I’ve Dreaded Every Hike I’ve Ever Done — But I Go Anyway

Like most thru-hikers, I dreamed of the Appalachian Trail for years before I actually thru-hiked it. Completing the trail was a major challenge, and I often tell prospective hikers that the biggest key to success is simply to want the trail more than anything. To want it enough that the desire to hike carries you through even the hardest days.

But here’s the truth: I almost quit the trail before I even started it.

In the last month or so leading up to the start of my own AT thru-hike, I really didn’t want to go. The AT was an audacious dream, and I suddenly found myself longing to back away from it and stay safe and warm in my comfort zone. It was only the peer pressure of having told virtually everyone I knew about my thru-hiking ambitions that pushed me to actually show up on Day 1. 

Thank goodness I did — the AT changed by life — but now, seven years have passed and I’m planning another audacious hike. And once again, I really don’t want to go.

Thru-hiking is as much a psychological as a physical game, and it seems one of my biggest challenges is the nerves and self-doubt that plague me in the run-up to a big adventure. Fortunately, I’ve learned a thing or two over the years about how to navigate the minefield of pre-hike anxiety.

Maybe I’m Not Ready. Maybe Now Isn’t the Right Time.

In early 2018, I was 23 years old and finally hitting my stride. I liked my town. I had friends, hobbies, a low-stress job that paid the bills. After a few rough years, I was starting to feel content — right as I was about to pack up shop and move into a tent in the forest for an undetermined amount of time, for reasons I could never quite explain to anyone who asked.

I had trained consistently for the AT and thought about the trail nonstop. But the closer it came to reality, the more I hesitated. Was I really about to throw away a perfectly good life to sleep in the dirt for six months?

The time I had budgeted for the AT could surely be better spent on other projects, right? Maybe now wasn’t the right time. Maybe I should bail — or at least wait another year.

I’m Not Sure if I Even Like Hiking. Don’t Make Me!

Of course I didn’t bail. I started my thru-hike on schedule, and it was magical and life-altering and hands down the best thing I’ve ever done.

Since then I’ve gone on to complete more hiking adventures, including the Colorado Trail, the Pyrenees High Route, and the Wind River High Route.

And I have to admit it: I didn’t want to go on any of those hikes, either. It’s a pattern with me, apparently. I love thru-hiking, but in the immediate run-up to even a relatively short trail, I don’t wanna.

It would be so much more comfortable to stay home. I have so many other projects I could be working on instead. I’m not even sure if I like hiking! Don’t make me!

The Magic of Pre-Commitment

Pre-commitment means taking steps in advance of a stated goal to keep Future You on track and make it harder for them (you) to back out.

Want to get in better shape? Sign up for a non-refundable race and tell all your followers you’ll be posting weekly updates on your training. Struggling to stick to a budget? Set up an automatic monthly transfer into a separate savings account. Future You won’t have to struggle to avoid spending that extra $150 each month, because Current You already took that option off the table.

On each of my hikes I’ve been forced, through pre-commitment, to ignore my doubts and forge ahead with my plans. Because I had already requested extended leave from my job. Because I had told everyone I knew I would be doing this-or-that awesome trek and didn’t want to look like an idiot for backing out. Because I had hiking partners who were counting on my participation.

Pre-commitment is very important for me. Things like plane tickets, permits, time-off requests at work, and the sky-high expectations of my friends and family (who all think I’m a way more intense hiker than I actually am) serve as guardrails to keep my goals on track when I inevitably start to get in my own head. 

It’s High Time for Another High-Altitude Sufferfest

This summer, I’m planning a long section of Canada’s gloriously hard Great Divide Trail with a couple of friends. I’ve backpacked in the Canadian Rockies before, so I know this trip is going to be absolutely epic.

I’ll be privileged to spend a whole month away from the increasingly terrifying reality of civilized life, in the company of two badass ladies who inspire me. I’ll challenge myself and make memories to last a lifetime.

But … do I have to? I’m once again vibing hard with my comfy civilized life. I’ve once again discovered hobbies that I would love to put more of my time and attention into. I once again find myself wanting to settle in and not rock the boat when everything’s suddenly going so well.

And at least in the short term, none of these desires are compatible with flying to Calgary for a 30-day high-altitude sufferfest. Maybe I should put the hike off until next year. Maybe now isn’t the right time. 

Don’t Think I Don’t See What You’re up to, Me.

But I know myself well enough by now. I’m nervous. That’s all. I get cold feet when I’m facing a big challenge, but if I simply sit with that discomfort and stay the course, a life-altering adventure will be my reward on the other side.

Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, Me. 

On each of my thru-hikes so far, I’ve felt all the reticence melt away as soon as I set foot on trail. For every ounce of doubt I felt in advance of the hike, I was rewarded with ten times as much serenity and euphoria during the hike itself. 

I will probably feel this reluctance to start up until the moment I set foot on the GDT, at which point the nerves will dissolve and be replaced by the thrill of the adventure ahead. 

As much as I love my current life, I know that once I’m out there, I won’t be wishing I was back home getting my nails done or dancing bachata or working on my knitting. My world will shrink to just me, my tramily, and the challenges of the day at hand. Just the way I like it.

Trusting the Process

In any case, the fact that long-distance hiking puts me out of my comfort zone is sort of the point. Each of my thru-hikes thus far has been a major inflection point in my life — in a good way. So if I feel a bit nervous ahead of the GDT, that’s probably a good sign.

I don’t think there’s any special cure for my metaphorical cold feet. Fortunately, I’ve invested way too much to back out of my summer plans. Like it or not, the permits are secured and the flights are booked. All I have to do now is simply live with the pre-hike anxiety for a few more weeks and show up anyway on Day 1.

Pre-commitment works. Overthinking does not. I’ve learned I can’t wait for the nerves to go away before I act — because they never do. If I waited until I felt 100% ready, I’d never go anywhere. At some point, you just have to commit, trust that you’ll rise to the challenge, and take the first step.

See you on the trail, sweet hiker friends. SMOOCH.

Featured image by Chris Helm.