Alright, so be nice. I had to write a short narrative about “an experience that was particularly significant for you” for a class. Thought I’d post it here, to make the exercise go a little further.
“There’s a cricket-like bug with a shrill, loud buzz, which is the sound I imagine your brain makes as it fries in your head from the heat. Sweat pours down your body and sunblock laced sweat blurs your vision and stings your eyes. Your throat is so dry from panting through your mouth that swallowing is painful. You blow your nose, it starts to bleed. You scramble to make it to the next shade spot in time before the afternoon sun hits, when you know movement of any sort won’t be an option. The sleep deprivation is the hardest part for me, only sleeping five or six hours a night, because the night hours are the easiest hiking hours. The Joshua trees cast unfamiliar shadows and the full moon rises orange over the Tehachapi Mountains. But there is salvation in the breeze and before you know it, you are out of the Mojave Desert heading into the Sierra Nevadas, looking forward to the snow-capped mountains of the High Sierras.”
The passage above was taken from my journal that I kept while attempting a thru-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail in the spring and summer of 2004. This journal entry was to highlight the harsh environment I was hiking through at the time, along with the physical exhaustion and pain I was experiencing. Even though it describes a difficult time, there is optimism for what lies ahead. I ended up hiking roughly 1,200 miles of the 2,563 mile trail; leaving only after becoming sick a few times (one illness required a surgery). The mental challenge of not finishing what I had hoped to finish, has tormented me more than the physical challenge ever did.
I have begun to think of the Trail, again, daily. The story about how great the trip was, how much I learned about myself, the wonderful sights I saw, and how proud I am of what I did accomplished has already been documented in my journal. This isn’t a plea for pity, an excuse for praise, a chance to scare off my ghosts, nor a red flag to signify a deep depression; it is an explanation for the mental challenge I am left with.
I am afraid to take a risk like that again. I am afraid I won’t have the time to do another long-distance hike. I am afraid of the doubt I’m sure I’d face from my friends and family if I tried again. I am afraid to put myself in the position to experience such bitter tastings of defeat. I am afraid that my one shot was lost to physical limitations which were out of my control, and yet even though I did everything I possibly could, I won’t find that unquestioned faith in myself again.
I could at least enjoy hiking through the Mojave Desert in 110° weather with limited water and two other insane people, because I was still in the experience, even if it was painful. Leaving the trail for the last time, I didn’t feel this sense of self-abandonment that I am currently experiencing. It is a lingering feeling that has developed through the winter. It is a lesson that I am learning: often mental challenges are larger obstacles than walking 1200 miles.
RoadRash
