I looked up. There, ten feet ahead off to the left, stood a bear, watching me. I had seen four bears in the Shenandoas so far, but this was the first time I had encountered at bear alone. "Hey bear," I told him, approaching him on the trail in order to pass. I raised my arms up to look big. He sniffed the air, turned heel, and ran. I don't blame him, for the stench emanating from my armpits would have made even the fiercest of beasts flee.
"Try to catch up if you can," the guys called back to me as I watched them go. I wondered if I would ever see them again.
I had decided to call it an early day when I learned that Firefly had just put in three 20+ mile days and was now a half day away. It didn't seem fair to dash off again when she was so close. Even if we would end up hiking separate I wanted to meet up one last time.
I was almost nervous to see her. Had she had as much fun as I on her solo? Would she want to continue on together? Would we even be going the same pace now? It would be strange to have her back.
"Arrow!" Firefly came striding in late evening. It was good to see her again. The solo seemed to have treated her well; she was brimming with confidence. We swapped stories and came up with a plan. Her feet were in extreme pain and I agreed to do a few short days so she could recover, but beyond that I considered going alone if she wanted to do less mileage than me.
"This is called winning at life," I said, pointing to my plate heaping high with food.
We had made it to the breakfast buffet at Skyland restaurant. She laughed, "I missed you." I was taken off guard, "I missed you too," I mumbled. Taking off and leaving her would be harder than I thought. Maybe I wouldn't have to. Maybe she would do big miles after her feet healed.
But I was getting impatient. I was so tired of tiny days, I just wanted to move and catch up with everyone. Now that I had a taste of solo life, I wasn't sure I wanted to go back to having a partner and the added responsibility. I liked hiking without destination, stopping early or pushing myself depending on how I felt, doing whatever I wanted without my decisions affecting anyone else. The halfway point was coming up, as was my birthday. I wanted to celebrate those things together and decided I would reevaluate there.
When did you start? That is usually the second question people ask after finding out my name. This question is mostly so hikers can figure out why they haven't met each other yet. In the beginning, I was proud of our start date. Now, I dread telling it. "March eighth" I say remorsefully. "Oh," They look away, "cool." They don't volunteer their start day because they don't want to feel like they are bragging starting so far after me. So I ask. "You probably started in April?" "Yeah April 3," they confirm. I used to defend why I had been going so slow, that I had taken tons of zeros and pretty much a week off for Firefly's wedding, but I grew tired of making up excuses. Why does it matter when I started? No, I am not slow, I just like having time to do more than just hike. I could go as fast as them if I chose.
I am so tired of April people passing us. My competitive side keeps kicking in, urging me to go faster and further. Everyone who finishes says they wish they would have taken longer on their thruhike, but its difficult to be content with constantly being passed and feeling like you are a below average hiker. Unless you find others who do lower miles, you are constantly among strangers.
I have already felt the pull of the rushing crowd and allowed myself to get swept up in it. I suppose only time will tell if I fight against the flow or lead the charge.
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