Date: 2004-12-30
To: gearin' up for a walk in the woods
Miles today: 0.0

2:15pm12.30.04Upon hearing of my intent to hike the AT, people invariably ask ¢Why?¢. Excepting, of course, all fellow hikers, who require no explanation. A perfectly legitimate and reasonable question, ¢Why¢. Why do I want to subject my body to the physical rigors and abuses? Why do I want to abdicate commonplace luxuries, like flush toilets and daily showers? Why do I want to adopt a relatively stagnant diet of quick-prep meals, largely forgoing fresh produce? Why do I want to subject myself to the harsh reality of the elements? Those were the whys of last year. This year, they¢ll expand to include -- Why do I want to do it again? (As yet, I haven¢t broken the news outside of hiking circles, so this is purely speculation. Logical extrapolations, but speculation nonetheless.) And, why risk the same disappointment again, of not finishing the trail? I know folks¢ll be asking me these questions. You tell someone your plans, to embark on a long-distance hike and, after the initial expressions of amazement and curiosity (How long is it? Six months?! And, for the women -- Are you hiking alone? (shocked silence) Are you carrying a gun/pepper spray/machete/harpooning lance? Honestly, you¢d think you were announcing an expedition to the steppes of Siberia or the most secluded confines of the Amazon the way some people react.) But, once their fears are alleviated (or at least until they realize you won¢t be scared out of it), then you can see, under the surface veneer of interest and respect for attempting such an adventure, they think you¢re madder than the Mad Hatter. You can almost see the cartoon-esque thought cloud emanating from their head, ¢She¢s bloody/friggin¢/insert adjective here insane.¢ And who knows, maybe I am. But if so, then it¢s an insanity for which I seek no sure. When I¢m out hiking, my mind sees w/ such a clarity, the cobwebs of daily concerns and stressors are swept away. And not only do I become more aware of the natural world around me, but I become more attuned to myself, my body. You come to understand your body so intimately, see how everything is interconnected, interrelated. And you learn to listen to the signals your body sends you. You learn to speak another language, hiking out there. (Or at the very least, you become aware of its existence.) It¢s a silent language, doesn¢t require words to communicate. It¢s a language of observation, of listening, of noting, of communing, of sharing a piece of yourself in exchange for a glimpse, a snapshot of a glorious, beautiful world that awakens something dormant inside you.8:15pmRelaxing in one of the comfy leather armchairs in Borders. Actually, they¢re not all that comfy. Stiff-backed, and too deeply seated to allow you to sit up comfortably, but not deep enough to swallow you into its depths and let you curl up. Plus, any movement and there¢s that splarting noise that only leather can make. My reasoning is that the design team at Borders interior decorating wanted chairs just comfy enough to get you to sit down and browse a book, but uncomfortable enough to encourage you to get up (and hopefully buy the aforementioned book) before you finish it. A delicate balance indeed. But, here I am, lounging as indolently as the confines of the chair permits, writing away. Another oddity I¢ve observed -- I can write perfectly freely amidst hordes of strangers, cheesy background music, screaming kids. But in Ligonier, feeling self-conscious somehow, I would always seek privacy before setting pen to paper. Maybe it¢s b/c, of all people, those most likely to read this are my family. All these unknown faces, it¢s unlikely are paths will even cross again. But, this observation did make me realize that I really don¢t write about the people in my life w/ anything remotely approaching frequency. Makes me wonder what I actually do find to babble on so longwindedly about. So, in an attempt to remedy this dearth, here¢s a brief (but telling) incident from yesterday: Wednesday being the weekday of Dad¢s early reprieve from work, he¢d planned a late afternoon hike in Linn Run, offering to take Craig to the nearby State Park. Craig consented to be torn away from his marathon viewing of Babylon 5 for a few hours. So, Dad rolled in shortly after 3. I honestly didn¢t see how they¢d possibly complete the proposed 4-mile trek before nightfall ensued a scant 2 hours later, especially considering Dad is usually the slow link in the chain in terms of ¢gearing up¢ for a hike. The typical progression of events when a walk is suggested at home: I throw on my boots or sandals, grab a jacket (if applicable), get Woody good and excited by saying the W-word (W-A-L-K), and proceed to wait for the parentals, though not, as Woody is, all-anticipation. My learning curve is ever-so-slightly steeper than hers -- I should build in an automatic 10-minute buffer, give them a 10-minute headstart. But at least I know the wait is coming. Woody just stares at the door, at me, at the door again, tail wagging, tongue-lolling grin on her face. She hasn¢t figured it out yet. Mom¢s the next in line, lacing her boots up, then dashing upstairs to empty her pea-sized bladder and give her hair a quick brush (although who she expects to encounter in the woods, I can¢t fathom. Colin Firth sporting a translucent shirt, clinging damply from his dip in Pemberley Lake perhaps? Or Aragorn, dashing sword aloft in his quest to protect Frodo Baggins?) Regardless, bladder relieved and primping completed, she too waits, for the Master of the House. Dad eventually tromps into the kitchen, boots on but laces trailing untied like strands of seaweed. He¢s bearing a small daypack, laden w/ water bottle, emergency space blanket, first-aid kit, swiss army knife the approximate size and weight of a brick, flashlight, compass, well, you get the idea. And this is just a 2 hour hike. Imagine what overnighters are like¢¦ Anyway, that¢s what a typical walk entails in my house. And that¢s before the walk even begins. So, imagine my confounded, stupefied amazement when, yesterday afternoon, Dad was the first one ready to go, pack in hand, boots on and laced tight. ¢Course, it didn¢t hurt his chances that Mom and I weren¢t going. Competing against Becky and Craig in a test of readiness, and in sheer quantity of stuff that must be selected, deliberated on, rejected, and ultimately toted, it really isn¢t a fair fight. Dad¢s ready, Craig¢s shuffling around getting his boots, more suitable for an Alaskan exploration than puttering around the muddy trails of western PA. And then Becky pipes up that she¢s coming too. Well, that just adds a whole new level of chaos to the already (unnecessarily) complicated outing. As Mom said, ¢Number One Daughter is going w/, Dad. You may need to adjust your plans accordingly.¢ (As Number Two Daughter, I¢m not allowed to throw wrenches like that into short-term plans. I just do things like announce that I¢m going to hike in the woods for six months, that¢s all.) So, now Becky has to round up her hiking boots, from the positive mountain of clothing she drove half-way across the country for a 10-day trip. Boots found, she dons her brand new down jacket, only to reject it a moment later (¢It might get snagged.¢). Rooting through the hall closet unearths a rain jacket. Matt¢s, as we discover when Becky puts it on and it comes to her knees. Mom tsk tsks, says, ¢That won¢t do¢, and goes in search of hers which not only will provide a better fit but is also ¢a more flattering color.¢ Again, this obession w/ fashion in the woods?! Puzzling, very puzzling. Personally, I think the forest green was a very suitable choice for a woodsy walk. Regardless, once the jacket issue was resolved, after another round of scrounging in another closet, then we shifted to hats and gloves. This one too big, that one was wool (too scratchy). Eventually, everyone¢s finally bundled securely, Craig w/ his fire-engine red hat, ear flaps extended, and ready to go. Poor Woody¢s about pulled a hip muscle from her non-stop tail-wriggling once she sense a walk upcoming. And so, they four headed outside, into the 50deg. weather. But they were ready, in case that blizzard swept in from nowhere. Nope. They wouldn¢t be caught off-guard. Not the Schultzes. Or the Vickstroms. Becky certainly couldn¢t have found anyone more perfectly suited for her than Craig. Two peas in a pod, those two. A pod unbelievably stuffed w/¢¦well, stuff. As many bags and suitcases Becky pulled out of her car, Craig matched her, down to the babushka bags. And he carts his laptop around like a security blanket, just as she does.Wow. I didn¢t mean, or intend, to be so verbose. It was supposed to be a brief anecdote, not an unending saga. On that note, I¢m going to shut up.