In other words, I was like the Grinch. In the end, my experience had literally given me a bigger heart.
The calluses, blisters, and corns on my feet took about three months to harden, then peel off. At times, I picked off purple, silver-dollar-sized scales from my feet. They were dense, stiff, and always a different shape. I asked Brew if he thought we should keep a few as mementos, but he said no.
It took a long time before I had any desire to run or participate in prolonged exercise, but it was just a few weeks after I finished that my heart longed for the trail. I started by taking short two- or three-mile hikes. In direct contrast to my record hike, I enjoyed traveling down the trail at a mile and a half per hour and taking as many seated breaks as I wanted along the way.
I think my biggest regret leaving Springer Mountain was worrying about any damaged relationships that I had left along the trail. But if anything, the journey had strengthened old friendships and kindled new ones. It even brought my family together in a manner that I had always dreamed of.
Once I started hiking again, I was able to enjoy short jaunts with some of the friends who had helped me over the summer. In particular, I spent time with Melissa and Warren. It was amazing how during the record hike the A.T. had seemed to strain our relationships. Yet now, spending time together on the worn dirt path quickly healed the hurt feelings.
I was thankful that all my apologies on the trail, in person, and over the phone went so well. I was especially awed by Warren’s reciprocal regret. He had never meant to make the hike more difficult for me. We talked at length about Mount Washington, about our misperceptions and misunderstandings. It only took four miles for me to realize that our time this summer hadn’t fractured our connection; it had brought us closer together.
Also, for the first time in eight years, I felt like my family finally understood why I went into the woods. My oldest brother seemed proud of me in a way that I hadn’t experienced before. I’d grown closer to James and Lindsay—and even more infatuated with my niece. In fact, I’d made plans to take her on her first section hike before she turned two. My dad was beaming with pride—as always. And my mom, well, my mom was there.
When I asked her if she was glad that she had come, she replied, “No. I thought your husband needed to be hospitalized because of the poison ivy on the back of his leg. And you were barely coherent. I have never been so worried about you two in my life.” Translation: she wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
I think if I’d expected this hike to change my life, then I would have been sorely disappointed. After a few months, everything felt pretty ordinary. Brew and I had the same friends, the same jobs, and our bank accounts had not increased. But what I had expected was that the path would change me—and it had.
Someone once asked me if the record was more of a physical, mental, or spiritual challenge. When I thought about it, I couldn’t decide. In the end, I think it must be summed up as a love story. Not just a love story between a husband and wife, but one with multiple dimensions.
I love God and I felt called to the trail by him. I wanted to follow his voice and praise him with the talents and the gifts that he had given me.
I also love the trail. Out of all the paths that I have traveled, the Appalachian Trail remains the closest to my heart. That thin strip of dirt winding through those ancient peaks had taught me more than any other footpath and had truly changed my life. Because of that, I will always remain devoted to it and entranced by it.
And I love my husband. When I didn’t have the internal drive to continue putting one foot in front of the other, I thought about all the sacrifices he was making for me. I reminded myself that he was getting only five or six hours of sleep at night, and that his days were even more emotionally demanding than my own. I know that I could not have been successful without the knowledge that he would always be at the next road crossing waiting for me.
Perhaps the most important take-away from this past summer is the realization that love is more than a feeling. True love is very different from what is often portrayed in the movies and by the media. In fact, Hollywood has really done a disservice to our perception of love. That is probably one reason why there is so much discontent and divorce in our society. It could also be why seventy-five percent of thru-hikers don’t successfully complete the Appalachian Trail. Our ideas of devotion and romance are totally skewed.
True love isn’t an emotion; it’s a commitment—and it will be confronted by many trials and tribulations. Like the trail, love is not always easy and it is not always fun. If you really care about something or someone, you will be willing to go through hell for it (or him or her). It takes tough love for you to become your best self.
A few months before I started the trail, Brew had given me a silver necklace with a small medallion that had the word “Love” inscribed on it. I wore that necklace for half of the trail until it became so black and grimy that it started to cause a rash around my neck. Sometimes when I was struggling up a mountain or walking through a thunderstorm, I would reach for my necklace and just hold it for a minute.
When I finished the trail, I borrowed some silver polish from our neighbor and started cleaning off my necklace. I almost didn’t want to. The filth told our story much better than the shining silver ever would. I decided that love should be worn. It should be worn so that others can see it, and it should be worn in the sense that it should show its age—and its miles. Love is an unending trail; and more often than not, it will not be pretty. It will be dirty and sticky, and it may even cause a rash (hopefully one that will go away with time or a prescription).
Some days, when I am working at home or driving down the road, I will reach for my necklace and hold it between my fingers. Immediately, I think about the hundred-degree heat and the sleet storm on Franconia Ridge. I think about shin splints and diarrhea or how Brew refused to let me quit at the base of Pico Peak. I think about how some of my best friends got on my last nerve—and what a complete diva I was in return. I reminisce about hiking behind Dutch or trying to catch up with Rambler or sharing smiles and stories with Rebekah, Matt, and Carl. I remember my nine-month-old niece clapping for me at the road crossings. I thank God once again that my flashlight didn’t go out on my climb up Mount Washington and that I ran into Adam and Kadra at my absolute lowest point. I think about all of our family and friends who met us at the end, and about Brew’s expression when I laid eyes on him in the Springer Mountain parking lot.
When I let go of my necklace and let it fall to my chest, next to my heart, my focus returns to my work and to my ordinary, everyday surroundings. But sometimes, in the silence that ensues, I will hear the wind through the trees or the birds warbling nearby. Then I will sense a slight twinge in my stomach and a warmth in my chest. And when I lift my eyes and gaze out the window at the mountains that surround our home in Asheville, they somehow seem closer.
In those moments, I find myself waiting, wondering, and listening. For the familiar voice that will summon me . . . when I am called again.
2011 ITINERARY
DAY 0
Mount Katahdin to Jo-Mary Rd—56.0 miles
DAY 1
Jo-Mary Rd to Long Pond Stream—44.2 miles
DAY 2
Long Pond Stream to Boise-Cascade Rd—45.7 miles
DAY 3
Boise-Cascade Rd to Maine 27—41.9 miles
DAY 4
Maine 27 to Houghton Fire Rd—41.0 miles
DAY 5
Houghton Fire Rd to Grafton Notch—37.9 miles
DAY 6
Grafton Notch to US 2—31.1 miles
DAY 7
US 2 to Mt. Washington—34.6 miles
DAY 8
Mt. Washington to Gale River Trail—27.8 miles
DAY 9
Gale River Trail to NH 25—38.2 miles
DAY 10
NH 25 to NH 120—42.6 miles
DAY 11
NH 120 to Stony Brook Rd—36.3 miles
DAY 12
Stony Brook Rd to Danby-Landgrove Rd—42.5 miles
DAY 13
Danby-Landgrove Rd to near Kid Gore Shelter—43.9 miles
DAY 14
Near Kid Gore Shelter to Cheshire, MA—47.3 miles
DAY 15
Cheshire, MA to Mass. 23—48.3 miles
DAY 16
Mass. 23 to West Cornwall Rd—47.3 miles
DAY 17
West Cornwall Rd to NY 52—49.0 miles
DAY 18
NY 52 to Arden Valley Rd—49.3 miles
DAY 19
Arden Valley Rd to County 519—45.0 miles
Day 20
County 519 to PA 191—52.7 miles
DAY 21
PA 191 to past Fort Franklin Rd—48.0 miles
DAY 22
Past Fort Franklin Rd to PA 645—46.9 miles
DAY 23
PA 645 to PA 850—53.9 miles
DAY 24
PA 850 to Sandy Sod Junction—51.6 miles
DAY 25
Sandy Sod Junction to Gathland State Park—52.9 miles
DAY 26
Gathland State Park to Dicks Dome Shelter—48.7 miles
DAY 27
Dicks Dome Shelter to Skyland Service Rd—52.4 miles
DAY 28
Skyland Service Rd to Browns Gap—46.8 miles
DAY 29
Browns Gap to VA 56—52.6 miles
DAY 30
VA 56 to Matts Creek Shelter—46.9 miles
DAY 31
Matts Creek Shelter to VA 652—52.6 miles
DAY 32
VA 652 to Sinking Creek Mountain—46.9 miles
DAY 33
Sinking Creek Mountain to US 460—47.3 miles
DAY 34
US 460 to VA 615—50.3 miles
DAY 35
VA 615 to VA 16—49.2 miles
DAY 36
VA 16 to US 58—46.9 miles
DAY 37
US 58 to Vandeventer Shelter—49.8 miles
DAY 38
Vandeventer Shelter to past Doll Flats—46.1 miles
DAY 39
Past Doll Flats to the Nolichucky River—45.5 miles
DAY 40
The Nolichucky River to Camp Creek Bald—45.5 miles
DAY 41
Camp Creek Bald to Snowbird Mt.—51.3 miles
DAY 42
Snowbird Mt. to Clingmans Dome—46.3 miles
DAY 43
Clingmans Dome to NC 143—48.2 miles
DAY 44
NC 143 to Mooney Gap—52.2 miles
DAY 45
Mooney Gap to Testanee Gap—60.2 miles
DAY 46
Testanee Gap to Springer Mt.—36.2 miles
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This is the story of a trail that serves as an agent of change and a metaphor for life. I am grateful for the hard work and diligence of the governing bodies that oversee the Appalachian Trail including the NPS and the ATC. I am especially appreciative of the regional trail clubs and volunteers who represent the soul of the A.T. community.
To the aptly named Pit Crew, which includes every single person who helped me down the trail in 2011, thank you for betting on the dark horse and proving that what seems impossible might just be exceptionally difficult. I wish that I could have included every person who hiked with me, prayed for me, and provided food or refuge during this journey within this book. Actually, I tried, but my editor wouldn’t let me. Just know, I am able to tell a good story because you were a part of the experience.
To my family and friends who have supported me, prodded me, and believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself, thank you. James, no one else could have turned my memories into illustrations the way that you did. Thank you. Brew, being with you has made me a much better version of me. None of this would have been possible without you. I love you way more than I love the trail—and that is A LOT!
To my publishing team at Beaufort Books, thank you for helping me turn a life-changing journey into a book that is both authentic and compelling. Eric, thank you for recognizing my talent and always believing in me. Margot, thank you for making me a better writer; it has been a delight and privilege to work with you. Megan and Cindy your “legwork” getting this book to press and to the public has been invaluable. Thank you.
I look forward to having the opportunity to thank each one of you, and many others, in person . . . a little farther down the trail.
Called Again Page 26
