morvasaaty/AppalachianTrail-LD-Hikers-Blogs-and-Weather-20-years huggingface dataset:
Date: 2008-04-06
To: My 26.2 Miler
Miles today: 0.0

At mile 23, I decided I hate marathons. The piercing pain in my toes caused a limp that mutilated my gait into a sort of a hobble. The bizarre people with whom I had started the race ¢ two men pulling a wine barrel, a juggler, a fella in a paper mach© bull head ¢ were all ahead of me. The fact that they could run faster than me was terrible for morale. And this course was flat; I began worrying about the uphill miles on the AT. Stupid Marathon.        But, I kept plodding along, inspired by the happy memories of the morning. I recalled the nervous excitement of the 30,000+ crowd of runners along the Champs Elys©es waiting for the starting whistle. I thought of Hank¢s smiling face as he resupplied me with energy gels at the Bastille. I remembered running a while with my cousin and playing tour guide as we passed under the shadow of the Chateau de Vincennes. Later, two great friends, Karen and Steven, surprised me by cheering outside the golden domed Invalides. Bless them ¢ they even had a sign.        Still, at mile 25, my pace was off, my feet were crippled, and that adrenaline rush that was supposed to pull me though to the end was obviously not coming.         ¢I could have done this better/faster,¢ I thought while fighting the urge to walk/crawl to the finish.         This was true. Running with my cousin altered my pace. Stopping at Hank cost me minutes. Ogling the sights broke my concentration. However, I refuse to sacrifice the enjoyment of the journey for the sake of the end goal.        French spectators encouraged me onward: ¢Vite, Andrea!¢ ¢Allez. Allez. Allez.¢ ¢Bon courage, Andrea!¢        In the final stretch, I saw my family. They had just stepped off their plane from the US and raced to cheer for me in the last mile. It definitely deserved a pause for hugs.        Then the sprint ¢ a hard push to the end. My feet pounded. Tears rivered down my face. I ran faster than I had all morning. Even the announcer applauded my strong finish. And I still achieved my original goal ¢ I broke five hours.         Final time: 4h58m31s        After receiving my finisher¢s medal, I took off my shoes to discover the cause of my anguish. For the first time ever from running, my poor toes were disfigured by blisters.         Now, as I refine my skills with a needle and Neosporin, I am working to convince Hank that we have the resources to run the Mont St Michel Marathon this May.
Date: 2008-04-18
To: Last Glimpses
Miles today: 0.0

Long ago, I saw circus elephants assemble a big top tent the day before the performance. Long ago, I watched an old neighbor till his fields with a wooden plough and donkey, as he had done every spring since that century began. Long ago, I laughed at a silent stage and Marcel Marceau¢s mastery of mime. Final glimpses of treasures from the past.Long ago, the forests of the East were taller, crowned by the American chestnut. They created an overstory above the forest canopy and dominated the landscape with their gargantuan heights of up to 150 feet. At first frost, their velvet lined burrs opened to rain down their fruiting structures¢ three nuts to the enjoyment of the Appalachian¢s wildlife and of the mountain¢s human residents. While they feasted on the sweet nutty flesh of freshly roasted chestnuts, our grandfathers harvested the strong, straight-grained wood and profited from its richness in tannins, which made it resistant to decay.But these are stories from long ago. It has been a century since last the American chestnut peppered the landscape. A fungal villain called Cryphonectria parasitica destroyed the populations. It annihilated them in a generation.I have never seen one.My chance may come while hiking the Appalachian Trail. Resilient roots send up shoots refusing to die. Though they rarely reach reproductive maturity before the fungus attacks, forty thousand trees are visible from the trail, according to a graduate study conducted nine years ago. This is a good year for looking. The Appalachian Trail Conservancy has partnered with the American Chestnut Foundation in an effort to find trees to add to the genetic diversity of their breeding program. Theirs is a twenty-five year old effort to develop a blight resistant tree. And so partly for them, but mostly for me, I will look for the deeply serrated leaves and hairless twigs of Castanea dentata, the American chestnut. A last glimpse of this treasure from the past.
Date: 2008-04-26
To: Clif Bars
Miles today: 0.0

We first got attached to Clif Bars while training for our first Chicago Marathon four years ago. Back when long runs were rewarded with a Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Crunch Clif Bar and a C Monster Odwalla Smoothie.Ah, those were the days. The marathon was to be a once-in-a-lifetime check off the life list - not some crazy thing we do every couple of months. (We are indeed training for May¢s Mont Saint Michel Marathon.) Then, the long runs merited culinary delights, even fifteen minute professional massages. Now, we put in sixteen miles, and it is followed with a dialogue of: ¢What¢s in the fridge?¢¢Um¢¦.ham¢¦an egg¢¦leftover lentils¢¦Oh! yogurt!..wait, just one¢¦Should we split it and then eat lentils?¢But we have not before hiked a long trail from beginning to end. Our days on the Appalachian Trail deserve the same special Clif Bar rewards as our first marathon. So, I have ordered some. Sixty-four, in fact. Of assorted varieties. And thirty-two Odwalla Bars. And twenty-eight Power Bar Performance Bars. And eighty-two Snickers.
Date: 2008-05-04
To: via Acadia
Miles today: 0.0

It will be a full car - me, Hank, two brothers and a cousin. Up from the original four (us and my parents), down from a peak of nine people (all those previously mentioned, plus my aunt and uncle). Maine may motivate many, but real life commitments like school and business have slimmed the group down to the five of us. A twenty-plus hour non-stop overnight drive separates our homes in South Carolina from our destination. Yet, just two hours shy of Katahdin, the mountain to which I am so desperate to go, we will abandon I-95 and turn onto highway A1 toward the coast, toward the glacier carved cliffs of Acadia National Park.This is why my cousin wants to come. Using a twenty year plan, he is out to see all the national parks. Acadia is high on his list. Deservedly so.   Rich blue-green waves crash against its rocky coast. Peregrine falcons nest on the granite ledges of the mountain tops. Old carriage roads hint of the park¢s aristocratic past. And the Carriage House serves ridiculously delicious pop-overs with jam. I imagine they will be a delightful reward to a morning¢s hike.This is why my brother wants to come. Hiker¢s blood courses through his veins and regularly calls him to the mountains. One hundred twenty-five trail miles network the national park. They transverse rugged shorelines, lead deep into woodlands, and summit at magnificent oceanic views. I imagine we will work up an appetite for Maine lobster.This is why my other brother wants to come. He has requested the daily devouring of good ol¢ Homarus americanus. This will require regular trips into Bar Harbor, which serves a double benefit, as Hank is fond of a locally brewed blueberry ale. I imagine that both the shellfish and the beer will be a fine send-off for the three days before we hit the Appalachian Trail.This is, of course, why I want to go.
Date: 2008-05-13
To: Cool Things Done
Miles today: 0.0

If last week had a theme, I bet the name was ¢Cool Things to be done in Preparation for the Appalachian Trail.¢   Though more exist, I will limit myself to my three favorite examples.1. On Saturday afternoon, to celebrate Hank¢s turning 27, we spread picnic blankets along the sunny bank of the Seine, feasted on sweets, and drank 5L of Saumur Blanc Sec in the company of friends. We needed a water bladder for camp. Happily, for the same price as buying a proper one, we picked up a box of spirits from my favorite wine region and created our own. 2. Since we only have eight days between our returning to the States and our departure for Maine, we are trying to do as much as possible from overseas. This week we were blessed with a generous gift from family, a gift timed perfectly with the REI anniversary sale. So, we finished ordering our gear. Dad says it¢s like Christmas at the house: new boxes arrive for us everyday. 3. Earlier this week, away from the wilds of Paris, we found ourselves in the beautiful French state of Brittany (Bretagne), one of the seven Celtic nations. We took a ferry from the mainland to explore the Belle-Ile-en-Mer, or ¢Beautiful Island in the Sea.¢ It is appropriately named.         We hiked the cliff edges high above the brilliant blue of the crashing ocean. The ground was covered in the soft pinks, purples, and whites of the blossoming cushion plants. Pheasants called from every farm field, Greater Black Backed Gulls nested among the bright yellow gorse, and Lapwings circled dramatically in the air, trying to distract us from their little ones that scurried below in the grass. We listened to the waves below us while we paused for a lunch of fresh strawberries and the chocolate cake made for us that morning by the little old lady in whose house we were staying the night.         It was the practice hike of practice hikes!
Date: 2008-05-19
To: Waiting 
Miles today: 0.0

947 days until the next total lunar eclipse. 219 shopping days until Christmas. 99 days until my birthday. 33 days until we step foot on the Appalachian Trail¢¦not that I¢m counting.The gear list has been ordered. The menu is set. Every detail that I can think of has been completed and then double checked for accuracy. Everything ¢ including the pre-addressing of postcards, including the creation of twenty-seven 1¢x 2¢ ziplocks of marzipan, including the typing of printable address labels for our resupplies (and for that matter, including the posting here of our early mail drop locations).33 days until we tackle Katahdin.My task list of all the things to be immediately accomplished upon returning to the United States is so overly organized that, in Hank¢s words, ¢it takes a special kind of person to create¢¦¢33 days until Southbound becomes a direction, our direction.I have studied the birds of the AT, the reptiles, the mammals, the amphibians. I have read the history of the trail and the stories of past hikers. I have even created a powerpoint to learn the different types of clouds.¢What are you on to now?¢ Hank asks.¢The night sky,¢ say I. ¢Isn¢t that when we are sleeping?¢¢Yeah, but just in case¢¦¢The miles are run. The heavy picnics are carried. The day hikes are practiced. The yoga stretches are memorized.33 days.33 days.I feel as if I am eight years old in the back seat of the mini-van on the way to Grandma¢s: ¢Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?¢33 days¢¦not that I am anxious.
Date: 2008-05-27
To: Back to Brittany
Miles today: 0.0

The gentle rains welcomed us to Brittany. Dark clouds played backdrop to the purple cliffs of the Valley of No Return. Soft drops danced as small ripples in the still quiet pond beside the Golden Tree. The sky was quiet as we failed to find the Spring of Youth beyond Merlin¢s Tomb.         The heavy rains waited until the Ile de Brehat to welcome us properly. Had we known that the water would soak through our clothes and run down our backs, we would not have used poor Karen¢s shirt to wipe dry the seats on the boat tour around the island. Bless his heart - as we hiked through the pastures along the rocky shore and the rain came down in sheets, Steven confessed to us that he had only packed the one pair of pants. ¢I thought if it were raining we would have stayed indoors,¢ he said. Steven and Karen are great friends, great travel companions, and great sports when it comes to weather. Together, the four of us navigated through the raindrops and through the tiny charming maze of island paths.        When we reached the Phare du Paon, the high tide that carried us over to the island had receded; the parting waters exposed the shoreline. The storm winds smashed big blue waves against the pink rocks below. As I stared out to sea I thought, ¢I could get no wetter. I could be no happier.¢
Date: 2008-05-30
To: An Abridged History
Miles today: 0.0

For quite some time I¢ve wanted to tell an abridged history of this mountainous trail. And though I can think of few ways worse than to bore you with details written in verse ¢¦I¢m going to do it anyway.Story starts with dreamer Benton MacKaye who climbed a mountain and stared to the sky, and, in so doing, an idea had begun - an idea published in nineteen twenty-one called An Appalachian Trail: A Project in Regional Planning,A thousand-mile footpath proved to inspire,But the dreams of dreamers often requirepractical men to see things throughand this huge task meant much to do.Here enter Judge Arthur Perkins and Myron Avery.With the help of volunteers and hiking clubs,They hacked out a path through the rocks and the shrubs.Sadly dreamer MacKaye left the ATC after a tiff with then president Avery over philosophical differences regarding the Skyline Drive. In thirty-seven the trail building was through ¢¦until the outbreak of World War II,but our boys returned after Hitler¢s defeat and, in fifty-one, it was once more complete with a 200 foot buffer as a government protected trailway. Now, good ol¢ Avery walked the whole thing,in sections, with a wheel for measuring. And in nineteen hundred forty-eightEarl Shaffer walked the whole thing straight,Back when the terminus was Mt. Oglethorpe, GeorgiaIn sixty-eight, to make sure the trail¢d last a National Trail System Act was passed. Later, the government promised the means to preserve the trail and all of its greens,so that now 99% of the AT is on protected land. Soon we¢ll set out and begin to explore what ten thousand hikers have seen before.I am so ridiculously excited.
Date: 2008-06-05
To: Sweating the Small Stuff
Miles today: 0.0

The worries are small, often silly and insignificant, and, unfortunately, mandatory, at least for me.   Like the other day, as I walked the 136 stairs down to the Cit© metro stop, my right knee was noticeable. It did not hurt or anything, but it felt different, tighter. My hyperactive mind began racing: this is the beginning of the injury that will ruin your hike. You must do more yoga, more stretching. Did you train enough? No, you didn¢t train enough or your knee wouldn¢t hurt¢¦.Now, if I had wanted to reason this out, I would have remembered that my right knee is always the more sensitive of the two. I made note of this when I was training for the marathon, and I watch out for it accordingly. But instead of making sense, I let my worries ruin a metro ride.Sometimes, the worries are given to us. Small questions that turn big as they churn over and over in our heads. Such as the innocently asked: Doesn¢t it make you nervous that most of your gear is brand new? Well, yes! Of course it does. But our old backpacking gear weighs a hundred million pounds. (Such weight would have only exacerbated my knee worries.) It¢s not like we will go without testing it at all. We¢ll try it out at home and then again the days in Acadia just before we start hiking. And there are outfitters along the trail if things need replacing¢¦¢¦but trials in the yard are nothing like a test run in the mountains. We are not even going to have the time for a practice hike. No shake downs whatsoever. What if all the fits are all wrong? What if we have too much gear for our bags? What if it is not well made and wears out quickly? NO, Andrea brain!   You stop this right now!As the jittery worries punctuate my excitement, I feel lucky to have such worries at all!   Appalachian Trail, here we come! In sixteen days, anyway.
Date: 2008-06-07
To: Paris? Je lÃÂÃÂ¢ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂadore, or, the Mushy Anniversary Story
Miles today: 0.0

Un petit cornetto. A mango, fraise, & chocolat gelato flower. A departure from our usual cream-heavy scoop from Berthillion, the famous Ile Saint Louis ice-cream shop, because today I was in the mood for something bright, colorful. The Amorino employee sculpts the scoops of orange, red, and brown so they resembled a rose. I give him three Euros.For a while, we walk in the shadows of the 17th century mansions turned apartments, past the upscale boutiques for which our island is known. Then we escape the crowds of window shoppers (l che-vitrine, window-licking in French!) to follow the Seine sparkling in the afternoon sun. A couple waves at us from a passing tour boat. We wave back.The short stroll takes us to the Pont Saint Louis, my favorite bridge in Paris. It is not particularly pretty. That is not why I love it. We stand at the each side watching boats and barges pass beneath us. Across the river stands the ornate Hotel de Ville. If we look left, we see the gothic towers of Notre Dame; looking right, a bank lined with families picnicking and friends drinking wine. Were we to stand on the other side, we would just be able to peek at the top of the Eiffel Tower. We take turns eating the gelato. It is cold on the tongue, sweet on the lips. Hank favors the chocolate, I favor the mango, but flavors marry well together, so we share them all. The accordion player starts. He is why I love this bridge. Of all the street musicians in all of Paris, he is my favorite. Somehow, he always magically plays the perfect song to match my mood. When I dashed to the metro, late for my language class, I¢d hear the Summer Presto of Vivaldi¢s four seasons. On lonely winter evenings when I missed those I love an ocean away, he¢d play sad tunes in minor keys. Today, as I am crushing on Paris, he gives me something appropriately campy and romantic ¢ the theme from Amelie. We eat the gelato quickly so that the sun will not melt it, and leave the bridge. During the meandering of our indirect stroll home, we talk about the good year. I tell Hank that I love Paris and that I am sad to leave. He kisses me and tells me he knows. I tell him that it is a good thing we have such an amazing adventure planned for this summer. He kisses me big time, the romantic way, like how all the in-love tourist couples toasting champagne in the cafes kiss, the way one kisses when they are celebrating their fifth year anniversary in the world¢s most romantic city (as we are today). I adore Paris, but I think I like it so much because I share the experience with Hank. Since Hank hikes with me on the Appalachian Trail, I have no doubts about embarking on this next escapade.
Date: 2008-06-13
To: Back in the States 
Miles today: 0.0

Back in the States and running.Four months of food makes the garage look like a ¢mini-Sams,¢ according to my step-mom.An army of dehydrators run day and night.An army of brothers work intensely bagging trail mix. Hank has become a granola master.We made the switch to an alcohol stove. It boils two cups of water in three minutes¢¦under absolutely ideal conditions.The to-do list is ridiculous ¢ pages long and with sublists. Of course, everything takes thrice the time it should. The check marks come slowly.So much to do. So much to do.
Date: 2008-06-18
To: Kershaw, SC
Miles today: 0.0

        The excitement builds and the to-do list dwindles as our departure grows imminently closer. A generous day or a mere matter of hours ¢ dependent on the weather. The state of Maine is a lovely waiting room.        I¢ve unintentionally gotten a head start on a few things.         Like, I lost my big toe nail. It died during the Paris marathon but remained attached to my foot, keeping it from looking like a mutant. Apparently, the two hours spent floating down the rapids of Green River for the Koester family reunion was too much for the little guy to handle.         After a lazy run of flat water, my tube, my toe, and I bounced through a series of rocks. My father-in-law commented that it was the first set of rapids on which he¢d heard me holler. Now, my foot looks like a mutant.        I¢ve also gotten accustomed to changes in schedule. Handling this task had been a great fear of mine, so I am quiet proud of how I¢ve rolled with the changes. The changes were as followed:original plan: 5 people leave SC on June 18th, play in Acadia, summit Katahdin        -My cousin dropped the trip.2nd plan: June 18th my brothers accompany us to eat lobster and play in Bar Harbor, summit Katahdin        -My brother dropped the trip.3rd plan: leave June 19th at noon, we pick up my brother, Michael, stop on the coast of ME, summit Katahdin        -Hank and I fall 9 hours behind schedule.        Actual plan: Michael proves, as always, to be an excellent traveling companion. He takes most of the driving night shifts, since Hank and I slept little the night before. I drive my three shifts including around NYC. Otherwise, I slept like a kitten and arrived fresh as a daisy in Maine. We headed straight to Millinocket.         Upcoming: We¢ll pick the prettiest weekend day to summit Katahdin and then play the other day¢¦unless Fortuna has something else in mind¢¦        Oh! And I got eaten alive by mosquitos. So that our few days at my parents between Paris and the AT wouldn¢t makes us dull from all work and no play, we played nine holes at the local golf course. Dad chipped in a beautiful movie-worthy Eagle on hole nine. I lost my last pink golf ball and fed the local Culicidae. But I¢ll tell you, a few dozen bug bites was a small price to see Dad¢s pretty, pretty shot.
Date: 2008-06-20
To: Hooray for Dads
Miles today: 0.0

Three cheers for Dads! Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! Hooray for Dad, who hauled an entire family¢s backpacking gear so Mom could pack a little baby me.Hooray for Dad, who helped us research and acquire gear, who is letting us take over his house as we prepare, who is maintaining our mail-drops, and who is absolutely supportive. (A super huge shout-out THANK YOU to Gin as well.) Hooray for Dad, who told a four-year-old me that I could only accompany him on the squirrel hunt if I could sit still for five minutes, but then took me anyway. Hooray for Dad, who taught Hank and me the pains and joys of trail maintenance.Hooray for Dad, who suggested I read ¢A Walk in the Woods¢ to dissuade me from attempting a thru-hike. Not an effective deterrent, but a great laugh.   Hooray for Dad, who gave me his copy of Leopold¢s ¢A Sand County Almanac¢ when I left for college.Hooray for Dad, who is transcribing my journal.(Though I know he hates attention, I have typed this entry special for his premier transcription.)I LOVE YOU!