Date: 2015-04-21
From: Beech Mountain Road

To: Old Orchard Shelter
Miles today: 21.2
Weather: broken clouds

I truly met the Appalachian trail for the first time today. Before I elaborate on that statement, for those of you who don't know me, I feel compelled to provide a bit of background, to lend gravity to the lengthy expression below. I am a fairly positive person; I try to carry a Pollyanna mindset. My difficult work days are characterized by outbursts of singing and buying coffee for everyone in my office. I am a regular cheerleader for my work team, and it is rare that you would catch me without a smile, unless I am deeply entrenched in an Excel file. I am a runner of sorts. I say "of sorts" because Proudfoot is a RUNNER. I am, in comparison, a jogger. But I do love running, and I consider myself to be in fairly good shape. Good enough to run 35 miles in a week without problems. As most runners, if I hurt when running, I try to work through it. If I am having a particularly difficult run, I will sing to myself while I relax my body into resolution. My feet are runner's feet. They are calloused, ugly, and I am usually missing at least 1 toenail at any given time. They are tough feet, and I am used to dealing with blisters and chafing and muscle strains. When I first stuck my feet into my boots this morning, the stinging sensation was poignant. I limped through the first 100 feet or so of the trail, while I acclimated to the feeling. The morning was chilly at 40 degrees or so. Within the first 3 miles of the hike, we climbed 2400 feet. The trail was rock, roots and boulder. On an on, the trail seemed to stretch in front of us. While the sunshine was radiant, the day remained cool. As we climbed, the picturesque scenes reminded me vividly of Narnia, Rohan and Terabithia. The forest was dense at points, with gigantic moss covered boulders, and beautiful tiny white flowers. We crossed over a series of rivulets, the water once again enticingly clear and cold. And yet as we climbed, all of this beauty became completely, horribly muted by the pain in my boots. I could feel tension in the blister on my left foot as it grew, and I could feel an identical blister forming on my right foot. The periodic limp that I adopted in order to avoid putting excess pressure on the balls of my feet caused strain in my calves. Every root, rock, mud pit and twist in the trail became a challenge. At first, it just added to the difficulty of the hike, but soon it began to feel insurmountable. I felt worn by the 5th mile of the day. Every step was belabored, and every observation of my pleasant surroundings was completely forced, by way of attempting to distract myself. And we kept going. Up and up. And I kept getting wearier, and the pain more pronounced... I felt as though my body would give out. I wanted to stop. I wanted sit down on a tree stump and sob. I wanted a hug from my mom. I wanted to not care about goals, or my pride, or about Proudfoot, hiking strong and patiently behind me. I wanted to quit.  I broke down, and said desperately to my running buddy, hiking companion and friend, "Mark. I'm not feeling very tough right now." He immediately came to my rescue, talking to me about the beautiful terrain we were crossing, about the cold water and warm food ahead of us. About the accomplishments of our hike so far. About being able to sit and rest at the next shelter. He pulled my water bottle out of my backpack for me, and made me drink while he filtered more water from the stream. He looked at me sympathetically, and told me, without even a hint of patronizing, that I was a badass. We kept going. My tired legs could move yet. My feet could yet handle this transient pain. On and on. Up and up. And finally, the forest of tall pines gave way to an orchard-like patch of low growing trees, covered in those crazy, vibrant, lime-green lichens, and beyond the orchard, as we climbed higher yet, there was a landscape unlike anything I have ever seen outside of a photo book. A beautiful green bald, covered with scattered rocks and boulders, reaching to the sky. And peaks beyond, with dark pines peppered across bright green grass and huge jagged rocks growing out of the soft earth. The path went straight up into the sky across the bald, and as we climbed, the view became clear on every side. The wind crossed us, chill and strong and musical. My eyes were drawn repeatedly away from the trail itself, to the breathtaking panorama of the location it had led us to. Mountains surrounding us on every side. Valleys and peaks, and the bald with its surprising rock formations, and captivating expanse. And just as my feet had earlier muted the beauty of the trail, so now this majesty made my trivial physical concerns seem trite. If one had been hungry and tired, or angry or filled with regret or sad and hurting... it would have mattered not in that moment.And just as the weather in these mountains can so abruptly change, the tears brimming in my eyes transitioned from their association with my self involved sense of suffering, to a feeling of joy for existing in this world. I was overwhelmed by the way the trail seemed suddenly to transcend the experience of any one hiker; a sense of connection with each person who stood speechlessly in awe of this view. As we were in the last 3 miles, we were further rewarded, being greeted by a herd of wild ponies grazing on top of the highlands. The picturesque moment was surreal. They were sweet and friendly, and followed us at first as we began to move on down the mountain. When we finally arrived at my car, and I was able to remove my boots, I noted that my blister had doubled in size, and the right foot was now just as bad. Looking in the mirror, I could see sunburn across my face. And as I was driving 7 hours home, my body also suddenly decided to void my digestive tract of all food ingested during the trip, having probably picked up bacteria from not being able to wash properly.And knowing now, that I would experience these things...  I would do it again. A thousand times. I would go through much greater pain, and I'm sure that many have, in order to accomplish this feat. I climbed a mountain today, and nothing else matters. I could look over my shoulder, and see the agony and success of my day in the landscape laid beneath me. Pain, hunger, and sickness - things that people have risked for years - just to be able to climb higher and longer. To see the countryside. To see the challenge before you, and to master it. The trail disciplined me over these three days, as a parent would a child. The product of the lesson, apparent in the difference between the flippant cheerfulness of my first entry, and the depth of joy that I am now stumbling to express. The Appalachian trail, and the people who hike it, are inspiring because of the sacrifice required for the gain. The willingness to go hungry in order to feed something in you that yearns more than an empty stomach. To be lonely, hoping to find something of yourself. To go on when you want to stop, to find that at the end of the day, you have climbed a mountain. I met the trail under cordial circumstances, as acquaintances being introduced at Sunday brunch. These thru hikers have achieved a level of familiarity beyond a mere introduction. They are benefiting from the commitment required to nurture a relationship. When they arrive at Katahdin, the trail will be as an old friend, from whom they have learned many lessons, and with whom they have shared many memories. Proudfoot crossed mile marker 500 today. And after I left to return home, where I can nurse my pathetic wounds, and sleep in my warm bed, he continued on to face new challenges on the trail. I watched him turn and continue his journey, hiking boldly ahead. (And then return quickly, realizing he had left his cell phone charger in my car). This is Proudfoot again:After I left Massie Gap and Arwen, I retraced my steps out the spur trail to the AT. Mr. Maroon was laden down with 5 days worth of food that I packed from the trunk of Arwen's car. She brought enough of food along to go a lot more than five days but I don't want to carry more than that, so I left a lot of it in her car. It was almost 4:00 when I got back on the AT so I pushed pretty hard to make it to Old Orchard Shelter by 7:00. There are probably a dozen or more tents here at the shelter. I was hearing that there is a wave of hikers ahead of me, so this must be the back end of the wave.