The price of freedom no. 1: security

 

After a thru-hike is before a thru-hike.

When I came back from the PCT in September 2023 I tried to settle back into the life that I lived before. But soon I gave up and started to plan. In deciding which trails to hike, I came up with what I call my “masterplan”: Two years of consecutive thruhikes, some longer, some shorter.

Maybe I will stick to this plan, maybe I’ll stumble over other opportunities and take advantage of those.

With all this flexibility in planning, I had to quit my job.I am a primary school teacher and I really love my job. I taught at the same school for 10 years, situated in a picturesque valley, having some close friends as colleagues, and enjoying working with the kids a lot. Deciding to leave this school has been hard. I let my principal and colleagues know early on, and then gently let the kids in on the news.

From all of them, I experienced sadness, but even more interest, which really honors me. For months, the kids have been coming up with new amusing questions about my upcoming hike. And every Monday, I was greeted by colleagues and kids alike with a “I’ve been thinking of you, because…” followed by an adventurous tale of their weekend.

Money can’t buy happiness but it surely helps with thru-hiking

Returning from the PCT in 2023, I was pretty broke. So, as soon as I could I increased my regular lessons and took substitute lessons if possible.

I kept my spending low, and finally, I let go of my beautiful apartment that I had called home for 7 years. In the process, I sold and gave away most of my belongings. I have never been a minimalist person, I was a “cosy-hobbit-den” person. I used to have an overwhelming amount of hobbies I was passionate about (hello, ADHD!), and they all accumulated material, tools, and projects.
It was radical to let thru-hiking take over my life to this extent and to treat my other interests for this one obsession. But it felt absolutely right.

So I scattered my former life,  only to pack up a handful and I moved into my friend’s garden shed in January.

A simpler life

For the first two months, it got well below freezing most of the nights. My garden shed was not insulated and had quite a draft. I didn’t have water access but electricity, no heating, and I decided not to use an electric heater, for it would have been an insane waste of energy. I didn’t struggle with that; it was still way more comfortable, warmer, and dryer than snow camping in the Sierra with 10°F (-12°C). But it is hard to get out of the shed at 5.30am every day and still look the part of the put-together teacher and not like grumpy hiker trash.

But I got accustomed to “shed life”, I loved the time spent with my friends who hosted me there.

And in my typical “hobbit-den-style” I embraced the rustic charm and made sure the shed was absolutely cute and cosy. As soon as the sun started to rise earlier, the mornings in the shed became magical.

 

My everyday life had moved more outdoors again and I was loving it. A simpler life, with no way to miss the morning crispness, the 4am chirping of the birds, the heavy thunderstorm, the heavy breathing of the neighbour’s horses, the pink sunrise spectacle.

This not only helped me save a big chunk of money in just 6 months. It also helped me to stay on track when packing up my secure life felt overwhelming, which it often did.

I would do it again in the blink of an eye.

Taking care of oneself

In my last blog post I wrote about how post-trail excessive workout with insufficient recovery left me drained, injured, and under-fueled.

After admitting to myself that my behavior towards training and eating had turned problematic it had to change to enable me to go back on a thru-hike. Firstly, I had to recover and eat properly. This meant that I would gain weight. I did and it was not an easy process.

People would try to comfort me by saying I would walk it all right off on trail. I surely will, but starving and overexercising on trail isn’t going to be a healthy solution for my relationship with my body and food. I will have to address this topic in therapy and really get to the root of it. But until then, I just focused on getting all my nutrients in as long as I was in civilization.

I started taking several supplements and adjusted my resupply strategy. As a vegetarian, I would pack good quality high-calorie protein powder and green juice powder into my bounce box and send more resupply boxes on trail than other hikers might. I want to be able to fuel my body with good stuff, taking care of myself. 

Good enough

Because of my overuse injuries regular cardio training wasn’t possible anymore. So I focused on physiotherapy, acupuncture, yoga, additional strength training, and training hikes.

I especially focused on stretching my plantar fascia, calves, hamstrings, and back as well as strengthening my toes, ankles, knees, abductors, hip flexors, glutes, and core.

On training hikes, I tried to test out my new gear in authentic conditions. I got a new tent, sleeping bag, backpack, custom-made insoles, and some different clothing items since the PCT.
How would they hold up during extremely steep climbs and descents, on cold & windy ridges, or during exposed camping? Could I confidently hike into Colorado with this gear?

For my last solo hike before the CDT, I chose an especially steep region of the Swiss Alps. I was bagging peak after peak for three days, really testing the limits of my injured achilles and plantar fascia. They hold up fine and I was incredibly relieved.

The camp spots were awesome and the only downside was that I couldn’t cowboy camp. I love sleeping under the stars so much, that I didn’t even try out my new tent in the 8 months since I bought it! But I felt giddily happy as soon as I crawled into my new sleeping system in my new shelter. This felt like home and I was ready to get out there on the next long trail!

But for some reason, I got a lot of blisters on my feet, both on my toes and my heels. I was hiking with my beloved Altras, my feet were used to my insoles, and yeah, my feet got wet several times, but they dried off quickly. On my way home I went over the stats of the hike again and compared it to the stats of the Montana section of the CDT,  then the Colorado Section, then the overall average of the CDT.
Turns out, I’ve been averaging 3 times more elevation gain and loss per mile than on any section of the CDT.
After months of slow progress and frustration during psychotherapy, this gave me a much-needed confidence boost.
The turbulent past two years had taken their toll on me and I was not in the shape I had hoped for. But I was still in good enough shape to get out there!

The price of freedom no. 2: Goodbyes

Goodbye, dearest friends

On most of my training hikes, I went with friends. The closer to my departure, the bittersweeter those occasions became. Sometimes we tried to ignore it, sometimes we talked a lot about the upcoming separation.

More and harder hugs, some tears, mumbled excuses.

I have amazing friends here in Switzerland. We are so close. They all support my plans and dreams. Some took on security responsibilities for me, some lent me clothes, and some might even come and visit. All gave me their time and hearts and offered me a place to sleep anytime.

Saying goodbye was hard and touching and beautiful and sad. This time, we don’t know when I’ll return.

Goodbye, best school

The last week of school was hard too. This year, I taught 5 different classes.

The kids’ goodbye gifts moved me to tears daily, as each day I had to say goodbye to another class. The extent to which my students aged 9 to 13 years understood the significance of thru-hiking for my life was astonishing and moving.

I ended each lesson with a short talk with each child.

“It was a pleasure to meet and teach you. I wish you all the best on your way.”

I can’t even write these words without tearing up.
If any former student of mine ever decides to thru-hike, they have a committed, overly proud trail angel in me, I stand by that.

All of the sudden, my key chain was completely empty.

Goodbye, beloved family

My family’s first reaction to my plans was shock and fear.

But they went from: “But you’ve hiked your PCT, why can’t you settle back down now?” to “We really hoped our Alps could be enough for you.” to “We understand your love for nature and will try to support you as much as possible.”

They are afraid and they would wish for me to be content with smaller adventures, closer to home and closer to them.

But in these 2 years since my return from the PCT, they learned to understand my longing. I could see how much effort they put into understanding me and not holding me back and this made us grow closer.

And in a beautiful, unconditional way,  they started to support my crazy, irresponsible dreams.

Fortunately, a family wedding just 3 days before my departure made for a happy occasion, with a lot of goodbye hugs.

I am so thankful. Without my parents’ hands-on support, I wouldn’t have been able to pack up my life so fast and neatly. I am so thankful for their understanding.

And again, all of this made saying goodbye especially hard.

 

And so it begins!

Like everything in life, freedom has a price.

When I finally sat in the plane flying to Seattle, I summarized for myself: I paid with security and goodbyes.

Paying the price leaves me with uncertainty and tears. But also courage and love, so much love.

I am writing this on the train from Seattle to East Glacier, next to the northern terminus of the CDT. 

The day dawns golden over lush meadows and endless forests.

Good morning, Montana!