Life lessons on the AT
Pain and patience
Nine miles in and I was already mad at myself for forgetting the one thing I needed to have in my pack more than anything else in the world. How could I have been so careless?
When you go out on an all-day adventure on the Appalachian Trail, you plan for every contingency. First and foremost should have been foot care, which I didn’t have. What I did have were multiple hot spots on the backs of my heels, which would soon become full-blown blisters. Dumbass.
My wrath wasn’t confined to my own sorry self. I was mad at the AT for being so uninspiring. Nothing but rocks and dead leaves on the ground. The intrinsic ‘charm’ of the trail is in its complete lack of aesthetic character, but did it have to be so barren?
“The AT gives you nothing, and demands everything,” I muttered to Brad, who reminded me to stay patient. Speaking of my best friend of over 40 years, I was mad at him for always wanting to do this same old slog. Year after year, climbing this monotonous stair climber of rock.
I was mad at the sun for being warm, mad at my pack for being so heavy, mad at my stomach for feeling bloated. Mostly, though, I was mad at the searing pain in my heel. It felt like someone was stabbing me with a fork every time the trajectory of the trail changed, which was basically every single step. In short, I was an absolute delight.
Finally, after several hours of agony, I gave in and checked the damage. There were two sizable blisters developing on the back of my left heel. One was bad, the other was worse. We’re talking fully ripped open and exposed. A fitting metaphor for how I was feeling.
