Long distance hiking is somewhat like giving birth (or so I understand, never having done the latter) – if we didn’t forgot how much it hurts, we wouldn’t ever do it again. Somehow, six months after the trail a sort of amnesia sets in. All that you remember are the good times, or the bad times are remembered, but with sort of a glow about them: “Yes, it was hard, but what an adventure!”
When I finished my first long hike I was asked, “Do you plan to do another one?” And I said, “No, it was a good experience, but I don’t need to repeat it.” The following March, Springer fever set in and I started thinking, “Maybe I could do it again.” Three years later I was on the trail again.
Even now, after four long hikes, I forgot about the pain and exhaustion and sheer difficulty of living rough for six months. I can’t wait to go back out again. When we go on a vacation hike, or even a long weekend, my aches and pains remind me of reality, or walking in an all day cold rain, or sleeping outside when it’s 25 degrees outside and I think, “Maybe having a roof over my head isn’t such a bad thing.” The idea of living on Liptons for six more months makes me gag, but at the same time, I would leave next month if I could. I know that when we do our next hike we’ll be six years older, six years stiffer, and that the push for miles will be even more difficult than it was on my last long hike – but still I can’t wait to go back to that life.
Spirit Walker