I felt an agonizing pain with every step I took down the descent. With every stride that my right foot made contact with the trail beneath me, my kneecap was engulfed in flame. I had pushed my untrained body to the limit. Carried too much weight. Walked unsupported for too far. Thank goodness I was in the home stretch of my planned section hike.
I’ll never forget day three of my inaugural section hike on the Appalachian Trail. Not because it was so amazing or because it changed my life. It wasn’t anything spectacular at all, in fact, it was a pretty wet and gloomy experience with very limited visibility. The reason I’ll never forget it is because of the lessons my body and my mind took away from the wilderness.
As a typical rookie hiker, I packed my backpack to the brim with gear I was certain I needed to have but realistically would never touch. I essentially packed a dead car battery for power and volunteered to carry it up and down mountainsides for 3 straight days. Oh, and I didn’t bother preparing my body to handle doing this activity. By day three of my hike, my right knee was tapping out from my abuse. We were working our way down towards the Natahala Outdoor Center to complete our planned route and both John and I were worn out for different reasons. He had barely slept for two nights due to his trial of a new hammock, and I was in dire need of a trekking pole and about forty less pounds in my pack. I was carrying a lot of weight even for a walk on flat ground, but ascending and descending without any support will do a number even the healthiest of joints. About two thirds of the way down, I found a sapling someone had made into makeshift hiking stick that was discarded on the side of the trail and you would have thought I found a $1,000. I relied heavily on that tool for the remainder of the hike downward until we limped across the parking lot to soak our feet in the nearby river.
The days that followed brought much reflection along with the dwindling inflammation. I considered some initial wisdom that I gained from the experience and jotted it down in my journal, but just as any good chef will tell you, the best flavors come when you let the dish marinate. The longer I have held on to the memories, all while gaining more experience, the true lessons have become clearer.
Your body and your mind can do some amazing things when faced with challenging circumstances. The surface level takeaway would be that of enduring the hardship of physical and mental obstacles and completing the goal. That is rewarding in and of itself, but people do that sort of thing all the time. Determined minds can power through much, despite the opposition. I’m sure there is some hardcore quote somewhere about “Pain is temporary, Glory is forever” – or something along those lines. The idea that there is light at the end of the tunnel produces an ember deep inside that keeps the fire going and transforms us into “the little engine that could”. It’s like getting to the last tenth of a mile and sprinting hard across the finish line.
But what about when there isn’t light at the end of the tunnel? What about when you’re adrift on a plank floating in the sea with only waves in every direction. What if you’re gassed and collapsing without the end in sight? Make no mistake, on that hike I was nowhere near that level of despair. I was in over my head for sure and in a lot of pain. But post-hike I’ve been there mentally. There have been times when I didn’t know which way to turn or what direction to go. I have been that castaway. In those cases, we are desperate for some sort of help. We need a hand to pull us along.
We can do some pretty incredible things as humans and as individuals. Legendary bravery and courage are on record all throughout our history of people overcoming enormous obstacles. There are many who go alone, but I’d like to challenge that they didn’t all get there on their own. I’m not talking about privilege, so keep your underpants un-bunched. I’m talking about the support role playing quietly in the background. The platoon that followed without hesitation. The wife who reinforced her husband’s worth and capability. The first volunteer to rise in solidarity with the one who took a stand.
Let me paint you a picture:
An individual decides they are going to go on a really long walk through the woods and carry limited supplies for survival and comfort on their back. They get off to a good start, but then shortly thereafter, they start to question if they can do this. They start to wonder if they made a mistake. They start to feel alone in their thoughts and possibly regret the decision they made to take on this endeavor. They start running low on food and even lower on energy. Then, along the way, they bump into a familiar face they passed by earlier at one of the shelters. There’s small talk here and there and a few more run-ins over the next couple days due to similar pace. Next thing you know they’re hiking together. Planning the next day’s mileage together. Reminding each other how awesome it will be to cross that final summit. This is how trail families are born. Sometimes it’s just another, sometimes it’s many others. There is a bond that is woven together that produces a strong support system to keep pressing on. Even as a solo hiker, there is an unspoken need to connect and to be encouraged. The individual may be the one to accomplish the milestone, but the support that carried them across the finish has a role in it too.
In my case, John didn’t realize it, but he was that encouragement for me. I wanted to quit about 2 minutes after we got dropped in the woods! His presence there was a quiet reminder that I had to keep going. His struggles made mine smaller because I had to be there for him the way he was there for me.
What I learn from this (and current trials in my life) is that no matter how strong, or courageous, or confident I may seem, I will always need help. There are going to be points of exhaustion that require me to take a knee. I will always need someone to demonstrate that they believe in me and that they will be there to encourage me to keep going. I needed that makeshift trekking pole to support my knee, but even more so, I needed a friend to help me believe that we could finish what we started. John never mustered up a pep talk or even really questioned out loud if we needed to stop. He just sat with me until I was ready to move again, and I gave him the same courtesy. Sometimes that’s all you need. However, sometimes you need a hard kick in the rearend and a few words to get you back in the ring. Either way, it feels good to have support. To know that you are not alone. Even the strongest can get into their own heads and be shaken.
So, the big takeaway here is: you are strong and you able to accomplish great things, but you need a support system. A community to help encourage you along the way, to demonstrate that they believe in you, and to show up and just sit with you when you’re beat down. Find that family, they’re waiting to be there for you.
I am incredibly blessed to have the wife that I have. On and off the trail, my woman supports me in everything that I care about. Most of all though, she’s always there. Always has been and always will be – sitting and waiting until I’m ready to move again. I will keep going because of the one I have in my corner.
-Mitty