The Connecticut Challenge

Five years ago, after I graduated from college I decided to hike the Appalachian Trail.  For those of you who don’t know, the Appalachian Trail is a footpath through the wilderness that runs from Maine to Georgia.  It’s 2,517 miles of walking up and down mountain after mountain.  It’s a masochistic bastinado torture machine where your job is to hit the bottom of your feet with 200lbs of force for twelve hours a day, seven days a week.

Two months into the hike, I felt myself become invincible.  I was in the best shape of my life.  I could hike 26 miles, a full marathon in a day, getup the next morning and do the same thing.  My legs had become massive and rock hard.  But there was always a point in the day, around mile 16, where they would start to hurt.  Like someone was hitting the bottom of my feet with hammers.

I hiked Southbound, meaning I started in the north and I was heading south.  Two months into the hike I reached the end of Massachusetts and I was heading into Connecticut.  A friend I picked up hiking on the trail named Reset, yeah it’s a weird name, he was thinking of hiking the whole state of Connecticut, all 53 miles of it, in one 24 hour day.  He asked me if I was interested. I thought about how I had just hiked a 20 mile day, stretched, and then said I’ll wake up at 11:00pm and see how I feel.

So at midnight we start hiking.  It’s pitch black out, we can only see due to the flashlights attached to our heads.  30 minutes in, my headlamps dies.  I try my best to scramble up a ledge but I keep banging my shins on the rocks.  My heart sinks I tell Reset that I can’t do it.  We have no spare batteries.  I didn’t plan for this so I wasn’t prepared.

This is a big deal because if Reset goes on hiking by himself and gets hurt at night, no one will find him for hours.  It’s a dangerous situation.  Plus I’m breaking this promise.  I’m pussing out.

Reset says no, we can do this.  He tells me to stay close to him and use his light.  After trying different positions I settle on hiking in front of him with him close behind.  I learned so much about using all my senses that night.  I was standing in front, so I cast a shadow right in front of myself.  I had no direct vision.  I had the opposite of tunnel vision.  I learned to use my peripheral vision, how to feel the trail with my feet, and study the design of how trails are constructed.  

I discovered that trails form a U shape from all the foot traffic pounded into it.  Trails always go around the side of the tree facing a hill.  My reflexes increased to super human levels.  I almost walked dick first into a pointy log.  Good thing I stopped a split second before.  I tripped so many times that night that I felt like Willie Nelson at Woodstock.

Even though we stopped a few times to alleviate Reset’s unfortunate case of diarrhea, we made good time.  We felt strong when we were walking on the flat portion of the trail 20 miles in.  We stopped and spoke to people.  I tried my best to get the most out of the crappy food I had.  I made a powdered hummus shake.  Don’t try it.  It’s not good.

After the halfway point we hit a problem.  We got lost.  There were trail markers leading down a road and I took them.  Reset stopped and said he thought we should turn around after a mile.  I was stubborn.  I said I needed to make sure; I didn’t want to waste the mileage we just made.  I walk another mile down the steep road to a gas station.  I run in, looking at my watch and the precious time we wasted.  I ask the cashier, “ Where is the trailhead to the Appalachian Trail?”  She has no idea what I’m talking about.  “A trail, a footpath through the woods.” Still a blank stare.  “Do you have a map of the area?”  There is a road map.  I pull it out looking for any indication of a trail.  Nothing.  I buy four candy bars and run out. AHHHH! I’m wasting so much time!

I find a trailhead across the street, and it has a map on a post. Bingo I think.  This must be it.  My heart is pounding and my eyes are darting around but I slowing come to the understanding that this is all wrong.  This isn’t the Appalachian Trail.  It’s a whole other trail with a parking lot with a map.  The map shows the Appalachian Trail way back up the mountain.  It was directly across the street from where we exited the woods.  If I had just kept walking straight I would have seen the trail.  It was only a few steps right in from of us.  Instead I saw the markers on the telephone poles and turned down the street and lost 4 miles and 2 hours of my very precious 24 hours.  

I start running uphill on this random trail in the direction of the Appalachian Trail.  I then realize how stupid I was to not take the road.  So, I cut towards the road and realize how stupid that was too.  The side of the road is covered in a crazy amount of vines. I struggle to posthole through until I realize that rolling on my side is far more productive.  

I speed walk back to the trail head and Reset is gone.  He is nowhere to be found.  This is my worst fear.  I lost him.  He was supposed to be waiting for me to report back.  I decide to continue on the trail and after a mile I find him! He is sitting on the side of the trail eating an orange that a dayhiker gave him.  My heart finally settles down.  I feel like I am reunited with my mother after wandering away in Macy’s.

We set back out on our hike.  At our next stop I get spare batteries from a very kind lifesaving dayhiker.  The following snack break is different.  After sitting down for 15 minutes I find it unusually difficult to stand back up.  This is around the 35 mile marker.  I have never put my body through this kind of torture before.  I put my backpack on, take one step and stumble.  Oh my gawd.  I cannot walk.  Reset tells me we need to go.  I tell him I can’t.  My legs are not moving.  The tendons in my legs are acting like tight strings that lost all their elasticity.

Reset tells me, “You can do it! Just start walking.”  I take little baby steps and after 5 minutes I’m finally taking full strides again.  From then on I realize I can’t stop moving.  I don’t know when my tendons will freeze up for good.

We hike through sunset over more mountains with two headlamps this time.  We find ourselves taking more frequent stops.  Our brains are turning into mush and our motor skills are reduced to those of an 80 year old man.  I stop at a stream to take a quick drink 20 minutes after our last break.  Reset sits right down and starts pumping water.  Its clear he is planning a longer break than I had anticipated.  When he finishes pumping, I tell him we need to get moving.  He has settled into his seat because he knows how far we have.  He tells me, “Come on, we only have 2 miles left.”  I reply, “Yeah, but we only have…” I check my watch, then say, “2 hours.”  His face sinks.  I could tell my words hurt him.  But it was just what he needed to hear.  Reset said, “You’re right.”  Then stood up and we walked those last two miles in one hour.

When we reached the road marking the boarder into New York State, we looked at each other.  Then walked directly across it and into a whole new state of mind.  We had hiked across the whole state of Connecticut in 22 hours.  But this wasn’t a challenge anymore.  This was survival.  We both knew we had 3 miles to go till we made it to the shelter.  Our pace picked up and we walked fast.  Sleep was the drug we were craving and the end of this walk was in sight.

After another hour of walking, it appeared that we were close.  We checked what looked like one side trail.  Nope, that’s not it.  We stop near well water pump.  Consider for a second if we should check.  I don’t remember why, my brain was very hazy at this point.  We take too long to decide to explore, so I start to continue walking on the trail.  Five steps in Reset says, maybe we should just look around the pump a little more.  I shout out to him in a loud grumble, “I already started walking!”  He, for some stupid reason, agrees with this broken logic and follows behind me.

Reset and I reminisced on this one situation many times because if the shelter was by the well water, then we would have had to walk 8 more miles to the next shelter.  Luckily it was only a few steps right in from of us.

Deeper

I remember, when I was young, my neighbors had a dog.  That dog was brown.  He ran around the tall trees.  He broke his leg and disappeared.  I didn’t really understand why the dog went away at the time.  My neighbors got another dog soon after.  It was a black female dog that was twice my size.  I remember yelling at the dog, “Stop!” and the dog obeyed.  I felt so powerful.  I learned the strength of speaking with authority.

I remember hiking through my neighbor’s back yard.  I was traveling with a younger boy.  We walked through the tall trees, vines, and thorns.  It was dangerous!  Just two boys squeezing through the thickest jungle covered in the sharpest prickers.  I had a red windbreaker on that soon earned a few tares.  This boy and I traveled to the deepest end of the woods and back.  When we left, we felt like brave GI Joes that have conquered the most extreme terrain.  I learned the power of courage in the face of danger.

I remember playing soccer with the boy and his younger brother.  We were competitive.  I was the oldest, tallest, fastest, and strongest.  I was able to take them both on and keep the game even.  We used trees, swings, and fences as boundaries.  The brothers would get angry at each other and started fighting almost every time we played.  I tried to stop them because I didn’t like watching them bicker.  One afternoon I turn their fight into a joke.  “Stop fighting! You two need to kiss and makeup.”  “Come on kiss!”  They immediately start laughing.  The fight was over.  I learned the influence of laughter.

I remember arguing with these two boys.  “I’m never going to play with you again!” said the youngest.  “Yeah sure,” I said.  Arguing was a regular occurrence.  I had noticed that even if we seem to have the biggest fight in our short history on the earth, the next day, we would start as friends again.  The slate would be wiped clean.  I learned that friendship grows deeper than grudges.

I remember us getting older.  We grew apart when we moved to different schools and our age gap became less cool.  We lost time.  We were lucky to find each other again though.  We got into paintball.  We played with guns and ran into the woods for cover.  We sliced up our legs and teamed up on each other.  The pain and loss would make us angry, but this time we could control the anger.  We bonded a friendship even stronger.  I learned that strategizing and taking risks made life more exhilarating.

I remember us moving farther and farther away.  We would only see each other on holidays if our family didn’t keep us busy.  We partied hard with the little time we had. I was dropped off at the house of a golden god drunk on history some nights.  One of the last nights together we had an argument.  It was over $10.  I pulled some hair and instantly became disgusted with myself.  I left crying.  I couldn’t believe I would do such a thing to my bother.  “You’re my brother! My brother!” I cried as I sat on the road in the middle of the night.  Our bond had grown deeper that I had sincerely recognized.  I learned that family runs deeper than blood.