Pain: It's all in your head (kind of)

This is the first in a series of posts we will write about our 15-day southbound journey on the John Muir Trail. From pictures to people, we have a lot of experiences to process. Incredible experiences.



Even as we stood at Glacier Point - the start of our hike - it hadn't quite hit me. The ranger had given us our permits, explained the behavior of bears, and wished us happy trails. We walked out of the office grinning widely with an extra bounce in our step. We packed our backpacks carefully; we spent an hour in the parking lot squishing food into our bear vaults (half the size of every other hiker we encountered) and cutting weight (example: ripping out pages from my journal for the trail instead of bringing the whole book).

But still it hadn't hit me. It was step one of thousands - mile 1 of 220.

On day 1, we hiked only 8 miles, and I ached. Day 2: 17.5 miles - blisters.

On day 3, we almost turned around. We'd realized a major problem: my mind doesn't know how to hike so many miles a day. I experienced very real physical pain throughout the hike (shoes turned out to be two sizes too small - even with new shoes on day 5, I had 17 blisters by the end of the trip, among other things), but it was really nothing compared to the mental struggle.

It seems obvious that hiking for 15 days straight is a challenge. We lost weight, slept poorly, and hiked 20-plus miles a day for five consecutive days of the 15. If you're not hurting, you're maybe not human. But I expected that getting through each day would make me mentally stronger. After all, I could hike the distance, even with the joint pain. I woke up every morning and hiked, day after day. I was surprised to find it never got easier in my head. The superficial physical pain and long days wrapped tightly around me and felt like too much to handle.

On day 3, fear of the trail ahead sat like a rock in my stomach. After seriously considering ending our trip, we hiked our first mountain pass, which became our favorite campsite and view (pictured) of the entire hike. Within days of reaching the end of our trail, we still considered getting off. I was tired of hiking.

What made hiking so hard? No. 1, I have never done anything so sustained. Soccer games last 80-90 minutes; runs: 4-5 miles. I lack endurance, and I especially lack the mental toughness that comes with it. And when you take away the comfort food, the soft bed, and the freedom to change activities every couple of hours, you're left with the hard task of confronting pain, fear, and failure, and there's no way around it. We hiked over nine mountain passes before climbing Mt. Whitney. There were days we'd start out knowing we were hiking uphill all day. But at the top of each pass, the wind touched our faces in congratulations, and it felt like we stood on top of the world.

That's what made the trip so incredible. We experienced raw beauty the same way we had on Long's Peak and in Boulder Canyon, but it came in doses that fit the effort we gave and the length of time we were out there. We felt the same smallness and need for trust. When we reached the top of Mt. Whitney, we heard the mountain tell us to keep our distance as lightening and dark clouds prevented us from reaching the peak. And beyond that, I realized the hardest part of learning endurance is turning down the opportunities to quit early. But the best part of wanting to quit is finishing the trail.

I put up a fight - ask Ben. A positive attitude is as elusive as physical strength when I let it be. I think this hike and this trip as a whole asked me a lot of questions about how willing I am to deny myself and keep going. My head and my body fought over what I was capable of and how much I wanted to finish. And I learned I have a lot more long trails in front of me because it will take a lifetime to learn physical and mental endurance.