Injury Timeout

On July 13th, I finished the 100 Mile Wilderness after entering it on July 4th, so a total of nine days in the wilderness, which is on par with the average 8-10 days it takes most people to hike it. About thirty miles into the Wilderness, I started to experience some significant knee pain, mostly on the side and below my right knee cap. The aggravation was being caused primarily by steep descents and uneven terrain…which is basically all of the 100 mile that doesn’t go straight up. At times it was nearly debilitating. Fortunately, I knew exactly what it was because I’ve dealt with this pain in the past, recognizing it as an IT band inflammation. I anticipated it being a problem at some point on this thru hike but didn’t expect it to show up to the party so soon. The iliotibial band is a ligament that runs from the glute down to the shin and can tighten against the thigh bone and/or knee joints, causing acute pain. So I knew some treatments for the pain and was able to manage the discomfort knowing it wasn’t a serious knee injury.

Fast forward forty miles, I’m able to maintain decent mileage and time but still be intentional enough to enjoy the scenery. My knee was still bothering me, and I was having to compensate my stride at times to accommodate the pain. This change in gait pattern can be problematic as it throws your natural walking rhythm off. As I was descending Gulf Hagas Mountain toward Carl A. Newhall lean-to where I would be staying for the night, navigating the endless root system of the 100 Mile Wilderness, I stepped awkwardly on a wet root and came down sideways on my foot. My right ankle turned over on itself and I crumpled to the ground in fiery pain. I have rolled my ankles plenty of times while hiking, but I could instantly feel this was a different turnover. I let out a “FUUUUUUUUUUCK” so guttural and so primal, I saw a mama bear whisk away her cubs, and every moose in the vicinity fled to Vermont. “This is bad, this is bad, this is bad,” I said out loud to myself in a surprisingly rhythmic pattern (because that’s what you do on the trail, you establish rhythms). Immediately my mind went to my worst fear, the one scenario I have dreaded the most to end my hike. Not wild animals, not malnutrition, not sickness, not the stench of my own body odor—injury.  And here I am on mile 77 of the A.T., having only dipped my toes in the trail and it’s already over. I grimaced in my flailed state and slowly, reluctantly looked down at my ankle. It was already swollen the size of a plum. “Fuck,” I muttered (this one was much more trail appropriate and might have returned a moose or two). I started searching the database of my mind for wilderness survival tactics and finally landed on what I thought to be the best course of action: take a picture. So I reached for my phone and photographed the fresh carnage. I grabbed my trekking poles and slowly hoisted myself up into a kneeling position as I stared up into the tree canopy. I sat there for what felt like forever, as if to either receive communion or accept my beheading. I closed my eyes, took two sharp breaths, exhaled for six seconds, then calmly said aloud to myself, “Don’t panic.” I grabbed some self-adhesive tape from my med kit, sat in the middle of the trail, and taped my ankle tightly. Fortunately, I was only a half mile from camp for the night. I very slowly hobbled down the rest of the trail, supporting my weight on my poles the best I could.  It took about 30 minutes to go the distance. The moment I arrived to the shelter, an absolute monsoon opened above us. At least I didn’t get caught in it, insult to injury and all.

A young girls camp who were hiking the Wilderness were tenting at the same site that night, and everyone was huddled in the shelter waiting out the storm. One of the camp leaders, trail name “Vectors”, asked me what happened and gave me some more adhesive tape and an Ace bandage wrap, which I didn’t have. They also kindly offered me some dinner of lentils and rice (which the campers called “lice”). It was so good, and they were so kind to me in the midst of injury. When the storm passed, I hobbled down to a nearby creek and soaked my foot in the cold water.  From then on, mountain streams would be the closest resource I would have for icing my ankle.

SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW?

I knew I had a decision to make about what to do next.  Looking at the map, there was Katahdin Iron Works logging road about six miles down trail. If I could make it there, I could use my gps to contact someone for an evac. I decided not to make a decision that night and just try to get some sleep. The next morning the swelling seemed to have gone down a little, and I was feeling more optimistic. I figured at this point it was a bad sprain and knew nothing was broken. But I also knew what part of the 100 Mile was waiting for me: The Chairbacks. Infamous for its brutal ascents, descents, boulder scrambles, and bogs, this twenty mile stretch of trail could wreak havoc on my injuries and make matters even worse for me. Reviews were mixed at camp. Some hikers thought I could muscle through it, others thought it a bad idea. Everyone agreed my ankle looked extra bloated and could be a contestant on The Biggest Loser. Ultimately, I decided to wrap it tightly and try to make it to the logging road then decide where to go from there.

I made it to the road better than expected, and I knew at that point I had to finish the 100 Mile Wilderness. I couldn’t take the morale blow of having to get off trail so early in such a remote section, take time off, then go straight back into the same section to pick up where I left off. I needed to finish and get to Monson to recover, if nothing just for the win. So that’s what I did. It was very painful at times between the two injuries and harsh terrain, and I took a zero day on trail at a shelter, but I made it another 35 miles to Monson where I stayed at Shaw’s Hiker Hostile for five days to recover. And if you’re going to be injured on trail and need time to recover, Shaw’s is the place to be!  The friendly atmosphere and legendary breakfast are sure to revive the body and spirit!

THE NECESSARY EVILS

It was a tough pill to swallow being hurt so early in the journey, and it makes me nervous with all that still lies ahead. With some of the hardest terrain yet to come, like Southern Maine and New Hampshire, my confidence feels racked to say the least; I’ll have to rehab it as much as my ankle and knee. I’m just hoping my body has what it takes. And I’m positive there are more falls and injuries in my future, I just need to learn where to start drawing lines between what is tolerable and what is foolish to continue in.

This trail has a way of exposing your weaknesses and distilling your spirit down to what I’ll call the unenviable position of necessary evils. What I mean is that the luxury of comfort in decision making is stripped as a factor out here. You don’t have a bed and home to retreat to, there’s no urgent care clinic on trail, mom isn’t there to kiss the boo-boos. So many times you have to decide between what is worse and what is just a little less worse and hope the lesser is the right evil. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous passing the Ironworks logging road, knowing it might have been my last out for the next 35 miles. Still plenty of time to make this injury worse. But I took the chance, assessed my body, listened to it the best I could, and made a decision (and I did the same for my recovery!).  It was risky, and fortunately I was able to make it through to Monson to finish the 100 Mile. On average, only 20% of hikers who attempt a thru hike of the A.T. every year make it to the end. I’m starting to understand why.