The Trail Was My Life for a While, And I Lived It

I thought I could write. I thought there was a creative power I would tap into while walking that walk. That I’d find some deep knowledge to share, that there would be funny anecdotes to make someone laugh. And there were, don’t get me wrong. I did learn a thing or two about life, about myself. I did live through numerous situations I’ll share at a bar table throughout my life. I just wasn’t ready to share it as I lived it. I’m just not ready to share it now.

There were many times I picked up my phone in an attempt to recount what was going on. I wrote numerous articles in my head while climbing endless mountains that would vanish as soon as I hit camp, and if I hadn’t decided to start typing at 2:30 a.m. in this insomniac night, this one too would be gone by morning. Perhaps one day I’ll be ready to relive those five months. Perhaps one day they will become text, art, poetry. But not today.

I have been holding this task over my head for the past six months, and I realize now I can’t keep myself in that position any longer. So, I’m writing this instead. For The Trek audience that just wants to feel the mountain air through someone else’s words, I apologize, for all I have are loose ramblings.

I keep telling people that if I go through my pictures and a calendar with Guthook’s by my side I could remember everything I’ve lived in each of the 153 days I spent in that journey. But I have no desire to tell that tale yet. I haven’t processed any of it, to be honest. And I need some distance from the internet-pace-of-time where everything is live and now and then forgotten. I want to believe that maybe the trail synced me to nature’s-pace-of-time, where seeds are planted, and they become saplings, and then they flourish. And this takes time. All I could think about while on trail was the metaphors for life. How seasons affect every being in the forest, the endless ups-and-downs of mountains, the slow and steady speed with which we march forward. And in nature’s time, the seed of the PCT that was planted within me hasn’t reached maturity just yet. Turns out the trail wasn’t a project for which I’d write a script. It was just my life.

For those of you that wondered (although I feel that this might be giving myself too much importance), I did stick to the trail until the end. It was an imperfect hike, just like living is seldom perfect. A purist may even say I didn’t thru-hike, but what would they know of everything I hiked-thru within me? It was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever done. With permit day just past us, I must say to any potential future PCTer that I’m forever grateful to that past Lara that was scared shitless sitting on the couch, waiting for three hours for my spot in line. Scared I wouldn’t fetch a date, terrified I would. After all, I still think that the most important thing that happened to me on this trail was deciding to hike it. Deciding to bring to life that dream I’ve carried for so long. In a way fulfilling that dream was like fulfilling many dreams that remained ideas. Now I know my word has power and I can make things happen.

I’m grateful that I could afford this hike and that I went into it fully aware of my physical limitations which lead me to take it reaaallly slow and not injure myself. I’m grateful that fate would have no major curveballs to throw my way that I couldn’t dodge and that the US government let me in for six continuous months. During this trail I met special people I will carry with me forever, even though I’m far away. And most importantly, I made some peace with myself, learned to laugh at my childish emotions, and to accept my despair, which was often present, as the fleeting feeling it really is. No, I didn’t die because I was so hot, cold, or tired, that 10-mile climb ended eventually, they always do. And that’s what I take with me. If you keep walking, you’ll get there eventually.