Food. I want it. I need it. I can’t get enough of it. I go to bed thinking about how many hours before I can eat again and wake up thinking about the contents of my food bag.

I think about several things during the day, but my thoughts usually turn to what sounds good to eat, what I have left to eat and when I can get more to eat. Just when I feel full and content, I’ll hike a few more miles and the hunger is there, once again- like a revolving door.

Virginia is proving to be a tempting source of food possibilities. There are restaurants and gas stations closer in frequency and I feel like we’ve hit most of them. I never thought I’d be eating at a gas station/ Mexican restaurant combo in one, but it was pretty amazing and just what I needed to fuel my marathon day.

We tell ourselves that we need to do better and eat the food we have, but the temptation for hot, greasy food is almost irresistible. It might not always look that appetizing, but the calories and growling stomachs is what blinds us to good decision making. Mmm… caloric intake! So tasty.

Along with your basic meal times of breakfast, lunch and dinner, we’ve invented second breakfast, second lunch, and second dinner. It’s becoming a thing.

Yesterday, CPU, Hot Sauce and I spent a good 2 hours discussing food. We played ‘Would You Rather”, the food addition and calculated whether a pizza place would be open if we hoofed it extra miles into town that night.

Some hard hitting and valid questions came up during our hunger hike:

“If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life what would it be?”

“What would you want your last meal to be?”

“How far would it be to drive back to Smoky Mountain Diner in Hot Springs for some amazing, cheap food?”

I’ve never eaten so much in my life, but keeping up with my calories has proven to be a challenge.

My time at the store is spent checking calories- reverse diet style. The 10 year old me is having a hay day with all these outrageous delicious calories. My best find? A Boston Creme Honey Bun with a whopping 570 calories. That’ll get me up the first part of the mountain, at least.

Going into town, an AYCE (All You Can Eat Buffet) is our Emerald City. We load up. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. I’m pretty sure I never want pizza again, but give me a few days of trail food and I’ll be singing a different tune.

I started the trail stove-less. It was something I’d been doing for about a year and wanted to continue for as long as I could. I dropped body weight pretty quick on the trail and struggled to keep up with my much needed calorie intake. That, along with the 5 snow storms we’ve been through, I thought I’d send home for my stove to try and get some variety in warm food. Turns out, as much as I didn’t care for cooking before, I REALLY didn’t want to cook when it was cold out.

I know most people want a good warm meal at the end of the day, but for me, it’s a big chore at the end of a long hiking day. Not to mention, doing dishes? And in the cold? No thank ya.

So, I sent my stove back home and have tried to get creative again.

I’m carrying more food weight and eating more, but my consumption can’t keep up with the ridiculous amount of calories I’m burning day in and day out. As a result of my weight loss, my pack no longer fits me with my hip belt on its’ tightest setting. The weight doesn’t rest on my hips, causing my pack to bare down on my shoulders and making my arms and hands go numb.

I tried sewing small sponges into the sides- they weren’t big enough.

I tried car wash sponges shoved in the sides- that worked for a day.

I even tried sewing one into the back of my pack-nope.

Now I’m in town, the second trip to AYCE Chinese behind me and awaiting the arrival of a new pack with the hopes that it’ll be a better fit and I can get back on trail as soon as possible.

May the odds be ever in my favor.

Last fall, I stood at the summit of Mt. Rogers and waited. The welcomed heat from the sun beaming on my face, slowly started to warm me. The coordinate plaque, marking the highest peak in Virginia, sparkled in the sunlight. And still, I waited. But, nothing.

Isn’t this, if any, the place that I’d hear from God?

The day before, I’d finished my first 20 mile day on the AT while on my first solo section hike on the trail. It rained all day, and by the end of it, I was looking forward to a dry spot in the shelter for the night. I was wet, tired, hungry, cold and did I mention wet? It was Labor Day weekend and being not too far from local parking, I’d prepared myself that Thomas Knob Shelter might be full of weekend get-awayers, like myself.

And it was.

I took a deep breath, turned around, and mentally prepared myself for setting up my tent in the cold rain. By the time I’d set up and hung my bear bag, I was mentally and physically too exhausted to eat. I went to bed that night with a sluggish “you did it, girl” fist raise and the determination that tomorrow when I climbed to the top of Virginia, I’d have definitive answers.

The next day, still waiting atop Mt. Rogers, I prayed. “God, what is your plan for me? I want what You want, but I don’t know what that is. Show me. I think I want to hike the length of this trail, but do You want that for me?”

I’d come to Virginia looking for answers. Could I be on the AT alone? Could I pull the big miles? Could I handle being wet and cold and tired? Would I be scared of strangers or bears or the unknown of what tomorrow would bring? Could I do this? Could I actually hike the length of the Appalachian Trail?

I got the answers to those questions on my 4 day trip.

Yes, I think I could do it and I wanted to do it.

But was I supposed to?

I didn’t hear God speak to me on that mountain or the days following as I continued my long weekend hike. When it came time to go home, I left sad, confused, and a little angry. I’d poured out my heart to God, asking for His Will for me, and nothing.

When I returned home, I got on my knees and prayed. “Lord, I don’t hear you telling me to go for this, so I won’t move until you guide me.” It broke my heart saying those words. To attempt a thru hike had been my biggest dream and I was letting it go. There was something else planned for me.

The next day, I returned to work. I had a heavy heart, I missed the simplicity of the trail and I longed for clear answers for my future. My apartment lease was up in a few months and I had to decide what to do.

Stay or move.

I’d hoped my trip would make this decision clear and I’d have a glorious revelation on top of that mountain. Not so much. I was more confused than ever.

On my way home from work, I stopped by the leasing office to discuss my options. I started in with my questions about my lease and the attendant abruptly stopped me. “Did you get your letter we left on your door today?” Slightly confused, I answered with a hesitant no. “Ya, we’re gonna need you to move out.” Now, increasingly confused, I listened as she explained that they were remodeling and wouldn’t be renewing my lease. After a blur of questions back and forth, I left the office, shocked. It didn’t hit me until I got to my car.

“Uggh…I have to move again. I just moved a year ago and now I have to move…again! Wait, I have to move? Lord, are you moving me right now?!?! Literally and figuratively?!?! Oh, You’re so Good! I didn’t even see that coming!”

I returned to my apartment, ecstatic. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew God was leading me. I’d been looking for answers in a grand form from God on the top of mountains in the most picturesque way, but I learned that’s not always His style. It’s the simplicity of His ways that’s even more overwhelming to me. His direction and blessings come in the small things; in the things that seem inconvenient at the time. For me, direction came in the form of getting kicked out of my apartment.

Now that I’ve been on the AT for over a month, I’m passing back through the section where I was seeking so many answers. This time passing through, I was struggling with the snow; agony with every step. I felt my prayers were once again going unanswered. “God, why won’t you take this from me? Why do I have to suffer so much?”

Again, I didn’t get answers or relief from the pain, cold, wind and deep snow. But as I rounded the corner going into Thomas Knob Shelter, the trees opened up to a clearing and magnificent views. The song, ‘Masterpiece’ by Danny Gokey started playing from my playlist. While standing before God’s masterpiece of a view, I realized that I have to go through this hard time to become what God wants me to be-His Masterpiece. He’s tearing me all apart, pushing me, preparing me- for what? I’m not sure. To prepare me for the rest of the trail? For something down the road that will be just as hard? Time will tell, but I find comfort in knowing that this hardship and the struggles I’ve had in the past are creating His Good work in me and creating me to be who I’m truly meant to be.

This section of the trail now holds new meaning, but with the same ultimate lesson.

Trust. Patience. Faith. They all got me here.

When I think I know the plan that will get me to my hearts’ desire-Trusting His path is always so much better than anything I could ever come up with.

When I want to know the answers right now-Patience makes the results so much sweeter.

When I’m scared it will never work out-Faith that He already knows and has it worked out.

Sleeping in Thomas Knob Shelter this time around, I felt so thankful. Not because I was out of the wet and cold, but I’m here. Again.

He got me here.

Not me.

Not fate.

Not chance.

And not by way of clouds parting, trumpets sounding or deep resounding voices from above.

He heard my prayers and answered.

And here I am.

3/23/18

There are moments in life that seem to go in slow motion and you get the sense that while you’re living it, you’ll never forget that feeling and those still frame moments will stay with you forever.

Hiking with my youngest nieces and nephew on the Appalachian Trail was one of those slow motion meaningful moments for me.

But there was so much more.

After so many days of snow, slush, cold, wind and more snow, I needed a taste of home. I needed uplifting. I needed a reboot.

I crossed into Virginia with a heavy heart, feelings of doubt and wondering how I could pull it together and keep going.

I was greeted in Damascus by my sister and her family. She brought along with her so many messages of encouragement. The hand written messages, hugs, food, memories and love did so much for my heavy heart. You all went out of your way, contacted my sister and made sure that I’d receive your blessings. I’m blown away and brought to tears that you all would go to the lengths you did.

I have amazing friends and family. It makes me love you and miss you even more.

When I hiked out of Damascus, (once again in the snow) I had a full heart, full belly, rejuvenated spirit and an overwhelming feeling of support and love.

I’ve had some tough days out here, but I still choose to be here everyday. You all, along with my faith have kept me going. I read and re-read comments and texts. Please keep them coming!

I apologize if I haven’t thanked you personally. I wish I could call each of you, but time just doesn’t allow. I’m learning that my body and mind need rest when I get to town. Between that and town duties, there just isn’t much time. But please know, even the smallest encouragement is helping me to push on!

Most importantly, thanks for putting the Vroom Vroom back in my Zoom Zoom!

Remember that scene in Bambi, when he’s struggling on the ice? He almost catches it, but then, bam! Legs in every which way, dazed and confused. That’s pretty much how I felt today.

If I’m being honest, a toddler that just began to walk, struggled less than I did.

I hate snow. I’m over it.

Not just the deep snow, but the slush. The thick type that’s really easy to shovel off the driveway, but super heavy when you try to toss it. It sticks to everything and there’s always a thin layer that Won’t. Go. Away.

Every step today was a question mark. Would it be solid ground under that snow?Would it be crunchy snow? Would it be slush-then-slide or mud-then-slide? And don’t forget about that random jagged rock that likes to pop in and add some flare.

Regardless, my ankles took the brunt of it today. Seventeen miles of bobble-head-like movement. All on my ankles. The uphills sucked. The downhills sucked. Sliding off to the left or the right of the trail…Sucked. I’ve never been so happy to see boulders just to have a solid foot placement.

It’s no wonder my feet have been swelling. They’ve been weighed down with pounds of Cheetos and Honeybuns and pin-balled all over these mountains.

With that being said, I hit a new low today:

I yelled at snow.

I told it I hated it. I grunted, growled and jabbed my hiking poles into it like a lunatic. I even went as far as swearing to never willingly hike in snow again after this trail.(Give me some time. I’ll come around)

Before I left home, my Dad said, “Just one foot in front of the other”. It sounds simple and obvious, but the last two miles of the day were spent doing just that: “Ok, move the right one. Now throw that left one up there in front of it. You know you’re going to slide into that next step, but try it anyway. Yep, that hurt, but maybe the next one won’t be as bad.”

Despite all the pain and slip sliding, the snow painted an amazing portrait on the Pine Forest I passed through. It temporarily took my mind off hating all that white stuff.

All that stupid, beautiful snow.

Today marks my one month Trailversary. It seems unreal that I’ve been out here for that long. Looking back on pictures from the trail so far, Georgia went by so fast and North Carolina/ Tennessee seems to be dragging its’ feet. But, Virginia is knocking on the door.

Sometimes it seems like a dream. As something I’ve wanted for so long, I find myself wondering how I got here. There were so many steps to take, so many doors to close, but somehow I’m here. The time leading up to the trail came so fast. What gave me that final push to go for my biggest dream?

Heartbreak. Lots of it.

I’ve gone back and forth as to whether I should share my story: My heartbreaks, my losses. But, I think it’s important for all of us to share our story. Somehow speaking the words over and over creates healing. Eventually, after the story has been told so many times, it doesn’t seem like your story anymore. They are just words spoken that used to apply, but don’t cut as deep anymore. Instead, it becomes a comeback story. It rests behind you and you’re able to say:

“I overcame that”.

“I did that”.

“I’m so thankful for the hurt”.

“I can move on”.

So here goes nothing…

A majority of my relationships have ended with my partner not being faithful. None hurt more than when my marriage ended the same way. The person I trusted the most with my broken heart and that knew my history, blindsided me with more of the same.

Trust broken. Faith questioned. Feelings of never being enough for anyone.

What made the divorce worse, was the ease at which he was able to move on. There was no fighting for my heart or begging for forgiveness. Just a dusting off of the hands, an ‘oh well, it didn’t work’ and an excitement for a new life with a new woman: a do over.

I was replaceable.

With each significant date and every new milestone in his life so soon after our divorce: an engagement, a marriage, a baby, I sank lower and lower to a dark place. I felt sorry for myself. I was mad at God. I felt like I lost everything.

The loss of my dog, Dungy was my rock bottom point.

Dungy was always my best bud, but after my divorce, he became my closest companion. He gave me a reason to get up and go outside and a reason to come home from work. When friends and family couldn’t help with the sorrow, he was there- nose in my face, licking my tears and forcing me to smile.

When Dungy got sick and I knew his time was drawing to an end, I felt a huge amount of guilt. He had been the thing holding me back from hiking the trail and now it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

That guilt and the subsequent loneliness after his death, left me feeling numb from the past year with the divorce and his death.

When the numbness wore off, I didn’t want to feel the hurt, so I began to drink. It was the only thing that would temporarily keep me from feeling the hurt.

But after a while, it wasn’t enough. I had to face it. I had a choice. I could stay in that dark place forever or I could move. I was missing something.

In that time of my lowest of lows, when I didn’t feel like I would ever be enough, I felt a strong pulling and a message. “You will always be enough for Me. I made you. You are wonderfully and perfectly made.”

Thank God for that!

In the darkness, when we feel so alone, that is where we find God.

When your life feels like a bad country music song; when we’ve lost everything; when things seem hopeless; when we don’t understand- He is always there. So faithful. So true.

I don’t know why these things happened to me, but I know I’m where God wants me right now. My faith is so much stronger because I know no matter what turmoil I face, I will always have someone that wants my heart more than anything.

I’ve learned so much through all of this, but mostly that there is living in the loss and healing in the hurt.

When you’re knee deep in the crumminess, take heart. One day you’ll look back, be thankful for the hurt and realize how far you’ve come!

Last October, with anticipation of possibly doing the trail, I changed my phone’s wallpaper to the image of the wooden sign that sits upon Katahdin.

Every time I opened my phone, there it was, in all its’ glory, calling to me.

I’d be on the treadmill, fighting through the incline and I’d tap my phone, motivating myself to keep going. This was my reason for all the late nights, sweat and pain. I was working towards that plaque on a mountain, very far away.

I imagined what it would be like to finally have it in my sights: walking towards it, almost in slow motion; to place my hand on it; to climb it; to cry in triumph, with hands held high. What would it be like to turn around, having all those miles behind me, knowing that I did it?

Even the beginning of the trail, at Springer Mountain, I felt the pull of Katahdin: I’ve got to get there.

In the few weeks I’ve been on trail, I’ve felt a shift. I absolutely want to get to that sign at Katahdin and have that accomplishment of finishing, but it’s odd how my focus has changed.

The trail itself is now the sign; the accomplishment. That sign represents so much more than an endpoint.

The sign is the rain, the cold, the deep snow, the slippery mud, the sludge, the big boulders, the never-ending uphills, the slow and steady downhills. The sign is the last mile of a 22 mile day. It’s the moments when you’re certain you can’t go any further, but you make it anyway. The sign is the comradery you feel for your trail family and genuinely worry about getting split up from them. It’s about trail towns, good food, trail blessings and aching muscles.

So many people have said it’s about the journey. I can fully understand that sentiment now. I can’t wait to see what’s around the next bend, over the next ridge or what the next town has to offer.

I have a long way to go, but the anticipation of Finding Katahdin is slowly turning into hesitation. I don’t want this journey to a plaque on a far away mountain to ever come to an end.

Before coming out here, I tried to recognize the true necessities of life. I sold my house and most of my belongings, trying to simplify. But, hiking in cold rain all day-sopping wet and coming to the end of your miles for the day, the appreciation for true basic needs becomes apparent:

Shelter and warmth.

And getting both of those before your body loses the heat you’ve acquired during the day. It makes me so thankful for the trash bag that lines my pack and keeps my clothes dry and the dry sack that contains my sleeping bag. Without these two simple items, a rainy day could quickly turn bad.

Not only do I appreciate the few items I carry with me on my back everyday, but I also have a new appreciation for entertainment on the trail:

Hot Sauces’ riddles, camp games and daily drawing in his sketch book give me something to look forward to everyday.

CPU shares about his adventures around the world and the storyline to the book he’s reading. He even tried to patiently teach me Dutch. (I’ve butchered that beautiful language)

Squirrel and I share fist bumps and pig calls in the woods to see if we’re near each other. (Ask me sometime and I might give it a hollar for ya)

We sing, laugh, have daily challenges and give our packs names with characteristics and super powers. We ask random questions and have deep meaningful conversations that we ponder on all day.

What I notice the most is how purely happy I am out here. Yes, there are cold, rainy, leg-aching days, but there’s still so much joy. Why so much joy when I have so little? It’s the simple things.

I eat what I have, because that’s what I have. I wear the same wet clothes everyday, because that’s what I have. And I have joy.

When we resupply in town, we appreciate everything so much: a good greasy meal, water that doesn’t need to be filtered, and a dry toilet seat. What more could you want?

This is an adventure of a lifetime that can’t last forever, but it makes me question why we work our butts off to buy huge houses, expensive cars, name brand clothes and just stuff. We’re missing out on the beauty and unadulterated experiences of this world. Why? Mainly to keep up with the Jones’. Or because someone convinced us having more would make us happy.

I’m not saying everyone needs to sell everything and go backpacking to find joy (although you should), but we can do better. We can turn our focus on basic needs, basic companionship, basic entertainment and have so much more joy than we ever expected.

I pray when I’m done with this trail, I won’t lose sight of this simple living and I’ll continue to chase after joy everyday.

Women on the trail this time of year are few and far between. Tonight I’m sleeping in a shelter with 5 other men; sharing a privy with 5 other men and having great comrodery with 5 other men. That’s been the norm this entire trip. Now that I think of it, there’s only one night since I’ve been out here where another woman was in the shelter. (shoutout to BunnyTracks!)

The trail isn’t harder for women. Just different. Everyone has to make the climb up, then down, then around. The roots and rocks don’t care if you’re male or female-They’ll trip you just the same. The water won’t filter itself. The bear line won’t climb over that tree.

There are a few challenges that are more annoying than anything. Going to the bathroom becomes an event. Pack off. Find a hidden spot. Look left. Look right. Look up for switch backs and down for switchbacks. Repeat. Squat. (Look Left. Right. Up. Down.) Meanwhile your hiking buddies have gained a mile on you.

It’s not fun changing in the privy or hurriedly changing behind the shelter before you get caught. I’ve become a Master sleeping-bag-changer.

Men get a bad rap sometimes for being rude, but chivalry is not dead out here in the woods. 99.9% of men I’ve met out here have been respectful of my privacy and ‘ladies first’ hasn’t fallen short. I don’t want to be treated differently because I’m a woman, but it’s nice to be respected.

So here’s to the sleeping bag changers and squatters of the woods. It may be a little different for us, but we’re getting it done!

Almost half of my life, there’s been this idea. This ‘what if’. This dream. I’ve known for a while how much the AT has meant to me…15 years to be exact.

Standing on top of Springer Mountain, alone in the fog, I lost it. This idea that formed from a rainy-day video of the AT in college was finally coming to fruition.

How do you process 15 years worth of a dream in one moment on a rock in Georgia?

You cry.

A lot. And an uncontrollable ugly cry.

Not out of fear or sadness, but tears of excitement and joy. Tears of uncertainty and from sacrifice. Tears because you can’t believe you actually had the guts to go for it. You cry for all the past hurt, pain and failures and the let downs and the whys. And at the same time thankful that it all led you here- knowing this journey is about to change you.

There’s a sense of victory in starting. Knowing that many people leave their dreams high on a shelf as something to look at, talk about and admire, but never taking it down to explore.

I’ve been so terrified that I would come out here and not finish. That I would have to answer to people or explain why it didn’t happen for me. The longer I’ve been out here, I’ve come to realize that I’ve already succeeded. I took a chance, went all in and have already had an experience of a lifetime. How can I see that as a failure?

That dream high on the shelf is now resting in my hands and mine for the taking.

God willing, I’d love to finish this thing, but I’ve already learned so much about who I am and met so many great people, that I’ve already won.

But, what if? What if I do this? I can’t imagine the person I’ll be in the end.

What is your ‘What if’? Have you taken steps to get there, or are you admiring it high on a shelf?

How do you plan for a trip like the AT?

Short answer: You can’t.

On a hiking trip last fall, I learned things change rather quickly on the trail. You do more miles. You do less. It rains. It pours. There are reroutes, and detours created by rumors of coke machines at the bottom of the hill. There are caterpillars that can’t be trampled and bears that need a watchful eye. You meet people and ponies and stop for a chat. There are mountains that need moving, sunrises and sunsets that demand your attention and rocks that require climbing.

So many factors can change your daily hike. To a person that loves order, planning and likes to be in control of outcomes (raises hand), this can be overwhelming.

Most of my life has been a series of failed outcomes based on the plans and expectations that I’ve set–A perfectly planned life script I wrote for myself that never came to be.

So, what’s my plan for the AT?

I’m planning to un-plan.

I’m relying on faith this time around. The fall-on-your-knees, complete-surrender, I can’t do this, but He can- -type of faith.

I need to stop scripting my life and give control to the One who already knows the outcome. That’s the great news (sorry, The Good News). I don’t have to worry. I don’t have to fear. It’s already been decided.

Obstacles are an opportunity to grow and rely on God to get me through. How exciting is that? We meet trouble and that gives us a chance to show God our faith and love for Him. It’s like a heavenly high five.

Preparing

Needless to say, I won’t be rolling out of bed and onto the trail. There’s been a certain amount of preparation that has led me to this point. More on how I got here in the future, but for now, the basics:

• Prayer

Actively seeking God’s will for this journey has been at the forefront of everything that’s come to be so far. Continuously praying over my health, timing, and direction has given me a sense of peace that this is where I’m supposed to be right now.

• The Physical Factor

Physically preparing for this hike has become a daily challenge for me. I’ve enjoyed pushing myself and seeing how far I can go past exhaustion. I’m capable of so much more than I ever thought and I’ve never felt stronger. I train at the gym during the week and hike on the weekends, but nothing can prepare my body for hiking long miles everyday for days on end. The trail will train me.

• The Mental Game

They say the mental challenge of the trail is the most difficult. I think this will be true for me. I’m my own worst enemy and biggest doubter. Finding my steadfast confidence is something I’m hoping to discover on trail.

• Emotional

So much of my time has been spent working away at the gym that I’ve failed to recognize I should be focusing on family, friends and quality time with them. When the hard times come and I start to miss home and the ones I care about, I’ll need that support system cheering me on and those moments to reflect back on. Now that I recognize how crucial this is, I’m making a purposeful effort to show those I love how much they mean to me. For those that I didn’t get to see before I left, I’m sorry I realized how important this was a little too late.

Learning to Grow Through Mistakes

As in everyday life, there are ups and downs–Stumbles, learning from those stumbles, growing because of those stumbles and in my case–re-learning from the same stumbles over and over again. I anticipate life on trail will be similar.

When I mess up, I tend to give up. If it’s not perfect, I’ve already lost. I’d like my time on trail to be a learning experience. To not get frustrated when things don’t go as I thought, but see it as an opportunity to roll with the punches and do it differently next time.

Whether I’m out there for multiple months or a couple of weeks, my hope is that this experience will allow me to grow spiritually, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Sounds like a plan if I’ve ever heard one.