This is part one of a two part post...
According to most sources, only about one in every four people who attempt to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail end up completing it. Starting my hike in March 2024, I was uncertain whether I could finish the trail and join that select group of hikers. Sprained ankles, broken bones, norovirus, gear malfunction, and bear attacks are just a few things known to knock even the most experienced backpackers off the trail.
When I started the trail in Georgia, I was about as far from experienced as one could get. There's a saying that goes like this: "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst." Needless to say, I often questioned my level of preparedness for "the worst." I had some close calls with twisting my ankles on roots and rocks, and I caught a pretty nasty cold in Vermont and had to take two days at a hostel to shake it off. But I was fortunate that I didn't experience anything serious enough to kick me off the trail permanently. There were, however, plenty of days when everything seemed to go wrong to the point that my will to keep going was seriously challenged.
There was only one moment during my hike when I truly felt I might be unable to continue. It wasn't because of an unexpected injury or sudden illness but rather the mounting stress of a small mistake—one that I only began to fully understand the consequences of as I sat on a cot in a church hostel in Waynesboro, Virginia, mentally preparing myself to call my dad and tell him it might all be over.
It all started about 400 miles before, in Damascus, Virginia, one of the more significant milestones along the AT. The AT passes right through the town, as do a few other trails, including the Virginia Creeper Trail, which is popular with tourists and cyclists. There are plenty of outfitters and places to acquire food and gear, which was my primary objective as I arrived. My main focus was the acquisition of a new tent. I'd gone the previous week without one, having carelessly lost the stakes and poles that went with it. But I also needed a new pair of shoes. The Altras I'd started my journey with were long overdue for a replacement.
I ended up spending about 600$ on both the tent and some replacement shoes. The shoes were Altras, like my first pair, but these new ones were a different model, with less cushion and arch support, something I'd noticed but paid no real attention to. At the time, I didn't think it mattered that much. I was far more excited about my new tent: a Big Agnes Tiger Wall 2.
Having spent the last week sleeping in shelters, I was now free from sleeping with their insidious vermin tenants. With Damascus behind me, I was eager to take on the rest of Virginia and see what it had to offer.
The first few weeks after Damascus were uneventful. The rolling hills and mostly smooth terrain of the Shenandoahs felt gentle compared to the grinding elevation changes of the Great Smoky Mountains, now behind me. Grayson Highlands State Park, located along this section of the trail, was a highlight of my trip. I saw at least a dozen cows and a few ponies (for which the park is famous) during my passage through.
Then came Dragon's Tooth, a massive stone monolith very popular with tourists. The trail, by now, was more rocky, with dozens of small, jagged stones taking turns attacking the soles of my shoes as I moved along. The aforementioned lack of cushioning in my new shoes was becoming a bit more noticeable now, and the resulting pain in my feet at the end of each day was beginning to linger longer than usual. I brushed it off, though. "Maybe I'll take a rest day soon; that'll probably fix it," I thought to myself. But I knew I could make major miles in Virginia, and rather than slow my pace, I did the opposite, increasing it drastically. "I wasn't about to let a little foot pain slow me down," I said to myself.
Eventually, I arrived in Pearisburg, Virginia, after cranking out 75 miles over the previous three days. I was really beginning to feel the pain now as I limped my way into the hostel that night. By now, both of my heels were throbbing, and I feared I might be developing tendonitis, a common problem with thru-hiking. I pulled out my phone and started googling my symptoms. I found that tendonitis primarily occurs from overexertion, something my previous week of hiking featured quite a lot of. Still, I pushed on, fighting through the pain, until finally, I'd had enough. At least, enough for the moment. I found a place to get off trail around the Memorial Day weekend and took the following week off. I figured this would be enough time to heal so I could get back out there. I also resolved that moving forward, I would take a complete day off from hiking every week and be more disciplined with my stretching and recovery every night, neither of which I'd done up to that point. Unfortunately, I started doing these things a bit too late.
I took a week off, rested, and then got back after it. A week after returning to the trail, I took my first full day off like I had vowed to do. The next morning, I started near Maupin Field Shelter, aiming to make it around 20 miles into Waynesboro, Virginia. I felt pretty rested and mostly pain-free that morning, too. But this feeling didn't last very long. By midday, my heel pain had returned in full force. Worse, that evening, I noticed it was spreading into the arch of my right foot, and from what I'd read, this was a telltale sign of plantar fasciitis. By the end of the day, the pain was so overwhelming that I could barely put any pressure on my right foot, which made walking nearly impossible. After taking a week off and still having this issue, I was growing worried and frustrated.
I knew that the northern terminus of the A.T., Mt. Katahdin, in Baxter State Park, closes every year in the middle of October. But I still had nearly 1300 miles to go, and it was June already. Any significant amount of time off the trail at this point would only increase the miles I'd have to average each day when I returned.
With a defeated tone in my voice, I called my dad to tell him about where I was with everything. I described the situation and the kind of pain I was still having. I could already tell where the conversation was going. He was having none of my defeated attitude. "What's the longest amount of time you could take off and still finish the trail?" he asked me. As we talked, I began to think about the situation, which led to a discussion about the strategy I needed to complete the trail. Considering my current location in Waynesboro, Virginia, and its proximity to home—only two and a half hours away—I realized that I had to take action now to address this issue. Waiting until I got further north wasn't an option. I needed a new strategy and I needed to fix my feet!
To be continued…
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