The Appalachian Trail

Yesterday was the first time I chose my day off  based on the fact that I simply could not stop reading a book.
On Monday, I started reading "Becoming Odyssa," by Jennifer Pharr Davis, which was recommended by my favorite blogger, Kristin Amstrong.  I just couldn't put it down.  Jennifer was 21 and a new college graduate when she decided to hike the Appalachian Trail -- all 2,175 miles of it.  I'd heard of the AT, of course (who could forget Governor Mark Sanford's faux alibi when he was actually off with his mistress in Argentina?) and made a mental note to myself that I would like to "hike the Appalachian trail some day," but after reading this book, I know I never will.  I have too much respect for it.

Here are some of the things I learned about the AT, and long-distance hikes in general:

Thru-hikers are those who start in Maine and finish in Georgia (or vice-versa). Day hikers or weekend hikers or sectional hikers?  Self-explanatory.

"Trail Magic" means food gifts left for hikers.  That can range from a couple of granola bars placed strategically on a rock, to an all-you-can-eat buffet hosted by a church at the foot of the mountain you're on.

Hikers use trail names -- Odyssa, Mooch, Nightwalker, Granola -- in place of their own.

The shelters located along the way are rugged and often raunchy lean-tos, a far cry from the elegant structures I remember from the France-to-Spain trail in "The Way."

When hikers encounter unpleasant fellow hikers along the way, they get up very early in the morning, hike fast and hard and hope they've left the guy in the dust for good.

Thru-hikers are contemptuous of their weekend-hiker counterparts, who pack the shelters, forcing the thru-hikers to pitch their tents outside, and eat and drink gluttenously while the exhausted and half-starved thru-hikers make do with power bars and Snickers.

"Slack-packing" is when a friend  meets you at a particular point along the way, carries your heavy gear in their car, and meets up with you hours or days later.

Hikers mail boxes of supplies to themselves at different post offices along the route.

While this may be common sense, all of it was news to me, and I finished this book with the delicious satisfaction of knowing I had learned something -- a lot actually -- about a particular subject.

Several years after completing this hike, Jennifer went back a second time, and set the world record for finishing the 2,175 trek -- in 46 days.  That's an average of 47 miles per day! Okay, her husband slack-packed for her the whole way, but still.

Talk about humbling. I thought five miles a day was a lot.  I have to remind myself that Jen was 21, jobless, dogless, childless and in fantastic physical shape.

So, why do I say I know I'll never hike the Appalachian Trail?  The moment has passed.  I'll never be that free of responsibilities and that long on time.  The hikers were completely at the mercy of the elements -- freezing rain, hail, blackflies, heat, humidity, snakes, heck, Jennifer even got struck by lightning! -- and she showered maybe every four days.  Can you imagine going four months or so with absolutely no regular skin-care regime?  At my age, that's ground that can never be regained.

But here's one thing Jennifer and I have in common -- we both know the healing power of walking.

I didn't sleep well last night, and though my insomnia is often a mystery to me, last night it wasn't.  I am in the process of transitioning from my long-term megabank to a credit union. Never skilled at checkbook balancing under the best of circumstances, I miscalculated the dates of when automatic deposits and withdrawals were going to hit at each place, and checks are bouncing all over Austin.  Aagghhh.

So after a very restless night, I got up a little after 4:00AM, and Banks and I left the house at 4:40.  We completed his 1.3 loop, I took him home, and took off solo.  I went towards Stacy Park intending to hit the hills, but it sounded very boring this morning, so when I got to Live Oak, I turned right. Llive Oak goes on forever, and I took it all the way to I-35.  Retraced my steps, and then got on Travis Heights Blvd., which went on even longer, I think, deadending into Riverside.  What I liked about both those streets was that there were hills and valleys both coming and going, and I got a great workout.  I was drenched by the time I got back on East Hill, and instinct told me I'd gone at least five miles.  Walked in the door, and it was 6:17.

And I'm better.  I walked off the stress and I gained perspective.  The lesson is that some things are out of my control at this point, and all I can do is hold steady.  I'm not plotting who to call and who to meet with, and how to reverse things that are irreversible.  If I weren't a Christian, I'd swear I was a Buddhist.