I have discovered that one of the downsides of taking an extended time to go backpacking is that, when you come home everything can be compared to your trip. I went biking with a friend of mine and, as I was panting, I told her, “Man, I’m really out of shape.”
She said, “You spent 2 and 1/2 months backpacking the Appalachian trail, you are in incredible shape.”
To me, this is somewhat akin to saying, “We can put a man on the moon but we can’t make a ziploc bag that stays closed.” The two things aren’t necessarily connected. I may have been able to hike, but my feet got huge, my knees were swollen, and I rolled my ankle almost daily. In other words, I was not quite a model of athletic prowess.
Nor am I now. I have started playing with my Ultimate Frisbee team again. At a recent practice I said, “Wow. I’m feeling winded.” A friend of mine said (like many people do now), “No way! You just spent 2 1/2 months on the Appalachian trail!” You have to understand, I could hold my own in a walking competition, but running and biking are totally different. I can only play sports if I go very, very slowly (but I can last forever).
I think my friends may have an over-inflated concept of my hiking abilities, which is flattering, but sadly not true. I was, without exception, the slowest thru-hiker I met on the trail. I never once passed another Southbound thru-hiker, but was passed by many.
I didn’t really mind. I find that slowness appeals to me. I know it’s a little weird, but airplanes freak me out. They are too fast, and I don’t get to feel in my body the distance I’ve traveled. A friend of mine says that he likes airplanes because they feel like magic to him. He goes to sleep and then *poof* wakes up and he is across the country. When I am on a plane, I don’t feel the magic. I feel like someone has drugged me, crammed me into a tiny compartment, and dropped me in a strange place.
Admittedly, I am a little weird.
I just like getting places slowly. When I was on the trail, my perfect day involved around eight miles of hiking, 3-4 hours of writing, time to take pictures, and time to sit still and do nothing. At that rate, (and I’m not kidding here) it would take around twelve months to finish the Appalachian Trail. And that’s not counting the whole days where I didn’t do anything but writing. Suffice to say, I go very slow and I like it.
When I was in a town along the Appalachian Trail, an older woman offered to give me a ride that would cut off a chunk of the trail. “Honey,” her husband said. “She’s doing this to backpack, not to drive. She wants to walk it.” He looked at me and I nodded. I find the pace of hiking very peaceful and I miss it.
Life has been moving too fast for me in the city. I go to bed and it feels like things are ticking away in my head–like there is a jumble and a tiny bit of frenzy. The people I see on the street all seem to be in a hurry. I feel like I’m in a hurry right now and I don’t have anywhere I need to go. On the trail, the people you meet will sit down and talk with one another. Everyone is friendly and smiles at one another. I smiled at a woman today on the street and she clenched her teeth as if I was planning on abducting her tiny dog.
Don’t get me wrong, I love being in my city. I was so lonely on the trail, and I’m glad to be back around my friends. And, as it has been rainy and cold in Portland, I’m grateful for a roof, a bed, and a hot shower. Still, I am hoping to get out into the woods again soon to let my mind declutter. I need to slow down enough to let my brain and body catch up with one another.
If all else fails, I’m going to set up my tent in my friend’s backyard and pretend I’m in the woods. Because, if there is one thing that you do learn from 2 1/2 months on the Appalachian Trail, it’s how to improvise.
