Musings of a Thru-Hiker
By Gary Shealy
Rainbow Springs
April 23rd
It was nearly 9:00pm when the lights were turned off for the night in the bunk house. 9:00 o'clock was a late night for Thru-Hikers, typically we turn in around dark and rise with the sun. The convenience of electric lights and a dry bunk house were enticing enough to keep us awake a short while longer. The days were getting longer, but even so we still managed at least ten hours of rest a night. Ten to twelve hours seems almost appropriate to allow the body to recover from the daily agenda of extended exertion from backpacking.
Nonetheless, my body was making me painfully aware that I was pushing too hard too soon. Between the blisters and swollen ankles, the poison ivy was more of a nuisance except for the fact that it threatened to swell shut one eye and scar the delicate tissues in and around the eye. My blisters had actually shown some improvement in the days since the Neel's Gap, at the least they were no worse. I tried to pretend that the pain in my feet was due to the tenderness from the blisters. It was not. Never before had I encountered such swelling. It just did not make sense that my ankles could swell, after all, all I was doing was walking! Just walking!
The prescription was almost too much to bare. My journey was just starting and already I was faced with events that could end it entirely. In all of my planning, it never occurred to me that I would have to quit because my body could not take it. Sure I knew about stress injuries, but this was too soon for that, less than two weeks out. I wrestled with the thought of being forced from the trail until I finally fell asleep.
Mentally I had not prepared myself to quit. The doctors, of course, said stay off the feet, ice packs, elevate the extremities, etc., and in a few weeks all should be better. That prescription was hard to swallow. Sometimes it is really necessary to find an objective opinion to evaluate a personal injury. For me this was the Super Bowl, Olympics, and New York marathon all rolled into one. It represented years of dreaming, preparing, and conditioning. So much of my life and being was tied up in preparing for the trail, that I could not accept that I might have to stop after barely getting started. What price? Continue to hobble and face the possibility of permanent damage, disability? Perhaps to never run, play basketball or tennis again? Some soul searching was in order, and clear objective advice was needed.
The extra strength aspirin and other medicines worked to put me to sleep. I slept without moving with my swollen ankles elevated and cushioned on a roll of clothing and gear. Several hours later I suddenly awoke and felt that I was about to burst. I tried to deny it and close my eyes and go back to sleep. It was no use. I felt that I had consumed two liters of coke and had been standing in line for the bathroom for hours. The agony was real. My eyes began to water. I did not want to get up as the dull ache in my ankles reminded me of pain in walking. Even on a good day it is difficult to slide tender bare feet into cool damp boots and to rise up on open blisters, but I had no choice. I groped around for my single cell solitaire flashlight, and eased toward the door trying to remember where the furniture and gear was and trying not to wake the bunk house. I slowly opened the screen door, and it moaned and creaked as doors can only do at night announcing my departure to wake the world. No doubt this door was manufactured by the same company that made the backdoor at home which for years unfailingly notified my parents of the unauthorized excursions of their two sons, and then mysteriously some years later abruptly stopped creaking when the parents were coming and going to late night parties.
Slowly I ambled into the night, and after an eternity, passed what must have been a liter. I stood clad in only briefs and boots quivering in the cool damp night air as the bladder spasms slowly subsided. Moments later my head began to clear, and I realized that the medicine I had taken must be a diuretic and a powerful one. I returned to my bunk quickly falling asleep. This process was repeated every two and a half hours until daylight. It was good that I was not on the trail, since dehydration would have been unavoidable.
Early morning drew the hikers from their bunks, one by one. The creaky door was waking too, as the sun rose the creaks grew fainter and fainter. The hikers gathered around the camp store and ate heartily from the pricey fare. It would be a good day for register receipts. My ankles looked much better. They were tender, but the swelling was greatly reduced (it had to be with all the trips out that night). The poison ivy was far better too. Others were surprised how quickly it was clearing up.
My prayers had been answered that night. I would stay off my feet for two more days, and then resume hiking half days at reduced pace. Frequent stops, soaking my feet in each stream, and elevating my feet at every opportunity, I would go slower and set a minimum time for each stop. After a few days I would re-evaluate my progress.
The camaraderie of the hikers grew through the morning. Breakfast was finished with blocks of cheese and ice cream as desert. It was a good day in a long journey.
Peace,
Slim
Copyright 1991-2000, all rights reserved
This is a fictional account of an actual Thru-Hike in 1990. Any resemblance to specific individuals or events is purely coincidental.