving slower, and haven’t been able to be as secure in my footing.

The Whites were the worst of it. The inclines were difficult in a way I could mostly handle, but the descents were hell. Carefully choosing each step in order to not fall while not being able to trust the stability of my joints has honestly been one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced. I spent the last week and a half on trail far more fatigued than I’m used to even on the shortest of days. I can’t make my ankle stop hurting, and all of the “please don’t be a stress fracture” moments I feel in my feet have hit a point where I’m afraid to put more stress on them than I need to.

And so the plan has, once again, adjusted.

I entered Maine with the understanding that I wouldn’t mind skipping whatever I had to at this point to catch up with my friends, but I had intended to hike the rest of the trail with them once caught up. I no longer feel like that is a safe or viable option for my body. I’ll be skipping ahead to wait for the gang at Shaw’s and do the 100 Mile Wilderness and Katahdin with them, which lines up with my deadline.

My deadline is chosen because two dear friends from the Long Trail (shoutout to Leftover and Brokeback!) booked a site at Baxter Base Camp to summit with us, but to be honest my financial situation is best suited for that timeline as well. My money has run low, and were it not for the incredible support of course my friends and family but especially the hiking community I would not be able to continue. I am still beside myself with a gratitude I cannot put into words but that has definitely moved me to tears a few times tonight once I retired to my bed. I recently fundraised to help with expenses as my parents’ (who were planning to help me at the end of this journey) main source of income is my dad’s art sales in Washington Square Park, and this week the cops decided to further their harassment of the artists in the park by evicting everyone selling their goods. If you’re a New Yorker, I urge you to call 311 and let them know you support the artists of Washington Square Park and want an end to the constant harassment they have been facing especially since the lifting of social distancing regulations in the city.

After months of telling myself that it’s important to accept the changes in plan, to listen to what I need for my body, haven’t stuck as well as I’d have liked them to in this moment. I feel anxious that I’ve failed myself, that I haven’t truly hiked enough to call myself a thru-hiker. I know rationally that my choices have made this experience so much better and more fulfilling, as well as less risky for my physical wellbeing, but it’s hard to accept that I won’t be able to hike from the NH/ME border to Katahdin. It’s the hardest skip I’ve done since the first one, which is fitting as it will be my last.

I think that the hardest part is that it’s nearly over.

This skip brings me that much closer to the end. While I don’t think my body could physically handle the mileage plan our group has laid out, I’m sad to miss out on the experience. Sad to miss out on walking through the woods, even though I’ve been suffering greatly these past few weeks. Disappointed to miss out on the experience with my friends. Feeling left out because of my body being incapable of what my friends’ bodies can do.

It’s a lot like the beginning of the trail in that way.

But, while it is disheartening to have to do the rest of the hike in this way, I keep looking at the Venmo notes and Instagram messages from the people who have given me so much support to do what I need to do to finish. I remind myself that these people, some of whom I’ve never spoken to and don’t even know, believe in me. Believe in my journey. Believe in its importance, no matter how I’ve taken it and no matter how I finish it. I think about how if taking care of myself in ways that are difficult for me to be kind to myself about isn’t letting them down, then it is certainly not letting myself down.

I have often said on this trail that if I’m going to die then it will be in these woods and not in the city.

For the most part, it’s a reminder of what I’ve left behind and what I’m trying to accomplish. But this trail has shown me how desperately I wish to live. To see what else is out there. To make more connections with this incredible community, and to give back to it as best as I can. I’d like to volunteer down south after I summit (and after some recovery from this insane athletic feat) to help with the devastation caused by the hurricane that ripped through the first 800+ miles of the trail. I’d like to engage with other hikers and plan meet-ups locally in NYC. I’d like to go on road trips with Achilles, and do other thru-hikes with the amazing people I now call some of my favorite human beings. I want to hike internationally, to see the rest of the world in a way I never thought possible for me before. I have so many desires that felt so far-fetched seven months ago, and I’m so eternally grateful for the trail and the people and the energy I have gotten to call home for the last half of a year.

And in order to live, in order to follow these new dreams, I must take care of myself even when it is hard. Especially when it’s hard. Even and especially when it feels like I’m doing wrong by not doing this the “right way”.

If I have learned anything from this, it’s that there is no “right way”.

What works for one does not work for all. No matter how hard this call is, I’m proud of myself for making it.

The next time you hear from me will be after I summit. Until then, happy hiking you amazing earthlings.

I broke free on a Saturday morning
I put the pedal to the floor
Headed north on Mills Avenue
And listened to the engine roar

My broken house behind me and good things ahead
A girl named Cathy wants a little of my time
Six cylinders underneath the hood crashing and kicking
Aha! Listen to the engine wine

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me
I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me

— “This Year” by The Mountain Goats