500 miles

When I was 12, we took a family vacation to Maine.  We had 5 people, suitcases crammed wherever they fit, a few blankets strewn across the back, and half-eaten snacks littered across the car.  We must have been eating Triscuits at the first state border we crossed.  Before the next border, I made sure everyone in the car had a Triscuit in their hand.  "Only three more miles!" my dad said from the front.  He was the one who was the most excited to meet the borders in snacking style. 

Ten years later, at the Georgia/North Carolina border, I was questioning why I was on the trail.  I had expected it to be more difficult, and I was surprised that I was having so much fun.  Was I just wasting time in the woods?  That morning I thought about my decision to hike the trail, and I remembered my lack of confidence, my bad eating habits, and my poor self image.  I remembered that I wanted to be more connected to the people in my life, especially my family.  And as I anticipated crossing into a new state, I thought about the Triscuits stashed in my backpack.  Before I reached the border it seemed right that my name should be Triscuit-- a tribute to my quirky way of celebrating, but also a reminder that both food and family can be positive things. 

I realized that day that I wasn't on trail to prove anything; rather, I was using hiking as a medium through which to trust myself again.  Thus Triscuit was born.

Over the first few weeks I slowly became less frustrated with bear hangs, cooking on my mini stove, and hiking through the rain.  I was proud of 11 mile days.  I tried not to think beyond the week ahead.  "One day at a time" was my mantra.  I was content to think only of the woods around me.  My journal entries contained plants I saw and detailed an occasional nasty smell (usually emminating from me).  Life was good.

When I hiked solo, the trail wore me down.  There were a few 20 mile days when I pushed myself more than I should have.  I walked in heat and occasionally got dehydrated and emotional.  These were the days that I had to push through in order to really think about body image and confidence and how I treat myself.  The handwriting in my journal became smaller and more scribbled as I tried to fit thought upon thought on those tiny pages.  On tough days I continued to tell myself, "one day at a time." 

Suddenly, "one day at a time" carried me to day 60.  I'm a quarter of the way through the trail and will reach 600 miles in the next day or two.  I don't mind hiking through the rain, or setting up my hammock, or sleeping among snoring men and hungry mice.  I can usually get my food bag hung in a tree on my first throw.  I can ration out my food and eat enough to fuel my climbs.  I can hike alone and keep a steady head.  At this point, the most difficult part of the trail is finding free internet...

I have to plan to a certain extent, but it's been freeing to think in the present.  When the thoughts in my head become too overwhelming, it is comforting just to walk.  I remember this quotation:

"Allow your judgements their own silent, undisturbed development, which, like all progress, must come from deep within and cannot be forced or hastened.  Everything is gestation and then birthing." 

Dad and I ate Triscuits at the Tennessee/Virginia border and again at my 500th mile.  I am thankful he is with me, sharing my recovery to health and helping me relive the tradition that we started, father and daughter, on our journey to Maine.