Sometimes, life throws you curve balls. Two weeks into our journey, Callie's knee pain was still persistent and severely affecting her ability to hike. And despite our best efforts to rest up and in order to avoid permanent injury, we got off the trail to get medical attention. The doctor said that there is substantial ligament damage, but no structural damage. The treatment is one to two weeks of rest and that, when Callie does begin to hike again, to start very slow and easy. Because of this, our journey has come to a pause.  

Our hike was shorter than planned, but full of rewarding experiences nonetheless. We met many incredible people along the way and could not be more grateful for the opportunity.  We won't look at this as a failure.  Rather, it's yet another experience that will help shape who we are and provide us with direction down the road.

While we are incredibly disappointed that our journey is paused, we loved every second of it. We want to thank everyone for their overwhelming support and words of kindness, as well as our incredible sponsor, PROBAR.

The trail, for now, is behind us, but life is always ahead, and so are countless other opportunities.  We just have to figure out the right one for us again, so don't count us out! 

Again- thank you, thank you, thank you.

Callie & Sullivan

About 12 miles from Albert Mountain (and the 100 mile mark), I felt a tickle in my right knee. Four miles later, that tickle was unbearably painful. The past two days have been tough. We've been pushing for high miles and long days. My optimism was dwindling and I was starting to feel homesick. I knew we had a zero coming up on Tuesday, but it still felt so far away. Monday, as I cried and cried while I hobble-hiked, we took out our book and found a U.S. Forest Service road that intersects the trail. We hiked onwards to that point, hoping to catch someone willing to give us a ride into town- I needed the zero day, and my knee needed the rest even more. We stopped for lunch at Betty Creek Gap, which is less than a mile from the road. Despite my knee pain we pushed almost 11 miles in four hours. While we were eating and giving my leg a break, a girl we've been hiking with on and off came by. Knowing she was a runner, I asked if she knew anything about knee injuries (runners seem to always have the answers to leg injury questions). She took a look at it and said it was probably just stressed, but that I should get it checked out when I get to town. Feeling a little better that I most likely wasn't completely broken, we started to pack up. A group of guys we met the night before came singing out of the woods. Literally singing. We told them what was going on and one of them gave me a spare knee brace that he thought he needed but didn't. Talk about perfect timing for some trail magic! 

When we were half a mile from the road I convinced Sullivan to hurry ahead to the road, just in case a car came by in the time it took me to limp there. I got to the road and saw an amazing sight- about 30 teenagers and some trip leaders. Sullivan talked to one of them, and told him our situation. We were about a mile from a parking area and we were told that our best option would be to go up there to try and get a ride. Sullivan took off sprinting, since it was getting close to 5, and fewer and fewer people were going to be around.

A man who appeared to be the trip leader called their nurse over who looked at my knee. He scolded me for pushing too many miles, but told me to rest and I'll be fine. A truck came along and the leader of the group ran over to flag it down. I got into a total strangers car and we drive a mile and found Sullivan. Their names were Kate and Christy. They drove us to our motel and we settled in for a nice rest day and lots of food. Tonight we're doing five miles to the shelter immediately after Winding Stair Gap. 

This zero day was much needed, as was a pair of new shoes, two nights in a real bed, and our mail drops.

Thanks to everyone who has been a part of this first week, especially Mountain Crossings at Neel Gap and MSR were kind enough to replace our defective stove, free of charge. 

Now for some photo spam: 

First full day on the trail, after a night of rain

Blisters on blisters

Low Gap Shelter

Gnarled Oak near the GA/NC boarder

Coffee coffee coffee

     I am terrified of this hike. Not the kind of overwhelming terror you get when you’re home alone and you’re convinced someone is actively trying to break into your house– it’s more of the subtle looming terror of taking your SATs or the jittery feeling you have all day before a first date or job interview (it’s pretty much the same thing, right?). I have some reasonable fears – ticks, failure, malnutrition- and I have some not-so-reasonable fears – moose attacks and getting miserably and hopelessly lost and never finding my way back, among others.

    I’m naturally a bit of a nervous person- I have to carefully consider each and every action I take, then spend way too much time wondering if it was the right decision. I know that this hike is going to be scary sometimes and I’m going to find myself wanting to quit—but I am determined and stubborn. Very very stubborn. I know this isn’t going to be easy, or fun 100% of the time- I’m hoping for fun times about 25% of the duration. I know it’s going to be hard and I’m going to miss home and real food. I’ll become sick of ramen and dehydrated chili. I’m going to want to give up, because I’ll be scared, tired and damp most of the time.

    How am I going to get rid of these fears? I’m realistic enough to realize that I probably won’t... but that doesn’t mean I can’t deal with them. I’ve done my research. I feel as prepared, mentally, as I think I can get. My best way of dealing with anything- decision making, stressful situations and grocery shopping, to name a few- is list making. I have tons of small notebooks, filled with page after page of lists. Shopping lists, to do lists, pros and cons lists… if you can think of a reason to make a list, I’ve probably made it. At least once a day you can find me writing a to do list. If you look in the notes app on my phone you’ll see dozens of lists with the satisfying check mark next to each item.

    It might be a little obsessive, but lists are my way of dealing with my fears, which often stem from stress. They help ease my nerves and keep me calm when I feel like I’m in over my head. My lists are the best way for me to see how I’m doing and what I need to do to stay on track. In short, lists keep me sane… as sane as a person who wants to hike 2,000+ miles can be. Here’s a breakdown of my most important lists/biggest stress causers- a list of lists, if you will.

My motivation list

This is my most important list (mentally, at least). It’s the one that will be typed, laminated and put into the side pocket of my pack. I’ll reference it at least once a day, in order to remind myself why I’m doing what I’m doing. The idea for this came from Appalachian Trials (Great book, I recommend this to anyone who plans to do any sort of backpacking. Sullivan and I both received a copy from my father and loved reading it!). I’m going to leave my reasons out, simply because I want to keep it personal, between myself and those close to me. I have lots of reasons for doing this hike- some personal and some as simple and cliché as "why not?". It doesn't really matter what my motivations are, as long as it gets done and I have a decently good time doing it. This is an example of one of many (hundreds? thousands? too many) lists I've made. Lists, like I said are essential for my well being and sanity- even while buying groceries.

Gear List

While I prepare for my hike, I have a running list of gear that I need, with two columns- a place to check off that I have that item and a column where I list the exact weight of the item I have. This helps me stay on track of my pack weight goals. I want my base weight to be under 15 pounds, and I’m currently at 7.75 pounds, without clothing, first aid and technology, which I expect to weigh in at about 6 pounds. Base weight is everything in your pack- including the pack- that isn’t considered a “consumable”. Consumables are food, water and fuel, which I'll dive into in my next list. My gear list is more of a list of smaller lists- a clothing list, a first aid list (below), a food list, a map and book list... you get the point. One of my fears is bringing too much gear, and another fear is bringing too little. Right now my "base gear" is as follows: Osprey Aura 65l pack, Marmot Trestles 15 bag, Therma-rest Z-Lite pad, MSR Reactor 1L stove, Stoic Arx 2 tent, REI Traverse trekking poles, Keen Targhee Mid boots, Z1 Chacos, wool base layers, 2 sets of athletic shorts and t shirts, 2 fleece pull overs, 4 pairs of merino socks, wool hat, fleece glove, baseball cap, first aid kit, phone, gopro. Obviously, there's much more, including all the consumables and various small items that I probably won't realize I need until I'm already miles into the trail. But that will have to wait until then.

My food list

Food stresses me out- probably more than it should, considering it will be my absolute favorite thing once I start walking. But trying to plan out my daily calorie intake- while eating foods that I enjoy, that won’t destroy my insides,  is a stressful task. Sullivan and I are both planning to almost double our normal caloric intake while on the trail. I’ve been planning different meals that I think we will both enjoy and look forward to eating. I want hot meals. I don’t want tortillas and peanut butter every day. I want something I can dump into my stove pot, add water to and be able to enjoy after just a few minutes of hydration. I’m mainly focusing on dinners. I know after a long day of hiking, there will be nothing better than a hot, homemade meal.  Breakfasts and lunches will be simpler- PROBARS, oatmeal, poptarts, meal bars-  basic, easy to eat, high calorie foods. I've got a lot of work left to do with dehydrating meals and figuring out what to eat and when, as well as packing our mail drops, but the general idea is there, and the lists have been made.

I'm a climber.  Almost every day, rain or shine, I climb.  Usually, because of the combination of weather, partners' availability, and daylight, my climbing is limited to indoors.  Call me a gym rat; that's OK by me.  Climbing is one of the most important facets of my life--it keeps me physically fit, mentally balanced, and socially engaged.  I've also made a ton of progress (over the last year, especially) refining my technique and getting much physically stronger.  It has taken a tremendous amount of discipline and self control to get to where I am--and it all might be lost in the next 5 months.

You don't wake up one day and start thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail.  You may wake up one day and suddenly want to start this enormous trek, but it's an endeavor that takes major coordination with the rest of life's happenings.  Whether at work, hitting the gym, or merely doing errands, the idea of the Trail is an always-lingering, residual thought that trails behind every action, every conversation.

At least, this is the case for me.

I know that once on the AT, it's an all-consuming task.  By that, I mean, it is a constant, and the rest of life happens around it.  Armed with this knowledge, my daily activities in the months leading up to the hike are all acted out through a trail lens.  Every time I sit in a chair, at a table, and have a meal, I'm envisioning what that moment might be like in the context of the trail: no table, no chair, and "meal" would be a very lose term to describe what I'm consuming.

Committing to the Trail is tantamount to committing to change--and change is scary.  As the saying goes, "the only constant in life is change."  As unavoidably true as this statement is, it's a bit underdeveloped.  What should follow is, "but it isn't always out of your control."

Callie and I don't have to attempt the Appalachian Trail.  Our day-to-day lives would still see many changes.  They would occur gradually and be more nuanced, like striking up a conversation with a stranger or taking a new route home on our daily commutes.  These small changes are plenty exciting in their own ways and help to keep life a bit more interesting; they reflect small adjustments within your lifestyle.

The Appalachian Trail, on the other hand, involves stepping back and reflecting on your life as a whole. Relationships will change, especially the immediate ones. Every routine to which you've become accustomed will be undone and replaced; the trail reflects an entire lifestyle change.

Our "needs" will change.  I've considered climbing a need in the same way one might consider yoga or other regimented fitness a need.  I've achieved many short-term goals and have had my eyes set on some long-term achievements.  I will make every concerted effort to maintain my climbing physic on the trail.  I'll find climbable trees, scale them, then do pull-ups 'til exhaustion on limbs.  I'll bring a tension ball and squeeze it while walking to keep my hand strength up.

In reality, though, my long-term goals will have to be pushed a bit further down the road, and I'll have a lot of climbing catch-up to do when the trail is over and real life resumes.  Climbing as I know it will be lost, yes, but that's no reason not to embark on another journey.  The trail is risky. It's different. It's new.  And, sometimes, it will suck and I'm going to long for missed comforts and routine.

However, in the same way I will be desperately trying to maintain my climbing strength on the trail in the face of potential failure, we sometimes have to go out on a limb in life and embark on adventures that may lead to disappointment.  During these challenges, we have to remember that change is scary, but not out of our control; that rewards for taking risks far outweigh their potential consequences; and that we chose to be here, and that choice comes with the peace of mind that we are here on purpose and that everything will be fine.

Any new adventure, whether setting off for college, looking for a new career, or simply developing a new hobby, is tremendously more difficult without support from others.  Thru hiking, especially, is a team effort.

Callie and I are obviously a team, but our hiking clan will extend beyond our immediate geographical location on the trail.  We have a strong network of support--family, friends, organizations--without whom our Appalachian journey would still be a dialogue in the works.  It's impossible to imagine tackling this momentous challenge without a strong network rallying behind us.

In particular, we'd like to extend PROBAR® a sincere thank you.  Having enough food to survive walking for 5 months is a major logistical and financial challenge faced by thru-hikers.  PROBAR® is substantially relieving that burden for our journey, as they've gone above-and-beyond to be with us every step of the way (pun absolutely intended).  They have promised us enough food to have at least one item per day per person for the entire trail. That's around 300 whole ingredient, non-GMO, organic food bars.  As an out-of-pocket expense, this would have been almost impossible. We might have been forced to settle with less-than-ideal food supplements, yet now we've got a small fortune (relative to a thru-hiker's wealth, especially) in the food we want.

Call me a broken record, but I can't stress enough how important food is on the Trail.  With PROBAR®'s help, we can rest easy that we'll be comforted with healthy products that are both satisfying and nutritious.  The blend of fruit purees, date paste, oats, and cashews in the Fuel® bar will provide us with the right balance of low glycemic carbohydrates and protein for sustained energy.  In the midst of walking, when hunger inevitably hits, we'll have the fiber-rich and nutrient-dense Meal® bars to help satisfy our insatiable appetites.  When lethargy sets in, Bolt® energy chews will deliver complex carbs, B vitamins, and electrolytes to help restore balance in our bodies.  And in those moments of reflection, where we contimplate the craziness we just put our bodies through, we'll have Base® bars' cocktail of protein and nutrient-rich chia and flax seeds to help recover our worn muscles and prepare us to resume our journey.

Nothing about the Appalachian Trail will be easy--and it isn't supposed to be.  However, it is a challenge that can be made more possible and more accessible with the help from others.  Callie and I are lucky in this regard, because we not only have a strong network of friends and family rooting for us, but we also have new relationships developing around our journey. These partnerships, especially with PROBAR®, are crucial in getting us one step closer to Mt. Katahdin.

        Massachusetts is my home. There’s no denying that. But when I was growing up, I had always wished I was growing up somewhere else. Don’t get me wrong, I love everything about the town I grew up in- the house I lived in for 21 years, the people I met growing up, and the fact that almost my entire extended family was located within a 25 minute drive. I wouldn’t be who I am today without such a strong network of support and love, however, I often think about who I would be if I grew up somewhere that wasn’t at sea level. After living in Boulder for a summer, I’m not so sure I would be the same person. I'm a firm believer that you are a product of your environment. If I hadn't grown up where I did, I wouldn't be me. And I kind of like me.

        Growing up, I found myself wanting to travel. I wanted to go someplace with tons of super rad people, less farmland and more mountain air. I truly didn’t have any issues with the people or the town, I just wanted something different. I always wanted to get away from where I was- and I don’t think that this feeling would have been any different, regardless of where I grew up. 

        That isn't to say, however, that growing up at 18 feet above sea level didn't teach me a million-and-a-half things about myself, but since a-million-and-half is hard to count to, here's 6:

1.Make your own adventure

In high school, there was little to do in my town. So Friday nights before sunset, we would pack up the jeep and head to a beach for a bonfire. It was a little weekly thing some friends and I did until it became too cold and the beach closed down for the winter. It was a great way to play outside and enjoy some fresh air and good company. I realized that, since adventure wasn’t going to come to me, I’d go to it. Finding my own adventures, in seemingly boring places, helped me to be more independent in my own adventure seeking, as well as more adventurous all around.

2. Adventure is all in your head

My dad drove the 2+ hours to hike Mount Monadnock when I was just a little girl. I loved it. It’s what sparked my love for the outdoors. But there wasn’t anything higher than 40 above sea level within an hour’s drive. When there’s not a mountain in sight, you have to make your own mountains. We have a big backyard and lots of woods behind my house. My family and I would pack our backpacks and walk for what seems like hours- looking back, it was probably only ten to twenty minutes tops- and pitch a tent for the night. I remember being in my sleeping bag, pretending I was in the mountains.

3. Stay grounded

It’s easy to lose track of your ego when you have access to huge mountains 24/7 and climb them on a regular basis. I was lucky to get out an hike five times a summer as a teen, between work and school. My hikes were in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and the Berkshires. On the smaller side, but back then, they might as well have been Everest. I have always been humbled by the mountains, and even though I intend to live in them, I hope to always be humbled by them.

4. Be flexible.

Growing up at sea level meant that if I wanted big adventures that didn't involve the ocean, I had to plan for it. There were no spontaneous "Let's go hike a 14er" moments in my childhood and teen years. While planning these trips, whether day climbing trips to Rumney, or highpointing in Rhode Island and Connecticut, it took planning. And a lot of it; organizing rides, leaving early in the morning, . But as long as I had a plan to play outside that day, it didn't matter if everyone bailed- I was still playing outside... Just maybe not where I originally intended.

5. Be your own adventure buddy.

Not everyone here likes playing outside. Most of my friends were prefer a day sunbathing at the beach to hiking. Sometimes it's hard to find someone to play outside with and I have to do it myself. I actually love taking my own nature walks and enjoying time by myself- I think it's good for you. It's taught me not to rely on others for adventure. As long as I have some free time, my boots and the motivation, i will always be my own best adventure partner.

6. Ocean air is good for the soul.

I hate the beach. I hate getting sand everywhere. I hate have to wash saltwater off of all my possessions. But I miss it when I'm away from it for too long. When I came home from Boulder this summer, I went to a beach with my sister and we just sat there. It was 6:30 on a weekday and there wasn't another human in sight- a rarity for Cape Cod beaches. I was reminded of all the reasons I love where I live and, while I was sad to be starting a long distance relationship and was resenting Massachusetts, simply because it wasn't Boulder, I felt a little better once the salty ocean air reached my nose. I sat on a blanket and played with the sand. I didn't care if I ended up with sand in my hair- I was perfectly content.

Even at five thousand calories per day, what you eat matters. It's easy to fantasize about what that much food might look like--stacks of greasy pizza, pints of creamy ice cream, a sloppy mess of a burgers.  And when you're walking 20 miles per day, why not indulge?  You've earned it, right?

Abso-freaking-lutely.

But, there is a caveat: what you eat on the trail is just as important as how much you eat.  Don't get me wrong, indulging will be awesome (and necessary for mental well-being, cause who wants to be completely regimented when having a good time is also a crucial goal?) but, as with most of life's pleasures, moderation is key.

After walking 100 miles in a week, damn straight I want to eat and enjoy a fat, sloppy burger!  But I have to remember that that burger is a carrot--a carrot dangling at the end of a series of many miles of mostly good eating decisions.

What do I mean by mostly good?  I'm referring to eating with goals in mind.  In the same way that psychological challenges on the trail need to be paced with long and short-term goals, so too do the food challenges.  I'll be writing a detailed nutrition post at a later time, but the general approach is to eat high-energy, fast acting foods while mobile, with well balanced foods (proper carb-to-protein ratios) reserved for times of rest and recovery--whether those be entire rest days or the inevitable periods throughout the day where we have to stall our journey.

It's easy to eat calories, but eating the right calories will make the difference between having the physical and mental energy to take another step or succumbing to exhaustion and lethargy.  Moreover, what we eat during the trail will carry over to how our body processes food after the trail.  Post-trail weight gain is a reality that can't be ignored (even for continually active people), but it can be avoided and managed with proper pacing on the trail.

Now again, to reiterate an earlier point, Callie and I want to and plan to indulge, but only as a way to reward ourselves for tackling our physical, mental, and dietary challenges, as well as a way to incentivize further advancement on the trail.  Because, after all, how much more appetizing would that carrot dangling just out or reach be if it were earned . . . and also a burger?

Perspective is everything.  As I write this, I’m the oldest I’ve ever been.  

I’ve lived on this planet for 25 years, through which time every interaction, every mistake – every random experience has led me to this moment.  What have I done with my life?  

Reflection.  It’s an ordinary and natural human tendency, yet it also has great power.  It has the potential to sink someone into a depression or lift one’s spirits high and inspire more.  In my second year removed from school, I find the former to be an easy place to inadvertently find myself.  After a very busy college life (we’re talking major burnout status, but in the best way possible), where I developed my closest and strongest bonds through a variety of social avenues with incredible people, it’s easy to feel like something is “missing” when routine sets in and the dredges of real-world monotony fill your life.  Suddenly the world seems to be the size of your commute to and from work, or the gym, or the grocery store. In these moments, choice becomes a powerful tool. I regularly remind myself that I chose everything about my current life.  I chose where I live, what I do for work, what hobbies I have.  It’s comforting knowing that I have control over these things.  Moreover, it’s liberating to realize I have the ability to change even more.

This leads me to the Appalachian Trail—a 2,200 mile choice that most people will never attempt, let alone finish.  If for no other reason, just the sheer magnitude of the challenge is enough of an incentive for me to try to conquer it.  On a more personal level, though, it’s an opportunity to find myself in a new way, to experience the world in a more raw form, and to build new memories upon which to reflect down the road. 

After all, perspective is everything.  I’m the youngest I’ll ever be again.  What will I do with my life?

I graduate in May. I have landed two internships at different reputable magazines, so naturally, people kind of tend to lean towards the belief that I have my life together and a job lined up for when I finish schooling. The conversation takes one of two directions when I tell them I plan on walking 2,100 miles from Maine to Georgia, through the woods. The first reaction is wide eyed amazement. I love this reaction. I get to talk about the trail and get people on the bandwagon. Hiking is cool now anyways, right?

The second reaction dampens my mood. It usually goes as follows:

"What are you doing after college? You probably have a job lined up already, right?"

"No, I'm actually hiking the Appalachian Trail starting in May!"

"That's cool, but what about after that?"

"Well I'll be gone for 5 months..,"

"You're taking 5 months... To hike...?"

"Yep, from Georgia to Maine!"

"...oh. Why?"

Why? Well because it's there and I want to. And because I don't want to be a real person just yet. I want to be free of responsibilities before I have to throw myself into the real world, paying bills, buying sofas, struggling to pay for a house I can't afford and everything else that comes with adulthood.

Now, I know adulthood isn't all bad. I mean, I can eat Easy Mac in my underwear in my own house, because it's my house and I do what I want. It's just that I would much rather be eating that same meal somewhere along the Appalachian Trail, listening to the sounds of nature and hoping no local bears have an appetite for dry pasta and powdered cheese.