May 16, drive to Anchorage, 215 miles away.
May 17, fly to California.
May 18, pack for PCT.
May 19, drive to trail head at mile 478 in Southern California, near the Andersons.
May 20, begin hiking to Canada.
While all of this was indeed a whirlwind, this year's hike on the Pacific Crest Trail really began last July when I limped off the trail at Barker Pass, barely able to make camp much less walk down the path. In an 8 day span from Tuolumne Meadows to South Lake Tahoe I had damaged my body beyond convenient repair and sat helpless and in pain while my fellow hikers marched toward Canada. My dreams of walking from Mexico to Canada were dashed and I only hoped to walk normally and pain-free once again.
Fast forward an entire winter and the PCT never left my mind. While I applied for summer jobs in Denali National Park, I always kept the option of hiking again open as my unfinished trek was never far from my mind. Not only do I not like to leave a goal unfinished, I would look at photos from my hike, keep in touch with trail friends on the interwebs, and think about the simplicity of trail life frequently throughout the long winter months. The PCT was never far from my mind.
As the time got closer and closer to make a decision about what I would do this summer, I absolutely knew what I had to do: get back on the trail and go for it again, no matter if I succeed or fail. I knew that if I didn't hike again this year I'd have to wait an entire another year to find out if my body was up for the task. One thing I knew for sure: my mind wasn't up for the task of waiting to find out. I had so much momentum and steam built up last year that my injury, months of recovery, and exceedingly slow build up of my strength was eventually only a bump on the trail to Canada...in the big picture.
And so, after all the hemming and hawing and deciding, suddenly there I was walking away from my parents who had driven me back to the trail, as far south as I could reasonably start considering the date, and I felt like it had all happened so fast. My heart was beating and I was....nervous? I have a new backpack and been doing training hikes in Denali while all my friends were still skiing, but I really didn't have total confidence in how my body would hold up. There really is no way to know how thru-hiking will affect you until you put yourself out there and do it. Hike. Every. Day. Will I hike a day and feel the familiar pain in my hip? Will I make it 3 weeks and then begin limping?
I anxiously walked the short distance along the road until I came to the very familiar Pacific Crest Trail marker that those of us who have spent any significant time on the trail know and love. I turned left and took my first steps back on the trail in many months. An amazing thing happened: after about 5 steps up the trail I was overcome with the feeling of being welcomed back by an old friend. This trail that goes through so many environments and can be affected by weather and mood is one thing: consistent. It is there for everyone, no matter what you have going on with your body, in your heart, or in your mind. The trail isn't there to judge or try you, it just is there for you. People bring their own joy or drama with them to the trail and as I walked those first steps up the first hill I felt my worries melt away and realized that once you hike this trail, whether as a thru-hiker, a section hiker, or someone who has done their first backpacking trip, you have a personal relationship with this trail. This one trail means so much to so many people and no one interpretation or experience is definitive or superior to another. The trail reminded me of my strength, of the wonderful people that are drawn to it, and that it was there for me any time I decided to return to it. If I choose to turn this into some sort of personal test of strength or success, that is my choice. The trail that I spent so much time on last summer was just happy to have me back and I broke into a huge grin as I reacquainted myself with this glorious adventure of a trail.
Of course things are a little different this year. Starting at mile 478 made me a stranger and a late-comer to those who had started at the Mexican border this year. While I understand them seeing me as the "new kid," they could not possibly understand, yet, the relationship I had already established with this trail by walking 1,100 miles of it. And because it was only a year ago that I had been walking the exact same steps, it all felt so familiar to me. The trail knew I was no rookie. But I also remember that feeling of ownership and hard work of having walked 500 miles and then seeing a new face on the trail. It's OK. I don't mind. The trail and I know the truth.
Amazingly, my mind and body fell right into step and I have felt fit and healthy thus far. The largely waterless desert section makes it difficult to start slow and work your way up to bigger mile days and I quickly found myself hiking an average of 20 miles per day: the same exact miles I hiked in the same location last year when I had 500 miles already under my tiny hooves. I amazed myself. I am faithful to a stretching routine and try to keep my muscles loose and happy. I've got 21 days on the trail so far and have hiked over 300 miles including to the top of Mt. Whitney and over Forrester Pass, the highest point on the PCT. Since entering the Sierras I have dropped my daily average of miles down to 17 and am delighting in the leisurely pace it feels like. I have so much more time to linger with my feet in a brook! Time to splay out in the high alpine meadow and watch marmots run around. Time to lounge. At this pace, the trail practically hikes itself and I find that I am not crashing into camp with just enough energy to set up my tent. I feel refreshed and energized by the sights of the day and the leisurely pace. It's truly delightful.
I am constantly monitoring my body and every single twinge and tweak sends my mind into evaluation mode. But I have had no major pains. No unusual aches. No dramatic blisters. If it is possible to will something to be--mind over matter--it seems I have willed my body back into shape and am quietly kicking ass on the Pacific Crest Trail. But I mean that in a humble way. I will not let myself get comfortable or cocky. I will not take for granted that I am strongly hiking the same trail I weakly limped off of less than a year ago. I will continue to stretch. I will continue to put my health first. I will continue this friendship with a trail that feels like an old friend not only to me, but to the thousands of people who have hiked it. It is here for everybody. And I will not blame it if my body gets bent out of whack again. No matter what, it will always be here for me and it does not care if I walk the entirety in one summer or if it takes the rest of my life....it'll be here.
And so. I had no reason to be nervous on those first few steps back on the trail on May 20th. I just needed my old friend to remind me of that.
