When I was a child, I read the confusing and depressing book "There was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly." If I recall, the first sentence reads, "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don't know why she swallowed a fly, perhaps she'll die..." The book goes on to explain that the old lady proceeded to swallow a spider, bird, cat, dog, and horse before tragically dying.
Like the author, I was dumbfounded as to why someone would swallow a fly. That is, until now. The old lady was probably a thruhiker and the fly was probably one of those pesky gnats that swarms around one's face. As this old lady was trekking up a steep hill breathing hard, she probably accidentally swallowed a gnat that decided to fly into her mouth. I'm sure she swallowed everything else because she was hungry and she probably died of dehydration, not overeating, as the book leads you to believe. Thus are the woes hikers face.
Aside from the occasional complaint about tired feet, a terrible storm, or bad terrain, many of my posts tend to focus on the fun and exciting things that happen on the trail. However, I don't want you to get the wrong impression, and find it only appropriate to dedicate a post to the woes of thruhiking, as 80% of the time is spent in pure misery, 16% in mild comfort, and merely 4% in complete luxury.
I'll do my best to paint a clear picture:
Remember a time when it was hot and humid. Like, the-thermometer-broke-because-the-mercury-exploded-out-the-top hot. Where it is 98% humidity and the sun still beats down. So hot you sweat even when sitting still. Hold that picture.
Recall a time when you were sweaty. Not the glistening sweat, but the pouring sweat. The kind of sweat you can watch drip off your face and stings your eyes. The sweat that soaks through your shirt so much that you could ring it out. So much sweat you could fill a water bottle. Got that memory? Hold that picture.
Now think of a time when you stank. Not the normal B.O. smell, but B.O. mixed with rotting garbage, sour kraut, and stinky feet. The smell that lingers even after two showers and a Febreze spray. Increase that smell by 100 and hold that picture.
Now remember a time when you carried something heavy. Not like a watermelon heavy, but four gallons of milk heavy. Imagine carrying that on your back all day long, with the weight resting on your hips and shoulders. Every step you take seems to add more weight. Hold that picture.
Think of a time when you were going up a hill. Not just a wimpy hill that might get you breathing a bit, but the kind of hill that your car stutters trying to go up. Take whatever you are picturing, and imagine steeper and longer. Steep enough that you may have to climb up with hands and long enough that it takes a full half day to complete. Endless ups. I know it seems impossible, but even the downhills go up. Hold that picture.
Now ponder a time when your feet hurt. The kind of hurt after standing on them all day shopping or walking around the zoo. The kind of hurt where all you want to do is chop them off... or sit down. But even while sitting they still throb. Sometimes they even decide to go numb. Hold that picture.
Remember an evening walk where little gnats were swarming your face, diving for your eyes and buzzing in your ears. You try to wave them away but they always come back to commit suicide in your eyes and you are left blinking dead bugs out. All the while seven more come to the funeral and want to go swimming in an eyeball as well. Hold that picture.
Now put all those pictures together and you might, just maybe, have a slight understanding of what it is like all day, most every day. A dirty, reeking, sweat-soaked hiker, struggling up an endless hill with a 30 pound pack, feet aching, chafing in places you didn't know could chafe, while gnats dive into your eyes and buzz in your ears to mock your misery as the sun fries your skin or the rain soaks your shoes.
That's just while you are hiking. When you finally get to camp you have to go about the tasks of setting up a shelter, filtering water, and cooking, all the while mosquitoes buzz around you and your muscles start to ache and your joints get stiff and your tummy rumbles and you are terribly thirsty and for some reason you are still sweating.
And that is only the physical. There are emotional/mental struggles as well. Being on the trail for six months means you miss birthdays, holidays, parties, reunions, weddings, and big family changes. Being alone for 8-10 hours of the day means that you have a lot of time to think about all the things you are missing. The fantastic job you left, the family celebrations you couldn't attend, the pets waiting at the door for you, and the lack of good food and a nice bed, all mess with your head. You may try your best to enjoy that spoonful of peanut butter as you think of the lasagna you could be enjoying at home, and you may try to imagine your inflatable mattress is a memory foam bed, but somehow those things just don't compare.
Thus the result can be misery in many ways. Mental and physical, thruhiking is much tougher than it may appear. I could probably go on but I shall not burden you any more with the sad realities of what it really is to hike the AT.
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