Facing Fears

Zella Brown, Wolf Point, and Broad Pass: these are a few of my favorite things.

  A year ago today I set off with high hopes and realized dreams on the Pacific Crest Trail.  I'd barely slept the night before and I was excited and relieved to finally be walking on the trail that I'd been conjuring in my head for years.  Two and a half months later I was off the trail with a severe limp and sharp pain in my body with every movement.  I swiftly had gone from lean, mean walking machine to a couch-bound invalid.  I don't think I need to rehash the myriad of emotions and physical challenges I went through after my injury last year, but there is one thing I can tell you:  I never, ever stopped thinking about the trail.
  All winter I've been contemplating whether I would return to the trail this summer or spend it at home enjoying summertime in Alaska.  It's hard to find an Alaskan who winters in Alaska and takes off in the summer.  Summertime in these parts is hard-earned!  Many mid-winter days I'd find myself looking at the screen saver on my computer and watching my photo library flashing images of the scads of adventures I've experienced in this great state.  A picture of a river trip on the Copper River, backpacking in the Brooks Range, music festivals across the state, bonfires with the neighbors, a walk with Zella Brown along the Jack River or to Wolf Point all made me resolved to stay home for the summer, restock the coffers, get some work done around my cabin, and enjoy the fruits of summer in Alaska (literally and figuratively).  It's such a short season and a shame to miss it, particularly after what has been undeniably a long winter.  We've been joking that April is the new February, though it's finally showing signs of warming.  That's it, I decided, I'm staying home and finding a job for the summer.

This is what content looks like.  (photo by R. Choi)

  The very next day my screen saver would catch my eye again and I'd see pictures of brilliant blue skies against gray granite, cacti in bloom, my tent in scenic repose, blisters on my feet, a sunrise from the top of Mt. Whitney, a distant hiker walking north, gnarled pine trees in the Sierra Nevadas, and dirty, grubby faces that I walked hundreds of miles with.  The stunning beauty of California, the consistently awesome weather, the joy of seeing new terrain every day, the simplicity of carrying everything I need on my back and just putting one foot in front of the other, the camaraderie and friendships formed over a shared experience:  these images and memories triggered an unrest in me.  They were wonderful reminders of what I accomplished and also bitter reminders of my injury and inability to finish what I'd set out to do:  walk the entire Pacific Crest Trail.  It nags me that I couldn't finish.  I'm pettily jealous of my friends who made it all the way to the Canadian border and proudly changed their Facebook profile picture to one of them at the northern terminus monument, giddy and happy.   That should have been me.
 While these two options (Alaska vs. PCT) bounced around in my head endlessly while contemplating my summer, the Pacific Crest Trail started dominating my thoughts.  It's not just the trail itself that commands my musings, but the plaguing feeling of incompletion.   Having loose ends.  Not meeting my goal.  Failure.  I rationally know that I'm not a failure, I'm human.  My body broke.  But I want to finish what I started; to redeem myself; to prove that I can do it.  These feelings grew and grew to the feverish pitch they are at now and have only subsided since yesterday when I actually purchased my ticket back to California for the summer.  I'm already antsy to get back in the groove of trail life.
  Because I'm working as a ranger at Denali National Park at the moment, I have to wait until mid-May to begin walking.  This means that I won't be able to start at the Mexican border, but I really want to hike the Sierras again so I will start somewhere south of Kennedy Meadows.  There is a big internal disappointment at not being able to start at the southern border, but I can't imagine holding onto these feelings of unfinished business for another year.  I just need to do this.
  This time around feels much different than last year when I set out on this journey.  Not only do I have experience on the trail, but I'll be covering ground I've already seen.  But this time I'm setting out with fear:  fear that my old injury will flare up and I'll have to get off the trail....again.  Uncertainty was just not in my repertoire a year ago.  I feel good physically and am actually doing some training this year, but knowing that my body could fail me so monumentally has me a little anxious.  The fact that the injury occurred while I felt so fit and strong spooks me.  And so I eagerly look forward to stepping foot on the Pacific Crest trail again, but this time around I've got well-founded reservations and doubts.

Home away from home.

  But do you know what terrifies me more than the thought of potentially hurting myself again?  Of potentially not making it to Canada again? Not living my dreams;  existing with the nagging feel of a goal unrealized; putting off what I can do now;  choosing the safe route;  settling for the known; giving up.  I can't live with that.
  A year ago today I set off with high hopes and realized dreams on the Pacific Crest Trail.  A month from today I will set foot on that trail again a different woman than I was a year ago.  A woman who has reservations, doubts, fear, and disappointment associated with this epic, wonderful trail.  But these things only weigh heavy in my head, not in my backpack.  I won't know how my body will hold up until I go find out...so let's do this.  I'd rather fail than to have never tried in the first place.....