that girl who rides the horses that dance

"The Appalachian Trail is easy. It's just walking." 

Pretzel, a 2012 Appalachian Trail thru-hiker and employee at Mountain Crossings at Walasi-Yi, was tearing through my gear with abandon while I shivered on the floor of the outfitter and waited for my pizza to finish cooking.

In a way, Pretzel was right. In another way, he was wrong. 

During my shakedown, he told me that my pack was well balanced, and I had to send home or throw out a minimal amount of things - nail clippers, extra stuff sacks, baby wipes (which in hindsight I regretted not keeping). My pack weight was approximately 14 pounds without food or water. I was proud.

I had done months of research, selecting gear and then doing gear swaps and slowly reducing my projected base weight from 25, to 22, to 18, to finally 14 pounds. Winning the Badger Sponsorship helped as well, giving me a huge financial boon and thousands of dollars in gear and merchandise.

What I didn't get through the sponsorship, I bought myself. With a lot of deliberation, I selected my clothes - my camp and hiking outfits - my cooking setup, extra stuff sacks, and so forth. Some choices were harder than others. After consulting experienced thru-hikers and backpackers, I followed their advice and didn't buy a pair of Yaktrax.

In hindsight, I should have. Because the Appalachian Trail became much more than just walking. Coming into this adventure, I knew it would be more than a physical challenge. I knew it would be mental.

At the outfitter in Georgia, I was already more than thirty miles in, loving every moment of it. I had scaled Blood Mountain. I had spent some cold nights.


And after Neels Gap, I would hike through blizzards. I would start my day late due to a downpour. I would spend hours drying out my gear.

After 0.2 miles on the actual Appalachian Trail, after hiking nine miles my first day on the approach trail, I quickly turned that 0.2 miles into thirty. Into a hundred.

Atop Albert Mountain, marking 100 miles on the AT

The climb out of Nantahala Outdoor Center was exhausting. That was my first disappointing day (including the blizzard). But pushing through that, I was able to reach deep inside and find determination to push on.

That hundred turned into two hundred miles. I hiked up Clingmans Dome, the highest peak on the Appalachian Trail, while struggling with nausea, the inability to drink water, painful feet, and an empty stomach during an ice storm and in a heavy fog. I rolled into Newfound Gap to meet my dad for a double zero.

A large margarita on the first day of my double zero!

Once I had sufficiently recovered from my food poisoning, we hit the trail, the two of us.

I can't place exactly where it happened, so when people ask, I say it happened around mile 207. That double zero in Gatlinburg, Tennessee? It was because of a snowstorm that closed all roads to Newfound Gap in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

When we headed back out, the snow had been packed down due to tourists and other hikers. That packed down snow had turned into ice. With new footwear, I slipped every other step. I believe strongly that during one of these slips, my ankle turned in a way it shouldn't have.

I sincerely believe that if I had bought and worn Yaktrax, I would have been able to push on, through more than the half of Virginia I did, through the remaining states and landmarks - Shenandoah National Park in northern Virginia, Harper's Ferry in West Virginia, the original Washington Monument in Maryland, Lehigh Gap in Pennsylvania, the boardwalks in New Jersey, Bear Mountain State Park in New York, the Taconic Range in Connecticut, Mt. Greylock in Massachusetts, the Green Mountains in Vermont (or "Vermud," as affectionately named by thru-hikers), the Whites in New Hampshire (or "No Hope"), Mahoosuc Notch in Maine (or "Pain").

And, of course, Mt. Katahdin.

Instead, because of that one stumble in the Smokies, heading out of Newfound Gap, I hiked 70 miles on a swollen ankle, took a zero in Hot Springs, and kept going. I limped through North Carolina and into Tennessee.

And from Tennessee into Virginia. Which was a lot rockier and hillier than my guidebook and GPS showed.


After two weeks off to heal, I was back. I hiked 200 miles before realizing I could no longer on. My ankle and foot hurt too much.

I did seven hundred miles on the Appalachian National Scenic Trail. Through sheer willpower, I walked five hundred miles on an injured foot.

Pretzel was right.

The Appalachian Trail is just walking. Up and down mountains. On roads. Through rain, snow, sleet, wind, and sun.

But he was also wrong.

It's not easy. It's a physical challenge. It's a mental challenge.

I ended my thru-hike attempt on June 18, after eight weeks off.

Here is what I learned, and what I will apply next time.

• Regardless of the weight (4.4 ounces), I will be carrying Yaktrax in the snowier months. Even if it's nice and warm in the valleys, it snows in the Appalachian Mountains well into April and May. 
• I loved my Altras. I will not be making the mistake of wearing boots - the stiff body didn't allow my foot bones to spread out, and doing fifteen mile days were excruciating. With my Altras, I was able to easily do twenty milers. However, I might go with Lone Peaks instead of Provision. 
• There is no rushing. A part of why I pushed myself so hard was because I wanted to finish the trail by the end of July - in time for my sister's bachelorette party and her wedding three weeks later. For each day that I didn't hike much as I wanted, did a nearo, or a zero, I was mentally counting the miles and how much I would have to do to make up for it. If you want to shatter records, by all means, go for it. Me, next time, I think I'll take my time and smell the flowers. 
• I want to try going stoveless. 
• I want to start camping four miles from towns, to save money. I might swing by hostels and pay that $2 or $3 or whatever to shower and charge my electronics, but spend my nights outside of town. 
• Hitchhiking is harder than it looks.