Date: 2003-08-30
To: anties in my panties
Miles today: 0.0

At first, I figured it was just too early to start a journal for a hike which won't start for another six months. Then I found myself searching for the pre-hike entries of past thru-hikers. Most of them are from a week or so before the start date and it's frustrating the hell out of me because I don't have a clue what I should be doing right now. So now I figure if I start posting on August 30th, by next August 30th a 2005 thru-hiker will start to learn what not to do, as per my example. Here starts my example.Me: I'm 22, addicted to coffee, pillows, the opposite sex, and literature, and am extremely tired of the course of my life. I was born in Bay Shore, Long Island, lived there until I was 18, then moved to Alna, Maine. My first major in college was Wildlife Ecology. My second was English. The boredom has gotten to the point where I actually wash my dishes by hand, even though I have a dishwasher. Also, I own a bubble machine.Analysis of my reasons, reactions to the analysis of my reasons: The AT is something I've thought about for quite some time. It's always been something that "I might do with a friend once I'm done with school and done with bills and have some time off from work once my friend's done with school and done with bills and has some time off from work". This year, however, it's become somewhat of an obsession. Around January, it became "Something that I will do as soon as I cut through all of the societal tentacles of this little world". The more irony I caught from flags on the rear windows of SUVs, the more reality I saw in actually hiking the trail. The romance of the making of one's own schedule, I'm afraid, had victimized me. Disenchantment followed, and left its mark on my semester GPA. When I was suspended from UMaine for this coming fall semester, I was surprisingly relieved. Just one more step towards my hike. In July, I broke the news of my plans to my mother. I was careful to break it in public, to avoid an overly dramatic dismissal. I was sure she'd refuse support, assign a psychiatrist, try to steer me back onto a paved path, but instead took a bite out of her burrito, thought for a few moments, then began a chain of the most thorough support I've ever known. Within a week, she had bought as many books as she could find on the sport and the trail and the life, and, by now, I'm sure knows more on the subject than I do. I slowly told my friends, a close collection of urban club-hoppers, who were decidedly less supportive than my family. They're mostly concerned with the possibility of my having pit hair by the time I reach Katahdin. Second concern on their agenda is how I'm going to deal without sex. Obviously, they say, I've lost my sanity. I don't think I have. Prep starts: After my plans went public, I started the preparation. I updated my gear, got my pack weight down to 33lbs, pulled as many thru-hikers as I could find to the side of the trail, studied the whole mail system thing, and, of course, started hiking more. Since I moved to Maine four years ago, I've obviously been hiking quite a bit, because it's Maine. You can't not hike in Maine. Generally, though, I've really only had time for maybe one hike per month, two backpacking trips per year. The longest backpacking trip I've ever taken really only lasted five days. So I'm somewhat experienced, but my leg muscles suck. I'm sort of on that uberfrustrating pseudo level: I know what I'm doing, I know what I should be able to do, and my body definitely doesn't want me to do it. It's like I'm an athlete trapped in Chunk's body. I've hiked 64 miles in this past week, some in Maine, mostly in the White Mountains, which is so much less than what I'll want to be doing next year, yet I still felt like curling up next to a rock and dying by mile fifteen. My feet hate me, my knees hate me, and my shoulders just don't like me at this point. The worst thought of it is that when I get closer to the hike, I really won't be able to do much hiking. It'll be winter in Maine. I'll have to rely on step machines and weight benches. I guess I'll just have to buy stock in Advil and keep it until April or May. I should burn the bottom of my feet. Maybe I'll work up some scar tissue. Being a burn victim sounds slightly better right now than having a blister which is actually bigger than its host toe. I guess that's enough for a ridiculously early first post. Plus, my cat's humping my sleeping bag. I should probably do something about that. Amanda