fragments of me.

/ awaveringsoul / Leave a comment

Last year, in the midst of chaos and divorce, I discovered that I had developed a new brain lesion. Unlike the other lesions, which seemed to mostly affect the more physical aspects of my life, this new lesion took it upon itself to change the very essence of who I am by causing damage to my frontal lobe. At the time of the MRI findings, I forced myself into a state of denial and told myself that I was still me and that I was doing what I needed to do to live a happier, healthier life. I knew I didn’t feel well, becoming nauseous daily, losing my appetite completely, losing 70 pounds without trying, but I thought the solution was divorce- After all, it had been ten years since P’s infidelity and I was still sad about it. That was a good enough reason, right? (Eye roll) Looking back, I’m terrified by how emotionally detached and impulsive I became. If you know me, you know that I am incredible at overthinking everything. Furthermore, it terrifies me how no one noticed the changes.

I reacted and then I just let go. Of my humanity? My family? My life? All of it. I let go.

I didn’t think anything through. I didn’t think about how much these decisions would affect every single aspect of our lives. How S (our daughter) would lose her family as she knew it. How P and I would lose each other after years and years and years of LIFE together. I knew while going through the divorce, that it was not what I really wanted, but I convinced myself that I needed to leave P in order to find something (honestly still not sure what that something is) to complete my life. Sometimes I wonder if I wanted to leave him before he could hurt me again or before he could say that my MS was too much of a burden. I don’t know, but I felt numb, out of control, angry, sad and confused about life. Prior to the divorce, I begged P for change to some of his behaviors, but of course who wants to change for someone that did absolutely nothing to change themselves. I went to therapy but I don’t think I really ever focused on what needed to be focused on. I admitted to P that I was lonely and having unwanted feelings for someone I shouldn’t have, and pleaded for any help, therapy or direction so we could grow from this and not go through the fallout that occurred from P’s earlier infidelity and lies.

Rather than us trying to fix things, we both became spiteful in our own ways. Our egos, along with so many miscommunications, anger, avoidant behaviors and jealousy, destroyed us. We both put ourselves in situations with other people when we should have been trying to repair our relationship. And while we both made a lot of mistakes, I feel like what I did was much worse. I justified my eventual relations with the mutual friend by saying that I told P about my feelings, he didn’t care and we were getting a divorce. I didn’t put much more thought into my actions. I felt really bad, but it was justified in my mind because I liked the guy and I was getting a divorce from a man that said he wasn’t going to fight for me. Even my therapist made me feel like it was okay. And maybe on paper it was, but it wasn’t okay because I hurt people I care about deeply. Looking back I wish I had asked for more help, I wish I had listened to my body, I wish I had fought for our marriage and family, but instead I neglected everything that matters to me.

Ironically, it wasn’t until I suffered multiple broken bones, torn ligaments and a concussion from being run over by a car in a crosswalk almost two months ago, that I finally “woke up” for the first time in well over a year. Yes, that really happened and yes, Tesla’s are heavy, fast and they fucking hurt. After the accident, the brain fog that had become such a normal part of my daily life disappeared and I could finally see the extent of damage my decisions, anger and sadness had made. It wasn’t until I spoke to my neurologist, and later a therapist, that I learned how much frontal lobe lesions can affect decision making and personality. And there’s nothing more terrifying in this world than hearing that your brain could do it again. But even with this information, I still blame myself and hate myself for my decisions way more than the disease.

At one point in recent months P placed a restraining order against me after an argument where my goal was to apologize and share my feelings and regret, but when I felt unheard and unseen I got emotional said some mean things and told him I was going to tell his boss and new girlfriend what kind of man he is. That statement ended up costing me any feeling of control over my life or S’s, as well as a few thousand dollars necessary to pay a lawyer to represent me. And because the restraining order never disappears from my record (even though he dropped the order), I lost the ability to apply for any government positions ever again and it makes it more difficult and expensive to retain a teaching license. It’s heartbreaking and disgusting how we have treated each other after being each others people for so long!

It’s so frustrating because every day that I waited for the divorce to be finalized, I thought about going to the courthouse to withdraw the divorce papers. I wanted to fight for our marriage, I wanted to cave, give in to my love and our story. But I was mad and I wanted P to fight for me, to prove his love for me in some unrealistic, bullshit way (And yes, I realize how immature and unrealistic that is now). So, days went by and eventually the divorce was finalized. I felt regret and sadness but I did nothing to stop it. Some days I feel like I just put my entire life on a one way trip without me. I made outrageous and selfish decisions that haunt me and have left me incredibly sad, angry, lonely, confused, financially struggling and missing the hell out of S when she isn’t around.

A friend told me last week that she is proud of me, but I wish she knew the full truth. We haven’t talked in a while and I haven’t seen her since January, so her statement was based on carefully selected Instagram content that insures no one finds out I am completely miserable and losing my mind. There’s no way to explain the pain you feel when you go from spending 24/7 with the child you nursed for 3.5 years and was a stay-at-home-mom with her for over five years, to only seeing her for half of her time as a human. And the same goes for P. He was never a stay-at-home-parent, so he’s spent even less time with her than me and now he’s spending less than that. This is my fault and I don’t think there’s a thing in the world that could ever do to repair the damage I did.

Everyone keeps telling me it will get better, but there are no words for the depth of sadness that you feel when you hug your daughter and then she leaves for days with the person that was once the love of your life and that person won’t even look you in the eyes. The person that you loved unconditionally, laughed with endlessly, entrusted all of your secrets and insecurities, served in the military with, married, went to college together, experienced a miscarriage together, the birth of a child, moving 10000 times, horrible diagnosis’, postpartum depression, and every happy (and sad) moment, big and small, for 17 years.

I have a very difficult time seeing Paul when we exchange Stella and get mad at him over the most ridiculous things when all I really want to do is hug him and tell him how much I love and miss him. I try to hold back my emotions, but they end up boiling over every single time. He seems better now and that’s really all I could ever want for him, but it’s still so hard. It’s hard to experience new things without him. It’s difficult and heartbreaking to do fun activities with Stella that I want to experience as a family, knowing he’s at home or out living a happier life somewhere. I hate it, but my own brain and my own choices are the only thing I can blame or control.

Turns out that “in sickness and in health” gets complicated when you have Multiple Sclerosis and your own brain turns against you.

I am still learning how to be a mother, a co-parent and a woman—with a frontal lobe that sometimes betrays me, a body that won’t always cooperate, and a heart that deeply aches for what I’ve lost. I’m learning how to live in the ruins of the choices I made when I wasn’t fully myself.

I wish I could go back. I wish I could take it all back. But since I can’t, all I can do now is move forward—with honesty, with effort, with love (and hopefully with a lot less tears).

Limbo

/ awaveringsoul / Leave a comment

I woke up this morning with a sense of hope that I haven’t experienced in a very long time. Everything around us is falling the fuck apart, yet I am eerily happy and hopeful.

We’ve spent the last five years living our life how we thought we were supposed to live it. Doing everything we were taught was normal. We bought a house, took the ideal jobs, put our daughter in a good preschool and made a ton of great friends. Yet we all yearn for something more every single day.

Before I was diagnosed with MS last year we were pretty set in selling our home, buying a bus and traveling full time. Things quickly unraveled when we decided my best option to stop the progression of this bullshit disease was an infusion every four weeks. I have done nothing but fight depression and annoying MS symptoms ever since. A few days ago my “Brain Wizard”, as a friend calls him, had me increase my depression medication. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I look in the mirror and see a woman that has given up on her hopes and dreams. I see a woman who is doing everything that seems normal to everyone else, but isn’t happy with any of it. I see an angry, sick woman that is desperate for change.

I spend an hour every Monday morning talking to my therapist about how MS is affecting me, along with how to manage my stress, anxiety, depression and anger. Somehow the conversation always makes its way back to wanting to travel and feeling so torn between doing what is right and what we want to do. I feel so incredibly guilty thinking about my big issue with MS being the inability to travel while there are others out there unable to walk or feed themselves. Furthermore, I complain about not being able to travel like it is an issue. The only issue is fear. Yet my biggest fear is not following my dreams and then finding myself unable to fulfill them later due to disease progression.

A few months ago Paul decided to leave teaching to go work on C-130’s again for the military as a civilian. We knew the job would pay exponentially better, provide incredible benefits and thought that the four day work week and generous paid time off would allow us to travel regularly. However, Paul showed up for his first day of work this week, along with a few other guys, and they were all informed that the job requires 30 day deployments every other month and copious amounts of overtime while home and away. It is now day four and Paul has resigned.

So here we are; jobless, waiting for Stella to start a new school that we don’t feel great about and still yearning for something more. I downloaded a book onto my Kindle about converting a bus into a tiny home on wheels last night and read it in less than two hours. That book led me down a rabbit hole of ideas and emotions. Before midnight I had read the book, made a list of things to sell, made a list of people and places to see and researched MS treatments that would enable us to travel.

We have lived and traveled to so many places over the years and have never wanted to leave or stay in any of them. So, maybe a home on the road that enables us to go anywhere and live wherever we want is the answer to our longing? We shall see.

Disorder

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Shortly after giving birth to my daughter at the end of 2018, I started to notice new, unusual sensations throughout my body. I say “new” because while serving in the military, I began experiencing a number of weird sensations. Often a pinch of my right arm would translate to pain in my left leg, my right big toe began controlling the movements of my left big toe, and feelings of numbness or a feeling of static would melt over parts of my body. I can remember sitting in the waiting room of the ER after the left side of my face had gone numb, worried that I had just had a stroke. An interview with Selma Blair on the television behind me caught my attention. Multiple Sclerosis, I thought, how terrifying that must be. I had met two people in my life that have multiple sclerosis. Neither of those people had any control of the disease and their life looked like a life sentence of disabilities and despair to me. The thought brought on an extreme level of anxiety and feelings of suffocation.

The physician that examined me in the ER that night, ruled out a stroke after a CT scan. He then asked me if I had had any other odd symptoms. I let out a laugh and lackadaisically told him, like so many doctors before him, about the weird big toe movements. Expecting a laugh like the others, he surprised me with a deep level of concern. Almost as if a nightmare was unfolding, he asked if anyone in my family had a history of Multiple Sclerosis.

For weeks after that ER trip I was poked, prodded, and assessed by multiple doctors. The first phone call I received from my new neurologist was to inform me of brain lesions. She was hopeful that they were simply from silent migraines or past concussions, but she wanted to confirm with a lumbar puncture. The second phone call that I received still haunts me. I was standing in my home trying to get my then six month old to nap when she called. We live on the side of a mountain, so phone reception was heavily dependent on WIFI. The news was hard to decipher, but I understood clearly when she explained that I would need to discontinue breastfeeding and begin a treatment immediately. She rambled a few drug names off, told me that she was scheduling an appointment to follow up with her next week, and then the call ended almost as quickly as it began. I lost my mind.

I quickly rejected the diagnosis and with the approval of my neurologist, I embarked on a trip to Baltimore to see an MS Specialist at the VA Multiple Sclerosis Center of Excellence. Sitting in a conference room while waiting for my appointment, patients began flooding into the room in wheelchairs and canes. A patient liaison came in and began passing out brochures for various resources related to MS; from VA approved scooters to physical therapists and drugs. Overwhelmed, I announced that I hadn’t been diagnosed with MS and that I was only waiting for my appointment. The lady quickly fired back that IF I was there for an appointment, I had MS and that I would soon need these resources. I was devastated. Furthermore, the appointment brought less closure than the last. The VA had failed to transfer my test results, so I sat there showing this “expert” my MRI and lumbar puncture results using my outdated iPhone. He had no idea what was wrong with me and sent me home with instructions to have another MRI in six months.

That summer, my husband and I decided to move closer to family. I established care with a Neuro-Immunologist from Duke and settled into the same wait and see approach. During the fall of 2019 I started having dizzy spells that left me terrified to leave the house. On one occasion while cleaning the refrigerator after a grocery trip, I had what I can only describe as a brain glitch and dropped a glass jug on my left knee. I watched as the bottle exploded and split my skin back layer by layer, leaving a four inch long and one inch wide gash above my left knee.

My new MRI results came back normal, showing no new lesions. One spot on my brain stem was disregarded by multiple radiologists and simply described as feedback from the MRI machine. I begged for more testing, but eventually it was suggested that everything was in my head and the result of OCD and anxiety. I was told to continue counseling and to work on managing my thoughts. Although I was doubtful and overly frustrated, I bought into the idea and found hope in it not being MS.

In the fall of 2021, after a stomach flu of some sort, I began having issues with my bladder. I had had issues with my bladder while in the military, but as with everything else, my inability to urinate was said to be a result of anxiety. Not only was I unable to urinate when I needed to go, but I was also urinating myself when I wasn’t trying. I continued to tell myself that everything was in my head and that maybe this was just a random issues related to child birth three years prior. I was sent to a pelvic floor physical therapist and before all of my sessions were even complete, the mysterious bladder issues had eased.

Fast forward to February of last year. I woke up to a blurry left eye. After a week of experiencing progressive worsening of my vision and trying to get ahold of my neurologist, I was finally sent to the hospital for a new MRI and then abruptly sent back the following day for steroids. Not only was there a new lesion on my optic nerve, but that perfect little spot of feedback on my brain stem, seen in 2020 on my MRI, was still there. I was pissed. I felt the deepest level of anger and frustration that I had ever felt in my life. Fuck the doctors for not listening to me, fuck the VA for not sending my test results, fuck me for not questioning more. Fuck.

So, here I am, a little over one year removed from an official diagnosis. Last fall I had my first stable MRI and last month I had my twelfth Tysabri infusion. Tysabri terrifies me, but less so than this disease progressing. I look back on my decisions and my insistence on second and third opinions, and I know that I did the right thing. I hate that things were missed and that this disease progressed, but it is what it is and I know that I never would have accepted such a diagnosis without a better understanding of what was happening to my body. I have spent the past few years trying to get my life back to normal; my body back to normal. I know things will never be the same, but in some sadistic way, I think I needed that to push me to live a life worth living.

Sacred Space

/ awaveringsoul / Leave a comment

After my hike I wrote dozens upon dozens of articles/stories and left them all in an unpublished folder, never feeling that any of them amounted to what I had already written. Reading through my unpublished words this past week made me laugh at how critical I have been. My point with this blog was to create my own sacred space for creativity, an outlet for the thoughts that circle my brain and a positive place to share my adventures. What I need to remind myself is that adventures can be big or small and still be worth sharing. Adventures can be beautiful and inspiring, but they can also be ugly and heartbreaking.

A lot has changed in the eight years since I last wrote and a lot continues to change on a daily basis. I woke up last week unable to see out of my left eye (we will get to that a little later) and it has been a huge wake up call. Life can change in less than an instant and it can change without you even knowing it’s changing. Embrace the things in life that matter, spend more time looking at and enjoying your loved ones. Put down that phone! Bask in the ocean, climb ALL the mountains and feed your soul and your passions, even if your soul is a wavering one.

Out like a lion.

/ awaveringsoul / 1 Comment

Wow, I have seriously been neglecting my blog. So much has happened in the past few weeks that I honestly do not know where to begin. Part of me has been avoiding this post for the shear fact that it means that my adventure is actually over. Well, for now anyways, but I’ll get to that in a minute…

After my two-week return to Iowa and week-long visit with my family in North Carolina, I returned to the Appalachian Trail the day after Easter and began just where I had left off. The cold dank forest that I left only weeks before had by some miracle turned to a magnificent display of greenery and flowers. As I made my way north on the trail I found myself smiling at the colors and warmth surrounding me. Only weeks before I was climbing this same mountain, cold and very much determined to return home to see my husband. My visit home was well worth it, because not only did I get to spend a ton of time with Paul and the puppies, but I also managed to knock 20 pounds off of my pack weight. My legs and back could instantly feel the difference, and although I had planned on easing back in to hiking I found myself hiking just over 16 miles on my first day back.

It didn’t take long to fall into a new group of friends on the trail. Although very different from the people I had been hiking with before, my new friends were equally as great. For a good week and a half I hiked with Fletch, a Formula One engineer from the UK, Sam, a computer guru from Roanoke Virginia, and Ufdah from Minnesota (not sure what Ufdah did prior to hiking). I had more fun hiking with those guys than I did hiking with anyone else, no offense to anyone else, but it was as if we had all known each other our entire lives.

The last day that I saw them I woke up to three inches of water surrounding my tent. Apparently in my rush to set up my tent in a thunderstorm the night before, I had picked the worse spot of the bunch. I quickly packed away all of my soaking wet gear and made plans with the guys to meet for lunch at a hostel about eight miles away. They needed to resupply any ways, so it seemed like a good place to stop. As I approached the turn off to the hostel, I grew extremely concerned about where I was headed. The side trail did not seem very well-traveled, and there was not a sign marking the direction that I should be heading. My only saving grace was three other hikers bound for the same hostel. They were all at a stand still waiting for someone to come along to reassure them they too were heading in the right direction. Feeling more confident as a group of four, we pushed on and eventually found the Greasy Creek Happy Hiker Hostel (although much further from the trail than the 0.6 miles stated in the trail guidebook). According to other hikers I talked to, Fletch, Sam, and Ufdah had apparently gotten lost, turned around, and pressed on that day.

Anxious to catch up with my friends again in Damascus, Virginia, I began adding more miles to my hike each day. Fast forward to May 01, 2014 when I woke up from Overmountain Shelter and made the decision to hike 28 miles. The terrain seemed pretty easy, and I was curious if I could do it. I woke up early that morning, and as I so often did, I packed away my gear, ate breakfast, and hiked off before anyone else had even begun stirring. I have never been an early riser, but nothing in the world compares to waking up early to see the sunrise on the mountain tops, or the feeling of the cool crisp air as you are ascending. It was a beautiful morning, and the first two mountains of the day could not have been more perfect. For as long as I live I will never forget Hump Mountain. Until the moment when I began ascending Hump Mountain, I had never listened to music on the trail, but the thought of being the only person on the trail, mixed with the sight of the gigantic 5587 foot bald standing in front of me, made me want music. “One Day” by Sharon Van Etten was playing when I summited Hump Mountain, something else I will never forget. As I spun around looking at the world from that spot I started crying uncontrollably. It was not a sad cry, in fact it was the first time in my life that I had cried because I was happy (and of course I am crying right now thinking about it). It’s not something I can really explain, but there is nothing about that moment that I will ever forget. The rest of my day was not nearly as beautiful, but fun none-the-less. That day I left North Carolina behind and made my way into Tennessee for the final stretch before Virginia. Like I said, it was a perfect day, and for hiking the 28 miles that I had just hiked, I felt wonderful.

The next day I woke up excited to be heading to Kincora Hostel, owned by the very well-known Bob Peoples. If you don’t know who Bob Peoples is, you need to look him up, he is what many consider THE angel of the Appalachian Trail. The amount of work contributed to the trail by this man is absurd. It’s people like him who make the trail what it is. Any who, my hike for the day was only six miles, but I was okay with that, because it was my birthday.  Like the day before, the weather was beautiful and my spirits were high. I arrived at the hostel much earlier than anyone else, and because of that, I got the chance to spend the morning with Mr. Peoples running errands around town. The stories that that man has could fill an entire library and then some. There are now enough adventures on my list to last me a lifetime because every trip that he told me about only made my wanderlust grow. The rest of the day was filled with Trivial Pursuit, blueberry cobbler ice cream, and a lot of veggie pizza. It was a fantastic birthday.

On what would end up being my final day on the trail, I woke up much later than normal, and was last to head back to the trail. I made my way back onto the trail on one of the prettiest wooded stretches to date. The trail winded around a rushing creek/river, and made its way smack dab in the middle of a few blown out mountains. Rock cliffs, flowers, Laurel Falls, and the lush green trees surrounded me like a dream. It was a breathtaking stretch of forest. I made my way up Pond Flats Mountain growing more and more anxious that in a day or two, I would be in Virginia. It was my plan to hike roughly 18 miles that day, and then hike 32 miles the next (it was a flat 32 miles), but as I made my way down from Pond Flats, a sharp pain on the lateral side of my left leg stopped me in my tracks. Two hours is was it took for me to hike the 3 miles down the mountain to the Shook Branch Recreation Area at Watuaga Lake. The pain grew so deep that by the time I reached a picnic table on the lake shore, I could hardly put pressure on my leg. Lucky for me, the three hikers who I had run into while trying to find the Greasy Creek Happy Hiker Hostel, were sitting at another picnic table with a middle-aged couple from Asheville, North Carolina. The couple had come out to help Pocket, one of the hikers, resupply. Not only did they offer me ice for my leg, but they gave me homemade cupcakes, m & m’s, and a drink. I sat there for at least an hour, contemplating my next move, but after a while I stood up again and realized that hiking was no longer an option for the day. The couple offered to drive me in to town on their way back to Asheville, and I went without hesitation. My hope was to rest for the evening and then return to the trail the next day.

For most of the evening I went back and forth icing and heating my leg with no luck, and by the end of the night I made the tough decision to ask my husband to drive out and pick me up. The next day Paul made his way to Tennessee, picked me up, and drove me to the VA hospital in Asheville, North Carolina the following morning. Expecting the worst, I was surprised to find out that more than likely I was only dealing with shin splints. The doctor said that worst case scenario I may have a stress fracture, but he seemed to think that an x-ray was unnecessary and that all I need is “aggressive rest”. That same day we drove back to Iowa. It was on our trip home that I started developing the most horrific abdominal pain, nausea, diarrhea, and vomiting that I have ever experienced. The assumption is that either I got chryptosporodosis from bad water (my water filter broke a couple of days before I got off the trail), or I got norovirus. Either way I was sick, and our trip home was took forever.

Fast forward again… Here I sit, at home, confused, frustrated, and anxious to get back on the trail. I have concluded that my thru-hike is over, for now any ways. Even if I could return, the money I had saved for my trip is gone, being home is expensive. I am desperately searching for a new job, but unfortunately a 27-year-old with a military background, four-year degree, and a culinary arts diploma, is not qualified for much other than the serving job I was hired for just yesterday. As for my leg, it does feel A LOT better. Just a few days ago I purchased KT tape and ran two miles with absolutely no pain. My goal is to run a couple of miles a day for the next week and a half and then attempt to run a half marathon next weekend. Paul says that I am an idiot for trying to run that far this soon, but the Dam to Dam only comes around once a year, and I feel like running.

Photos of Hump Mountain:

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Last day on the trail:

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Can’t stop now.

/ awaveringsoul / 7 Comments

Just out of the Great Smoky Mountains, and only a days hike to Hot Springs, NC, I made the decision to go home Saturday. When I left the trail my intention was to return to Iowa, find a job, and save as much money as possible until June when Paul could return to the trail with me. As I began driving through the mountains of Tennessee in a tiny rental car bound for Iowa, I started panicking. What the hell was I doing? My certain decision to return to Iowa to be with my loved ones, soon turned to a guilty feeling of regret. I did not regret my decision to go home to see my family, but I regretted my decision to leave the trail. The further I drove from the trail, the more upset I became.

For one month the Appalachian Trail has been my home, and in one month I have made more sincere like-minded friends than I have ever made in my entire life. I have learned to sleep alone in the middle of the woods, pee and poop wherever I like, build a fire, hike through rain, fog, snow, wind, ice, and I have learned that I am far stronger than I ever imagined. I have learned that I am kind of a badass. After being home for a couple of days, I made another decision: I am not going to wait until June to return to the trail. I can’t wait until June. So, on April 16th I will fly out to Raleigh, NC to visit my family for a couple of days, and then I will begin hiking again. As happy as I am to be here with my husband and puppies at my side, I set out to hike 2185.3 miles, and I still have 1940 miles to go.

 

 

Love

/ awaveringsoul / 1 Comment

My first full night of actual sleep on the trail ended this morning at 6:30am with Paul yelling shenanigans at a bear sniffing out our tent. I wish I could somehow duplicate Paul’s noises, but there is absolutely no way to mimic what came out of his mouth. Just know it was hilarious.

This week I made it to North Carolina, and I made it past the 100 mile mark, two small, but awesome achievements! The journey into and through NC has been rather dull to this point. Never ending green tunnels encompass the trail for most of the day, blocking any and all views of the sky or surrounding mountains. Albert Mountain however, was far from dull. The climb to mile 100.1 was more of a bouldering than hiking experience, and after days of green, the beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains made one hell of an appearance.

Paul made the drive from Iowa to North Carolina on Sunday and Monday to join me on my hike from Franklin, NC to Fontana Dam, NC this week. His trip could not have come at a better time, because I am finding it more and more difficult to be alone out here.

As I have stated before, hiking the AT is absolutely amazing, the people are amazing, the hiking is a blast, and the scenery is breath taking. My only wish is that Paul could be here to experience the entire trail with me. I often find myself reaching a mountain summit or waterfall wishing that I had him there to share the moment with. I’m not going to lie, the thought of turning my thru-hike into a series of section hikes so that the two of us can finish the trail together continues to cross my mind. It makes me sad, because I know for a fact that I am physically capable of accomplishing this hike on my own, but my mind continues to drift away from the trail and back to my husband, two dogs, and sister in Iowa. Not only that, but I have no idea what to do if I return home. I want to be here on the trail, but I want to be here with my loved ones. What a conundrum I am in.

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Bliss

/ awaveringsoul / 8 Comments

My body is a machine. It may not be the most efficient, but it is a machine none the less. Yesterday marked seven days of straight hiking for me. I’m not going to sugar coat anything and say it was easy, because it most certainly has not been, but it has been a blast. In one week I have tackled more goals than I have ever imagined, and I am learning more about both my mental and physical strength every day.

The people on the Appalachian Trail are unlike any that I have ever met. When you share a goal as big as the one we all share, friendships develop even out the strangest groups of people. Not only do the hikers look out for each other, but support from random people in the form of “trail angels” are just around every corner insuring everyone is very well taken care of.

After a rather difficult hike on Friday, Paul and I emerged from the woods to find a group of people cooking banana apple pancakes and eggs for hikers. On another occasion a couple gave us eggs, grits, bread, and butter to make for breakfast the next day. Yesterday I hiked up an extremely difficult mountain to find two women from Georgia handing out Coca Colas and Fudge Rounds. Today I woke up to blueberry pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and orange juice thanks to a wonderful couple who have been running a Christian ministry hiker hostel out of their back yard for 22 years. The trail continues to amaze me. It unites people in a way that unless experienced, you will never fully understand.

Today I took my first “zero day” ( I hiked no miles), and found myself anxious to get back on the trail. The yearning I had for this adventure months ago is still very much alive inside of me. My knees ache, and the weather is far from beautiful, but my spirits are high, and I can not wait to start hiking again tomorrow. North Carolina, here I come!

On a side note, I want to say hello to Miss Ricki’s MetroKids! Thank you soo much for your support!

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