FINALLY - my reasons

My reasons for hiking the Trail:



An Oasis in Ein Gedi, Israel



1.       I was praying in church several weeks ago for a “sign” that God was OK with me hiking the Trail.  A pastor was up front speaking.  I got this feeling that I needed to listen carefully to what was being said (I often call this “God biffing me upside the head to pay attention”).  Honestly, I don’t remember a lot of what he said, but I heard THIS phrase:  Portable Oasis in the Wilderness.  That’s when I decided that I needed to walk the Trail.  I needed to prepare as much spiritually as mentally and physically.  I needed God to be my Oasis so that I could truly offer Him as an Oasis to others.  And when you carry your home on your back, that home HAS to be portable.  So would an Oasis.  I think the Trail is a grand metaphor for so much that goes on in our lives spiritually.  I’m looking forward to seeing that metaphor unfold.  My goal is to be a portable oasis for others that are weary and thirsty on the Trail.  The water and rest I have to offer is God’s love and grace.

2.       I want to find boldness.  Life is too short to fear.  Yet, I do.  I fear rejection or disapproval.  I fear failing.  I fear pain.  In short, I fear myself and others.  How silly.  If God is for me, what does it matter who is against me (even if it’s myself)?

3.       I want to learn that the world doesn’t fall apart when I’m not there.  Yeah, that’s narcissistic of me to think.  I realize this.  But, there you have it.  I guess I’m narcissistic.  I cognitively understand this concept.  Yet, I think I need to experience it.  So, I will let it go.  Don’t blame me if the zombie apocalypse happens while I’m out there.



4.       I want to learn contentment.  I can entertain myself fairly well.  I don’t mind being alone.  I don’t mind being with others.  But, I think there is a deeper level of being “OK” when one has very little control of their circumstances and environment.  Contentment in a hail storm will be a fun lesson. 

5.       I want to learn to focus on what’s directly in front of me.  I too often get caught up in the future and in the planning.  Or I’m caught up in the past and what that means now.  If all of that is stripped away, and all I’m left with is the bubble of my head lamp, or the tree root to avoid in the next step, then I may get better at seeing the less tangible objects that have true importance.  I will have less distractions and learn to focus more on God and people.

6.       I want to practice walking TOWARD something rather than walk AWAY from something.

7.       I want to practice leaving the unnecessary things behind. 

8.       Lastly, I want to learn to be vulnerable.  I try to be an open book.  I’m much better than I used to be.  But, you can see that I needed a full post of explaining before I could post these reasons.  I can tell you my failures, but I can’t tell you my dreams.  Walking the Trail is a physical manifestation of a dream.  Every step feels foolish to me because I so want to do it.  And I can’t do it surreptitiously (I can’t just disappear for a day and make up an excuse of where I was).  And this hike is huge – what happens if I fail?  My dream fails… in front of all of you.  *gulp* 

If I could be bold, be content, be vulnerable, be present, be non-narcissistic, and do all those things because of the grace God has given me, well, then perhaps, I could be a suitable “portable oasis” for God to travel with me for the sake of other weary travelers.  That is my hope.

So, what do I learn from this?  It means that I’m pretty darn determined to stay on the Trail.  It means that boredom or fear or misery are not reasons to get off the Trail.  It means that minor illness or injury are not reasons to leave the Trail.   It means that I may stay on the Trail, even when a few of you may think I have a good reason to leave, and you disagree with my decision.  Of course, God may have other plans and I’ll have to determine that when the time comes.  Or, I may just outright fail in my reasons– don’t think that possibility isn’t always looming in front of me.  So, without having too much hubris, I’m going to speak much less from here on out about the possibility of failure.  You can be assured it’s there in my brain.  However, my focus is going to be on becoming this Portable Oasis in the Wilderness.



A Probable Unnecessary Explanation

Wow!  I’m due for another post.  Weeks go by sooooo quickly!  I’ve been reading a really good book by a fellow Madisonian called “Appalachian Trials” by Good Badger (hint: that’s his trail name).  He had never been backpacking his entire life when he decided to take on the AT.  In his book, he goes through his preparations and planning, his actual hike, the things he learned on the hike, and then post-hike lessons as well.  My last post hinted a bit at the post-hike, i.e. post-trail depression and that fear of who will I become while I’m emulating Grizzly Adams.

Today, I think I’ll talk about some of my reasons for being on the Trail.  This should be a lot more uplifting than speculating on my post-trail fears.  However, let me also start out by saying that my admissions to these reasons are actually MORE scary for me to tell you then it is for me to talk about my failures, my depressions, my fears.  Why?  Because now I’m letting you in on my dreams.  I’d much rather talk about my shortcomings.  Those are much more obvious, and I don’t have to suffer from laughter, rejection, or awkward silence as we all sometimes experience when we dare give light to a deep-dwelling dream.

You see, other people know us.  At least, they THINK they know us.  They know what we show them.   But we have all become less than ourselves in this world.  We have learned to hide, to polish off, or even sometimes to amputate parts of ourselves in order to fit in, to look, well “polished” instead of the diamond in the rough.  And often, that can be a good thing.  God forbid I was the same person and personality from years ago!  However, sharing dreams and hopes and desires is probably the most vulnerable thing a person can do.  You put something like that out there in the world, and it’s likely to get lopped off.  Or at least chipped.  And that by the people who love you most.  Not because they are mean, nasty people.  But rather because they are simply closer.  Close enough to accidentally chip into your dream, to knock it over, to step on your toes.  Because they are close.  And that’s good.  It just means that it’s painful.

So, before I go into some of my reasons for being on the Trail, let me editorialize a bit further.  If you are going to regularly read this blog, I may say or discuss things that may come as a bit of a surprise to you.  Does that mean I’ve been “hiding” from you all these years?  No, probably not.  It just means that, over the years, I’ve found that certain aspects of my personality jive better with certain people, and other parts of my personality jive with others better.  So, I tend to downplay varying interests or actions around varying people.  Some might call this two-faced.  I call it adapting. 

Let me give you an example.  Here is something you might be able to expect in future posts: I might use the occasional swear word… right alongside musing some profound mystery of God’s love.  I might get the opportunity to share a cigar or a stiff drink with someone on the trail… I have found a cigar and stiff drink often opens up the conversation to talk about the more meaningful and spiritual things in life.  I might be awestruck by a beautiful sunset in one paragraph, and then mentioning specific reasons some people should not hike naked on Hike Naked Day in the next (which, by the way, is June 21 – no, it’s a real day!).  So, in other words, I may sound really “super-spiritual” one moment, hyper-intellectual in another moment, and totally bawdy and immature the next.  Personally, I don’t see a problem with that.  However, experience has taught me that many people do.  When I’m in different groups of people, I can adapt.  But this blog is a general call-out to all humanity, so you’re just going to get whatever is in my little brain at that moment in time. 

Fair warning – nothing is off limits – Bon Jovi, Star Trek, belly-dancing, hookahs, CS Lewis, country music, Thoreau, the Bible, zombies, hippies, spirits, body checks for ticks, and flatulence.  It’s all just a hodgepodge of quirkiness rolling around in my brain together.  And I totally see me thinking about such things while walking 2200 miles.

OK, enough editorializing.  You have been warned.  Tomorrow I will post my reasons.

My Biggest Fear (or "We Band of Buggered")

My biggest fear is leaving the trail.  Whether leaving is at the terminus at Mt. Katahdin or somewhere further south, that is my biggest fear.  Because when I leave the Trail... then... well, what?  I'll have achieved (or worse, failed at) something huge.  And then?  What could possibly top that?  And who could possibly understand what I went through?  Yes, I'm sure you all want to hear my stories, but you didn't experience them with me, so... well, there is a bit of a disconnect.

I think back on some of the other "big" events in my life.  I think of one specifically.  It was a defining moment in my life, and it's taken well over a decade to move beyond.  It was a time that I got somewhat "stuck" in.  In some ways, I'm still moving beyond it.  Ghosts from that time still dance about the edges of my dreams and pull me back to that place and time.

I think on another "big" event in my life.  This particular one has taken me another set of years to move beyond.  It's possible I have not yet begun to shed the hidden layers from this particular event.

Going back even further in my personal history, I remember I wrote a musical in high school.  A few months later, I remember lamenting to my sister at Denny's (I was working the lunch shift I think) about the fear that this may be the crowning achievement in my life.  Now what?  What if a cheesy christian musical is the best thing I could ever do?

Now what?  What if hiking the A.T. is the most ultimate experience and journey of significance I could have?  Really?  Is it all downhill (hehe, no pun intended) from here?  At almost 40 years old?  Is it time to enter my years of yearning already?

Now what?  I summit Mt. Katahdin, kiss the signpost, get a splinter, and then...  hike back down.  Get a job.  Gain weight.  Shave my legs again.  Become... someone I never was before, but now, I'm REALLY not now.  How many years will it take me to move beyond all of what I became on the Trail?  And who else can really fathom that?  Except for the band of buggered few who also leave the Trail - dirty, tired comrades who also experienced a lightning storm on a ridge, or freezing rain and wind on top of Mt. Washington, or raccoons stealing your food 2 days before your next town stop.  Only those who live through it can really share the experience.  But I will be separated by miles and money and the circle of friends and family they will go back to.  I fear I may be alone.  At least, very much feel that way.

Of course, that is when I am the center of my own universe.  But when I lift my eyes to see a larger picture, a more Divine picture, I see that most probably feel similarly lonely most of the time.  We are so separated - from others, from ourselves, from our Maker.  Everyone is buggered, so to speak.  I may be alone in feeling an experience, but there IS a band of buggered few, those weary, broken people who have, fortunately or un-, experienced something with me.  I will be grateful for those, and do what I can to step into the isolation and be a beacon - both for them, and myself.  And maybe even for God on occasion   I can't help but think He is lonely too at times.

So what is after Mt. Katahdin?  I don't know.  That still scares me.  I'm a little afraid of who I may become on the Trail.  I'm afraid of who I will fit in with afterward, or how.  I'm afraid the struggle will have only begun.  What I will struggle to do is continue to remind myself that I am not isolated or alone.  That there is a companion closer than anyone could ever be.  And He is the ultimate experience.

Trail Names & Percentile Rankings

Two things are on my mind today, and neither have much to do with planning for a thru-hike.  The first is a purely fun and trivial concept on the A.T. called your trail name.  Many, if not most, backpackers on the A.T. have a Trail Name - something other than what is on their birth certificate.  People can pick their own names - like "Mom", "Ramkitten", "Windtalker", "PB&J" etc.  Sometimes, fate picks your name for you - usually a very unfortunate event that then follows you through the rest of your hike - for instance, "Mr. Poopy Pants".  You get the idea.

Part of me wants my fellow hikers to name me.  Of course, then I'll more than likely end up with some snarky name associated with bodily fluids or noises (we are not an overly mature bunch on the trail!).  Therefore, I think I'd like to find a name before I head out there.

I would love to have suggestions.  And perhaps even why you are making that suggestion.  If it's too personal, please respect my paranoia of putting all this up on the web, and send me a private note/phone call.  But, really, I'd like to hear what sort of names you would think of for me.  

Secondly, I'm thinking of what percentile I rank among thru-hikers.  Statistics say that only 12% of the people that plan a thru-hike actually achieve hiking the entire 2,174 miles.  So... what percentile am I?  Do I possibly think that I could really be in the top 88th percentile?  That does, after all, seem a bit conceited.  But, I'm an over-achiever and I've never really accepted anything below a 90% on anything - phys ed scores, school tests, gpa's, blood pressure and cholesterol reads...

There are lots of reasons people get taken off the trail.  Injury is probably one of the fewest causes.  Mostly, it's loneliness, boredom, fear, disappointment, or discomfort.  All of those are emotional or mental states.  People have continued hikes with an arm in a cast or a broken rib (don't let that freak you out, mom!).  So, it seems to me that the perseverance level would be what determines whether someone is in the top 88th.  

My family is very practical, and they have all individually said to me something to the extent of: "There's a difference between bravery and stupidity.  Don't be stupid."  I suppose, that what one person calls perseverance, another calls dumb stubbornness.  What one calls brave, another calls stupid.  And only the results will determine for history's sake which it really was.  It was brave if there person succeeded, and stupid if the person failed.  Or... it was brave if the person chose caution and wanting to be home with family over taking a risk, trying something outside of their comfort zone.  Or, or, or.  

I don't know if I'm in the top 88th.  That will be determined on the Trail.  For now, I can only envision the worst and see how I can work through it AND stay on the Trail.  Then, when those things actually happen, we'll find my true test of character, and let everyone decide which character trait it is actually displaying - perseverance and courage, or pride and stupidity.  

Maybe my trail name should be "89th" - I'll be just good enough to finish :-)

Not a place for perfectionists

Hi.  My name is Sarah, and I’m… a perfectionist (Hi Sarah!).  A recovering perfectionist, I like to think.  But, I’m not sure I’ll ever be “cured” entirely of my perfectionism.  It’s a chronic condition, I fear.  I’ve heard, however, that the A.T. is a good rehab center for just such an addiction.

You see, there is serious humble pie that needs to be eaten when planning for something like this when I haven’t planned something like this in the past.  I have this serious expectation of myself to be perfectly skilled and able to easily do ANY new thing I try.  Apparently, I do not learn from life experience very well (as I rarely do anything well the first time around). 

So, when I hear things like “But I thought you already had a sleeping bag?”  when I start talking about a new sleeping bag I found that’s lighter, takes up less room – even though I DID all the research before I bought the other one… FAIL!

Or, when I hang my food up in the tree to keep it from bears, and in the middle of the night I hear “THUD!”  Don’t worry, it’s not a bear, I just can’t tie a knot to save my life.  FAIL!

Or, when my first batch of dehydrating fruit goes moldy.  Or, when my first batch of homemade pemmican is too salty for the deer to lick.  I admit - I am not skilled in the kitchen.  And now I think I’m going to cook cheesy beef stroganoff over 1 ounce of burning alcohol.  FAIL! FAIL!

Or, when I have to return so many things to REI because I just needed the chance to try them out in the privacy of my own room (or somewhere out of eyesight of people who actually know what they are doing). But this is why I love REI – they know people need to try (and fail) and return said product. 

So many “failures”… and I’m not even on the trail yet.  Just wait for the stories I'll have to share then!  Hopefully, my failures will be short of a bear attack, a giardiasis outbreak in my intestines, or snapping an appendage from tripping over a tree root.

Of course, one could argue that’s not really failing.  It’s “trying”.  That’s what OTHER people tell me, but this is a hard concept for a perfectionist to grasp.  I start to think, “Who do you think you are anyway?  You can’t do this!” 

I realize that a moldy batch of apples does not mean that I am completely incapable of putting one foot in front of the other for 2200 miles.  Yet, my perfectionism makes that correlation for me. 

But, what IS the truth?  The truth is, on the A.T. there is very little that I can control.  Even “expert hikers” sometimes get pooled water and soaked sleeping bags under their minimalist tarp in heavy rains.  Even the “pros” can’t always get their stoves to light on the first match in cold weather.   So, if THEY can have that happen to them, then surely so can I.  The Trail has a way of showing a person just how fail, um, I mean frail, they are.  There just isn’t room for perfectionism.  If I don’t embrace my mistakes, it could well be the perfectionism that takes me off the trail, rather than an actual failure.  I don’t want that to happen.  So, that’s a good reason for me to keep working on my recovery. 

Of course, don’t think I’ll give up perfectionism perfectly.  There will likely be a few relapses.  But that's not failure.  I think that may be part of the recovery process.

The Big Three

They call 'em the "Big Three" - your tent, your pack, and your sleeping bag.  They are the largest individual items you carry, and typically the heaviest.  When you are weighing things out to the ounce of what you carry on your back, these three are where there can be real gains by going lightweight.

Deuter Backpack

There's also an saying: "The more you travel, the less you need to pack."  Here's the problem, I want to travel the Trail lightweight, but I haven't done a whole heck of a lot of backpacking.  So, that means that I 'should' be taking a 2 person tent (so I'm not claustrophobic, and have room for my gear), with a bath-tub floor (to keep out heavy rain) which is completely enclosed with mesh to keep out the bugs, and a great rainfly.  That should cover every situation.  I currently own a really nice tent - an REI QuarterDome (2 person).  It actually is considered a lightweight tent - at just over 4 pounds with everything included.  But, it's way to big for what I need or really want to carry on my back.

I realize it's less than 100 days til we leave, and I should probably have my shelter figured out.  But I don't.  Here's what I'm leaning towards... (A) a ground cloth - big enough to put my sleeping pad on, plus (B) a bug bivy - a bivy is a "bag" that goes around your sleeping bag - this will keep the insects at bay (it's just mesh), plus (C) a rainfly.  I'm going to use my trekking poles to pitch my rainfly, and my rainfly will also be my rainponcho that I can wear hiking (and over my pack).  All together, I will cut down about half the fabric I would need to stuff in my pack, and I'll save about 2 pounds.

Check out my rainfly - I think it's cool:  Six Moons Gatewood Cape 

Of course, in a heavy rain or driving wind, my shelter may not be enough due to my lack of experience.  I may end up with rivulets running over my ground cloth and soaking my bag.  Or my bug bivy may blow away from under my rainfly (it doesn't reach the ground - for ventilation purposes - cuts down on condensation, which is smart) since it won't be staked down.  I don't know.  It'll be a learning curve.

Now, before you think I'm absolutely crazy for not taking a proper tent with me.  I'm not one of those crazy ultralight hikers who drill holes in their toothbrushes or forgoes a warmer sleeping bag just to save a few ounces.

My pack is a "light" pack, but certainly not ultralight.  My sleeping bag is probably considered "midweight" because I wasn't going to spend the money on goose-down to save the weight (that, and synthetic holds up better if it does get damp - which it will on the Trail.  My hiking buds have really cool sleeping bags that have waterproof down.  I decided not to spend the money on that, but they will probably sleep better than me at times!).  So don't worry, I am not just all willy nilly getting rid of things out of my pack.  But when all of your earthly possessions (plus 7 pounds of water and 5 days of food) need to total under 30 pounds, one really does start thinking about drilling holes.  Ok, ok, I admit, I did actually cut my toothbrush in half.  Maybe I am crazy.

In Between

No one belongs in an airport. Everyone is there simply to pass time, waiting to go somewhere else. I experience this strange sense of loneliness and disconnection when I am in an airport. Maybe it’s because I still have a stupid phone and I don’t carry a computer. Being able to stay connected electronically to the office, home, or friends seems to be the way most people deal with the limbo-land of an airport. It’s a really good way to avoid that feeling. Of course, it doesn’t help me because I have even fewer strangers that I can impose upon for a conversation to pass the time.

I got to thinking about my time on the trail. I’ll start in Springer Mountain, and end on Mount Katahdin. Every step in between will be… well, in between. Between destinations, between jobs, between who I was when I started and who I’ll be when I finish – like the in between of an airport. I will not belong anywhere for half a year. That’s a very lonely prospect, in a sense. It’s all fine and well to sit in an airport and watch people for a few hours, imagining their conversations and their high scores for Angry Birds. It’s another to intentionally choose to dwell in that place for several months.

On the other hand, there is an anticipation and freedom that comes from not belonging. The world is a white canvas just waiting to be painted. I can choose to go in any direction, using any medium I wish to begin the artwork. This past week, I got to intersect with several other people – people I would not have met had I chosen to avoid my loneliness by staying connected to friends several states away while I was waiting for my connecting flight. I learned about Barbados and sailing and bartending from a guy named Neil. I learned a little about weather in Maine from an older woman who lives near Mt. Katahdin. I never thought I’d meet a person who judges dog shows, and yet, there she was flying home. I’ll probably never see these folks again in my life, but they were in front of me for a moment, and I am a better person for meeting them. And maybe they are better for meeting me too – I can hope so.

I think that is how I will combat loneliness on the trail. I won’t avoid it, but I’ll look around me to see who and/or what I can connect with in that moment. I’m looking forward to all the conversations I’ll hear and faces I’ll see. I can be grateful for all the alone time that I can spend talking to God, perhaps praying for the very folks that I met in the shelter the night before and shared some under-cooked beans with (I HAVE to get better at camp cooking!). When I stand in the place of anticipation for the present moment, rather than wishing for a different place or time, loneliness really doesn’t seem that big or bad a thing to deal with.