Further Ailments

My foot feels fantastic - for the record. My right shin and hip however, now those are different stories. 

On the way into Daleville, VA we did just over a 15 mile day mostly downhill. It was a breeze up until mile 14 at which point my right shin decided to become a ball of pain as a shin splint came roaring through. I slowed my pace but by that point I was already hurting badly. Thankfully, it was only another bit of downhill into Daleville where an outfitter and ample resupply awaited us. 

We (Red Knees, Barbarossa and myself) managed to hitch a ride to the main shopping center where we immediately stopped by the outfitter - my "new" Keens were turning out to be slightly too minimalist for my newly recovered foot so I traded up for a pair of violently purple Salomon Synapse trail runners. They are fantastic. I asked the outfitter for ice for my shins and they looked at me like I asked if they had any eye of newt and toe of frog to get my cauldron going. They mumbled something about 10 pound bags of ice at the grocery store. 

Thankfully, the server at the Three Little Pigs BBQ restaurant was much more accommodating. After quarantining us smelly vagrants to the upper outside patio (smart move, buddy) he brought me a large bag of ice which I put on my swollen shin and it immediately began to help. 

We finished dinner in reasonable time and planned to continue on to the campsite over in Troutville, the next town over. When I heard mention that Gravy was coming to meet us and could give us a ride I immediately stopped and sat down to hopefully rest my shins further. 

An hour later as the sun is setting quickly over the horizon, a motorcycle pulls up in front of our crew in the parking lot and whipped off his helmet. It was Gravy. Apparently no one had asked which vehicle he would be taking and there was no way all 7 of us plus packs would fit on that bike despite our unmatched powers of ingenuity. 

Barbarossa, Red Knees and myself immediately took off to take advantage of what daylight we had left and made it to the road in Troutville just as the last bits of light were leaving the sky. A 1.5 mile road walk got us the rest of the way to the Troutville Park and Fire Station where we set up for the night. It was good to be with the tribe again but the quick walk had wreaked havoc on my shin. I popped some Advil and called it a night with my sleeping bag sprawled across a picnic table in the pavilion. 

Our little crew set out earlier than the rest of the tribe the next morning, eager to get in some good miles. My shin still bothering me, I took it very slow up the first hill before settling into a good pace. At the second shelter of the day we stopped (around 1:00pm) to take a siesta and wait out the heat of the afternoon before finishing our hike. An hour later 2-Pack and Goatman showed up letting us know that the remainder of the tribe had opted to go to Waffle House and wouldn't be leaving until later, if at all. 

We finally got to the last shelter at around 6:00pm after some beautiful views from the Blue Ridge. I soaked my foot and shin in the cool spring water next to the shelter on and off all evening, added my last splash of bourbon to a cup of peppermint tea and popped a few Advil. I should be fine by the morning, right?

Wrong. Shin splints suck. Plus upon waking the sore on my side that I had covered with moleskin was in crazy amounts of pain. There was nothing to be accomplished by sitting in the woods except going through food too quickly so I slung on my pack and started walking. My shin and hip throbbed the whole 9 miles, no matter what speed I took it so when we found Team TNT doing trail magic at the swimming hole at mile 9, just down the road from Meadow Creek Campgrounds, I floated the idea of taking a short day and everybody got on board (with the exception of Red Knees, who had already forged ahead before I reached the magic). 

We got an adorable cabin, purchased a 10lb bag of ice and went in to relax. My hip still throbbing I decided I needed to take of the moleskin to see what the problem was. As I peeled off the moleskin I screamed - yellow pus was pouring from the infected wound as I ripped off the bandage. Roadrunner immediately went back to the store and purchased hydrogen peroxide which I poured on the wound after cleaning it out. 

Once the shock wore off I grabbed the peroxide, some shampoo, soap and a towel and headed to the bathroom for some aggressive cleaning treatment. Two showers and two dousings with peroxide later I felt slightly less woozy and afraid I was going to die. 

For the rest of the day I sat reclined with ice on my shin and my hip exposed to allow the wound to dry out and scab over. Beetlejuice arrived later in the evening, having opted not to zero in Daleville the previous day, and we all sat around playing cornhole, card games and drinking beer until midnight. 

I woke up feeling much better but still in no condition to hike. My friends headed on but I managed to talk the remainder of the Tribe (Candy Pants, Animal, Scarecrow, Mowgli and Gump) to come up to the campgrounds and ultimately stay the night. I think I will try to slack pack 15 miles tomorrow back to the campgrounds with Orange Peel, her dad (I'm blanking on his trail name but it begins with an "S" - Sparky I think?), Trouble and Hobo. It will be almost all downhill and with no weight it will be good to see how it goes. 

I am exceptionally frustrated with my body and it's lack of ability to stay in one piece. If it isn't one thing, it's another and it is driving me batty. I know I went quick out of the gates after Trail Days butI truly   thought I could handle it. If tomorrow doesn't go well I have an opportunity to do work for stay in the area which will give me even more time to recuperate. Fingers crossed. 

Flash Thunderstorms and Poisonous Turtles

What hasn't happened in the past three days of hiking? It has been fantastic, terrifying, hilarious and perfect. 

After our reunion with Candy Pants and Two Pack we decided over dinner to wake up early and tackle the mountains that the morning had in store.

In the morning our alarms went off at 5:30am sharp and we peeled ourselves from our wet sleeping bags, thankful for the frosty mornings to be (hopefully) behind us for good. We were on the road before 7am which made us the first group to reach the huge container of cold sodas 500ft before the summit of the mountain. De-licious. 

The day went slowly and smoothly with all of us taking our time and enjoying the scenery. It was beautiful and sunny with views of rolling hills back to the mountains we had just completed. The last climb of the day up to the ridge line was brutal - pretty much straight up for a 1500 ft elevation gain (the Revenge of Jacobs Ladder, Red Knees deemed it - affectionately). At the top we took a good long break to let our hamstrings recover before setting out for the next shelter. 

As we got to the first shelter the sky began to darken and we heard thunder far in the distance. The shelter was a ways off the trail so we opted to push on. After a mile or so on the ridge line it began to rain. And then thunder. By the time the lightning began rolling through, Barbarossa, Red Knees, Two Pack, Candy Pants and myself were mid rock scramble on an exposed rock ridge line. Perfect. When the hail started coming down, the girls all finally gave in and found shelter beneath a slight rock overhang. It didn't help much but it kept us from being pelted by the marble-sized hail (I MAY be exaggerating a bit). 

When the rain finally subsided we emerged, soaked to the core, and began to trudge on. I wiped my mental copy of my last will & testament from my mind and went back to walking. The rocks, however, were slick with the fresh rain and our girl Two Pack just about slipped off the rock on several occasions. It would've been scary if we weren't all giggling deliriously. 

The decent into camp was slippery and slow, especially with our wet clothing on. The sun was beating down yet again so we all stripped down to our very basest layers (we kept it PG don't worry!) and finished the hike with our clothes drying on the back of our packs. Are we ready for hike naked day? You bet!

That night we knew the rain would be back so we quickly set up tent and made our dinners under the protection of our rain flies. Not before, of course, us finding a black and yellow turtle making his way through the camp (a turtle? Really?). I, of course, did the smart thing and stayed away from it, fearing that it's neon yellow coloring indicated that it may be poisonous like some brightly colored frogs. At least this was my logic. Le sigh. 

We woke the next morning to find the entirety of the tribe had rolled in late the night before and we were finally reunited for good! The hike was simple and thankfully dry over the Dragons Tooth (beautiful view) and we got into Four Pines Hostel by late afternoon. 

The hostel is nothing more than a three car garage emptied out and filled with a motley assortment of questionably stained couches, cots and recliner chairs. There was a makeshift bathroom in the back which had septic tank problems and definitely required shower shoes but for the price (read: donation based), it was perfect. 

When we arrived the cots and couches had been claimed so we cleared a huge space on the floor for our epic slumber party. That night the owner of the hostel, Joe, drove us into the Home Place restaurant for all you can eat traditional, home-cooked southern food. It hurt so good. 

Today we left late after waiting around most of the morning for our laundry and did a short, relatively easy 10 miles over McAfee Knob, hands down the most widely known view on the AT, falling at about the 700 mile mark. 

It is beautiful where we are camped, amongst a rock outcropping just below the summit but it is cold and I am wiped. Headed to Daleville tomorrow!

On The Road Again

I was nervous to hike again. I'm still nervous every time I put my boots on and go out on the trail. What if my foot goes out? What if I hurt myself worse than before? ... But what if I don't? What if I get out there and walk my badass butt back to Maine?

The power of positive thinking, Obie. 

The first day back - the Sunday after Trail Days - me and the Tribe planned to slack pack from Woods Hole Hostel the 10 miles into Pearisburg. 10 miles with no pack weight sounded fine by me. 

We got to the hostel around noon and I was eager to get going but we were still anxiously awaiting the remainder of the tribe (when I arrived it was only Candy Pants and myself - Barbarossa and Red Knees decided to go straight to Pearisburg). When 1:30pm rolled around with no sight of them I decided I had to start walking - I had no idea how quickly I would move on my foot, even with fairly easy terrain, especially with the quickly approaching rain. 

At first I was skeptical. My foot felt stiff and unused to tackling hills. I walked slower. Eventually I worked out the kinks and began to pick up the pace - okay this feels pretty good - but every so often a rock would hit my foot the wrong way and scare the crap out of me, making me slow down again to a snails pace. Once I hit the downhill into town I was feeling pretty good and was making good time. The terrain was beautiful and green and the switchbacks helped keep the trail from descending too steeply. 

And then I was looking into the eyes of a black bear. Just standing right there in the trail. We both froze and gave each other our most impressive stink eye for a solid second before he bounded up the hill. 

Breathe, Obie. Breathe. 

It was FUDGING AWESOME! I forgotten foot and practically skipped all the way into town, well ahead of my anticipated schedule. Woohoo! And to top it off there was a car at the edge of town with a few hikers who drove me to the hostel. Brilliant. 

The rest of the Tribe didn't roll in until well after 10:00pm (apparently they hadn't begun hiking until after 4:00pm - thank god I left early!) and they were up for a while but I retired early. 

The next morning Red Knees and I got an early start (just after 7:30am) so we could take it slow as we headed out of town. I didn't know how many miles I would do - I planned to listen to my body and play it by ear. 

First we did 7 miles to the first shelter. Feeling pretty good. Lets keep going. Then we did a few more miles to a campsite. I retaped my foot (the four day old tape was getting loose) and felt good. Lets walk to the campsite that would put us at 15 miles for the day. Perfect. After am hour we felt pretty fantastic. So we hiked 6 more miles to get to a campsite called "The Captain's". 21 miles in total and I felt fantastic. Super slow pace with an early start really did the trick.

"The Captain's" is actually the backyard of a trail angel that lives directly across the river from the AT. He lets hikers camp in his backyard and provides them with ice cold sodas. Brilliant. The best part? You have to take a zip line across the river to get to his house. Oh yeah. 

I didn't sleep very well but woke up happy and remarkably not sore and ready to take on the day. Today was tough - from mile 3 to about mile 7 was covered with jagged rocks which made it tough to get good balance. With my foot getting sore I took probably half a dozen breaks and walked at a glacial pace. 

We decided to only do 12 miles today to get right before a big climb up to the next ridge line. Finally, a few members of the Tribe showed up (Candy Pant and Two Pack) and let us know that the rest of the team was pretty far back. But knowing the 40 mile days they put in? They'll be here in no time. 

We are going to play tomorrow by ear. Maybe 12 miles, maybe 14, maybe 20, who knows. Lets see what the foot says. GOD does it feel good to be back!!

Tail Dazed

I have so many conflicting adjectives to describe Trail Days that I don't even know where to begin. Exciting, dirty, excessive, exhausting, happy, sad, weird...I could go on but I won't. 

After a fairly painless but nevertheless excruciatingly long flight into Tri Cities (with yet another mile long cross-airport run to catch my connecting flight) I finally was reunited with Survivor Dave's Gun Crew (Jolly and Tie Dye). God it was good to see them. TD squealing in excitement when she saw me and giving me an impressive bear hug was maybe the greatest way to arrive back to the trail of all time. Jolly arrived shortly after and the reunion was blissful. 

The whole drive into Damascus my heart was pounding I was so excited to see everyone. As we drove through the center of town I scoured the crowds for anyone I even remotely knew. As we crossed the bridge to Crazy Larry's I saw a familiar face (well, familiar beard) and I did everything short of jettisoning myself from the moving vehicle screaming, "Barbarossa!!!!!!"

Thankfully Tye Die's husband had the good sense to pull over the car which I threw myself from to go and give him a big hug. He informed me that the Tribe was down in Tent City and that they had some prime real estate staked out for me. I felt bad to leave Jolly and Tie Dye but I could not wait to see more of my hiking buddies. 

As we were walking into tent city (TD's hubby, Co-Pilot had driven us over) who do I see but Headstand, Candy Pants, Two Pack and Goatman. I just about got arrested for trying to attack hug them before paying my $5 due to get into the camp grounds. Bliss. A few hundred yards away by the tents were Beetlejuice, Red Knees, Animal, Scarecrow...everybody. More aggressive hugging ensued. 

The next 3 days were a blur of walking through all the gear vendors, catching up, inebriation and attempting to find free food at any expense. 

Tent City is one of a kind. It is divided into the prairie (an open grassy area) and the forest which is directly behind the prairie. In the forest many past and current through hikers set up huge mini-cities with music, grills and chairs. They had names like Poundtown (their slogan was "go big, get some"), Riff Raff, Billville and of course there was Ms. Janet's tent with the bonfire to end all bonfires. Not only were there flames at least 10 feet in the air but there was a drum circle that played into the wee hours of the morning so that hikers could get back to their roots and dance around the circle, often throwing in articles of clothing to feed the fire. 

Apparently what happens in Tent City stays in Tent City. 

The car accident at the parade rocked the city (no one died - the woman who was pinned under the car only suffered a broken pinky toe!) as did the hundreds (I would surmise) of arrests for public intoxication and possession of illicit substances (read: marijuana). For a small town that is a hell of an event. 

I was not even a little sad to depart from Damascus by the time Sunday rolled around. It was time to hike again and test out this foot.

Recovery: Part 5 (Apprehension)

For the past two weeks all that I have been able to think about is my gallant return to the trail and now that I am less than 12 hours from my plane departing to take me back I am filled with apprehension. What if my foot goes out again? What if it's not the same after such an extended hiatus? What if I get attacked by a polar bear and die (damn you Lost...)?

My apprehension isn't bad - I don't feel crippled by the thought of going back - but I am much more nervous than I thought I would be. I thought that I would hear more from my trail friends in my absence. What if they resent that I took so many days off? What if they are all hiking at a pace that outdoes me every day and leaves me in the dust? When you go without contact for that extended a period of time it's hard not to "what if" yourself into oblivion. 

More than anything I'm excited. I spent a good amount of time shedding weight from my pack (and subsequently adding it back on in the form of a solar charger and a flask of Bulleit bourbon) and upgrading to new gear that will hopefully make my trek more enjoyable. I am more confident with my ability to put in the work and get the miles done and start the gradual push back up the coast. 

In the beginning no one thought that:

A) I was in my right mind

B) I could and would want to do the whole trek

C) I wouldn't get eaten by a bear/snake/hillbilly/wild boar/rabid skunk. 

Well guess what. I'm going going, back back from (?) Cali, Cali. Watch out AT. I'm coming for ya. 

Recovery: Part 4 (The Solution)

After a while you just need to walk it off. I've been pampering and babying the crap out of this foot but today it was over. No more being afraid of going for walks, no more gingerly limping down the stairs. Time to tape it up and walk it off.

And you know what? It didn't feel half bad. I grabbed the dogs around 3:00 today and headed out apprehensively on a choose-your-own-adventure walk around town. For the first few hills (who I am I kidding, this whole town is hills) I walked a little off-kilter, still getting used to the tape on my foot, but once I was used to it I picked up the pace and focused on making sure my steps were falling correctly and that my gait was spot on. And you know what? I still felt off but it didn't really hurt. After two miles? It felt about the same. I almost started running in elation before realizing what a bozo move that would be. Calm down, Obie. 

Either way, my foot is feeling pretty good now and I am even more excited to get back out there. Being home has only made me realize just how much I love this adventure and how badly I want to complete it. I commiserate with my fellow hikers that have been forced to take time off to recover. We check our phones constantly, hoping for updates from our trail buddies. We keep a close eye on those hikers who we follow on Facebook so we can see their photos and feel as though we are there, living vicariously. We are unable to explain to our loved ones why, despite the pain, we do not want to be home, we want to be fording trails-turned-rivers with people we have only known for a few short yet intense weeks. If I was the significant other of a thru-hiker I wouldn't get it either. 

Less than 100 hours until I am back on the trail. I need to see my people and I need to get that pack on and continue my push north. 

Recovery: Part 3 (Climbing the Walls)

I think I'm losing my mind. I know, I know, rest is important - CRUCIAL - to a speedy recovery but I am bored to tears. Remember the resentment that I had built towards PopTarts? This is how I feel now about frozen peas, daytime television, the stationary bike and painfully unknowledgeable REI employees. I am doing my time, icing the foot but all I can think about is how desperately I want to be back. I even tried to research the type of Buddhism that Wim Hof does to make his body tolerate the cold. Unfortunately it can't be learned in a week so I gave it up almost instantly.

I want to run. I want to jump. I want to sling my pack onto my back and tackle a mountain. I desperately want to see my hiking family and laugh with them around a campfire. So I suppose, if it means I get to do all this, I will keep icing and cleaning. This house will be spotless by the time I'm back on the trail.

Recovery: Part 2 (Glamping)

The first few days home has been a doozy. My foot still (frustratingly) is keeping me from walking without a hitch despite my constant attention to taking it easy. My relationship is, at least for the time being, suspended. My Napa friends have all been thrilled by my return while my AT family continues their constant press up the trail leaving me further and further behind with each passing day. If I wasn't currently in my tent, snuggled in my sleeping bag, writing this post by headlamp light I might be in worse shape. Thank god for the comfort of this bag and my recently dust-busted tent.

Outside the smoldering embers of the party continue to color the night but I called it a night to go back and ice my foot. After all, that is what I'm back for, isn't it?

Recovery: Part 1

I was having a hard time admitting it to myself much less admitting it here but here's the facts: the tendons in my left foot need recovery. More than I can get in a few days sitting in Damascus. So I made the decision to come home to California to aggressively rehabilitate so that I can get back on the trail as soon as humanly possible and take a shot at Katahdin.

I flew home yesterday on a relatively painless two flights though all the inactivity paired with a bit of dehydration caused my foot to seize up pretty badly making the departure into San Francisco excruciating. In the airport people looked at me like I had a third arm growing out of my forehead. Yes, friends, I'm wearing a bandana and don't smell exactly like roses and yes, I have to struggle with my bag significantly less than all of you since I've been hauling it around every day for the past 6 weeks (and now it has no food or water...what a dream!) but nothing to see here. At least I had the courtesy to find a bathroom instead of the nearest potted plant when we got off the plane.

My brother was there to pick me up and he took me back home where I was reunited with my puppy which was of course an instant mood boost. I'm surprised she made it out alive and wasn't smothered by love. Lucky girl.

At 4:00pm I went to Kaiser to meet my mom and have a doctor take a closer look at my foot and give me the news. The first doctor I saw was decidedly distracted and pessimistic. When I informed her that I had two weeks and would I be ready? She basically told me I was insane but that she would call a physical therapist.

The physical therapist was my kind of woman. A previous PCT hiker she knew exactly what was going on - knew where to press on my foot to find the pain and had a much sunnier outlook. The plan? Ice the foot every other hour for 15 minutes, stretching routines throughout the day and stationary biking/swimming to keep up my cardio until I can go back. Oh, and get some lighter shoes. She says two weeks? No problem. I like this woman.

I plan on following her every piece of advice as accurately as possible. I have alarms set every 2 hours for icing and when I'm not icing I plan to be getting in as much cardio as possible so that I can keep up when I get back. Down but not out. I plan on being the Adrian Peterson of the AT and coming back faster and stronger than ever and rushing for 2,000 yards (or in my case, miles) in one season.

This morning my foot feels decidedly better after only two icing sessions last night (and a bedtime of about 8:15pm...geriatric much?). I am hopeful. I am anxious. Get me back out there.

Damascus

We rolled into Damascus about 3 days ago, the quarter of the way point on the trail. 466.6 miles. When we got in it was raining and the tendons in my left foot were a mess. I took the doctors orders and rested for 3 days, spending time and cooking up a storm with old friends - Beetlejuice, Pierogi, Molly, Avocado, Rocket, The Tribe, you name it. It was bliss to see everyone again.

I packed up this morning to hike out and my foot instantly felt as if I had done nothing to repair it. I couldn't walk with my foot facing straight with no pack weight much less with 30+ pounds of freshly resupplied pack. It's time to take this seriously and recover.

I'm devastated. So many times I have thought about getting off the trail and now that I actually have to I can't stop crying. All I want more than anything is to walk. To be out there with my hiking family, stumbling over roots, cursing the ground we are walking on, laughing about the shenanigans from the night before, accidentally stepping in streams, cooking up pasta sides while huddled around a fire. I would do anything to have my body feel better so I can just keep going.

I am going to recover. And then I will come back. I'm in the grips of this amazing adventure with these incredible people and I'm not stopping till I make it all the way to Maine. No pain, no rain, no Maine.

Much love.