Remember that scene in Forrest Gump when he had been running across the country, just running and running and then one day he just stopped and said “I’m pretty tired….I think I’ll go home now”?

That’s what happened to me yesterday. I’ve been hiking for almost 4 months. Including my side quests of South Sister and Mount Whitney, and taking into account the miles I skipped in Northern California, I have hiked over 2000 miles on this journey and gained 350,000 feet of elevation. Along the way, I’ve been tired and hungry, lonely and sad, triumphant and elated, awe-struck and reverent, but no matter how hard it was, I was never ready to be done. Until I was.

Newton’s first law of motion states that an object in motion will stay in motion and headed in the same direction until acted upon by an external force. This, of course, does not exactly apply to humans in motion, but I started to feel like it applied to me on the PCT. I had become automated. Perhaps I would just go on hiking south forever, just keep getting up in the morning, drinking my coffee, packing my pack and walking south until I hit the fence at the border with Mexico and could not walk any farther. There had been hard times along the way, times when I thought about leaving the trail but didn’t, times when I was seriously lonely, times when I could not stop crying, but none of those times did I really want to quit. I wanted things to get better, I took actions to make things better, and I continued my hike.

Something changed after leaving the Sierra Nevada behind. I gradually realized that the joy was gone, and the scenery was not enough to uphold my spirit. I felt something I have rarely experienced before: Numbness. I started to notice that I was envious of people who had left the trail for various reasons. Puddles broke her wrist and got to go home. Liz got food poisoning and got to go home. Mr. Jingles simply left realizing that he was bored, and it wasn’t the best use of his time. I was waiting for an external force to act on me, to give me my signal that it was my turn to go home when I realized this simple fact: It is my job and great privilege to take care of myself. It is my job to know when enough is enough, when I’ve learned everything I can learn from an experience, when the cost is too high, when it is time for me to take myself home. I’ve learned that for me, it takes more bravery to leave the Trail for the right reasons than to stay on it for the wrong ones. I am being extremely brave right now.

My last day on Trail, it was 85° with very little shade, very little water, almost no companionship, and lots of poisonous plants. There are many reasons to push through hard times towards a goal, if you hold the goal to be important. Much can be suffered and endured in the name of reaching important personal goals. What had been my goal? And what had been my intention? Was it to reach the monument at the southern terminus? Not necessarily. It was to experience hiking through Washington and Oregon along the Pacific Crest Trail, the legendary trail of my youth. It was to see the Sierra Nevada and hike over the high mountain passes and see if I could climb Mount Whitney. It was to live outside and walk the landscape and feel the rhythms of the natural world. It was to give myself the gift of time and freedom to do something just for me, something I’ve always wanted to do. It was also to hit a reset button, CTL/ALT/DEL, for my life as it had been during and after the death of my mother. I just couldn’t carry all that grief around with me and go on with my life pretending that I was the same. I have fulfilled those goals and intentions, and somewhere along way, the PCT became a chore. I have had my fill of small resupply towns, rides from strangers, and logistics. I am also done with hiking on a schedule, 20 miles per day, every day, day after day. I have thoroughly tested my capacity to endure loneliness and barely escaped with my sanity. The further I go into Southern California, the more roads, towns, man-made structures and trash I encounter. I know my soul will never stop thirsting for nature, but staying out here longer is only increasing my longing for the feeling of being deeply connected to wild places and to myself. That kind of satisfaction feels farther and farther away. I have been feeling like I’m punishing myself rather than savoring every step, every breath, every flower as I did for the first two months.

I camped at the only water source for the next 15 miles, a faucet at the rural fire station which also allows PCT hikers to camp on their property. Sunshine eventually joined me there with a bag full of hand picked wild cherries that I had walked right past. As I said, he sees more in this landscape than I do. Again, I slept with the sounds of a highway as a backdrop, exhausted enough that I fell asleep quickly, but not exactly enjoying my night. I woke up to my alarm, it still being completely dark at 5:45am, not knowing, consciously, what I was going to do that day. I packed my pack for hiking, but my heart wasn’t in it. I had no cell reception to discuss this decision with anyone. The moment was all mine. For at least this one time in my life, I did not overthink the decision. I did not hash and rehash the pros and cons. I let the silent knowing of my body make the next move.

So on the morning of my 117th day on trail, I walked away from the PCT and towards the small village of Green Valley where there was a gas station. After a yogurt and a banana and some people-watching, I approached a young woman and asked for a ride. She graciously agreed to drive me to Santa Clarita and suggested dropping me off at a Starbucks, a perfect place to land with food, coffee and internet. When I told her I was ending a four month hike, the first thing she said was “You have to trust your body “. As we parted, she told me her name was Juliet, with the same spelling as my daughter. She didn’t know it, but she was a trail angel for me.

Everything fell into place so easily after that. There was a flight that same day from an airport only 30 minutes away connecting in Seattle where I volunteered to be bumped (after all, I had no urgent plans the next day) and earned myself a handsome travel voucher. Going home feels right. It feels perfect. I have no regrets, except possibly making myself stay too long.

It’s a clear, sunny, beautiful fall day as I fly into Missoula, a lot like the October day 24 years ago when I saw Missoula for the first time and fell in love with it before even getting out of the car. I can’t wait to see my dog and my house and my friends again and slowly see what unfolds for my life. I plan to take my time to ease into ‘regular’ life again. I suspect the fruits from my journey on the PCT will continue to ripen over time. For today, maybe I’ll go for a hike!

Enough

The Desert