Wings on my feet...(part one)

How often do I mention my apathy or my loneliness?

I know I write about it in my private journal.

I know I have mentioned it in some of my blog entries, maybe too many.

H.A.L.T.
It stands for hungry, angry, lonely, tired.
H.A.L.T. is used in various recovery programs to help redirect an undesired path, a path that has been well worn by the one walking it, a path that one desires to change.
When we are hungry, angry, lonely, or tired...we may have a tendency to veer down that undesired path, that path of least resistance.

I'm seldom ever hungry.
I'm seldom angry.
I'm often lonely.
I'm regularly tired.

I know I'm not really lonely, in the sense that I have no one to turn to. I have my husband, and my children, and friends in 2-D and 3-D life. Yet I often feel lonely, like if I melted away...few would really notice. I want to think my animal friends might notice the most; but the scientific side of my mind tells me that's not really true. My animal friends love any two-legged creature who treats them with love and tenderness. I'm simply another one of those two-leggeds.

Life regularly feels pointless to me, which ties into my apathy. I know logically that my life isn't pointless; I have purpose. But I have no great, grand purpose. I am not out to change the world, or even my neighbor.

As I lay in bed the past few hours unable to sleep after waking at 2:30 AM, I thought about the recent tragedy in California - Elliot Rodger and another shooting spree. I thought about a mother I know who is, at this very moment, suffering with the loss of two daughters. The daughters aren't deceased but rather they have cut off their parents due to manipulative relationships. I thought of other tragedies around the world.

How can I be so selfish to feel lonely or apathetic?

I know the loneliness and apathy come and go.
Funks rise and abate.
Depression and the blues are here and then gone.
Something helps spark a little bit of life and perspective adjusts.
_____

Last Monday I hiked the eight rugged-mile round trip, partway along the Appalachian Trail (AT), from Massie Gap to Thomas Knob Shelter in Virginia, and back again.

As I approached the shelter with about a half-mile to go, I thought, Why do I want to go all the way to the shelter? My legs feel heavy and I'm tired; I could just turn around now and head back.  Why do I even want to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail? I don't know; because it's here? It can be such a miserable task. And it can get truly lonely. You're kidding yourself anyway Carol, to think you'll ever be able to thru-hike. But Son sure does inspire you. He said earlier today, "Mom, you can do it. You just take your time. If you'd need spinal injections every three months to keep going, that's only two rounds of injections."

Thomas Knob Shelter along the AT

As I sat at the old, weather-worn, wooden picnic table outside the front of the Thomas Knob Shelter eating my celery and peanut butter, a backpacker approached from the south, hiking northbound on the AT. He was tall and lean wearing a cap, like one of those pipe-smoker Gatsby caps. The cap was white and green - a pattern of tiny checkers. I later noticed that his backpack displayed the same plaid pattern. The hiker appeared to be in his mid-to-latter thirties.

On the right side of his forehead a large beige band-aid decorated his temple area, from his forehead coming down parallel just to to the outside of his right eyebrow. As we said our hellos, he put his right fingers on the band aid stroking it lightly, "I fell a little earlier and cut my head on some rocks. I feel a little light headed from the blood loss."

"Ouch," I replied. "We are only a few miles from civilization if you need to get to a doctor. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nah. I'll be alright."

"Are you thru-hiking?" I asked.

"I am," he replied. "Is there water here? I'm thinking this is my only water stop between here and Wise Shelter."

"I think you are correct. And yes; the water is down the hill behind the shelter. I've not been here in a few years, but it used to be a good watering hole."

He walked out of sight heading toward the water source and returned about 10 minutes later.

Boy, that was quick, I thought. It'd take me at least twenty minutes to get down there, filter my water, and get back here.

"God, what an awful trail this is," he slightly moaned, referring to the AT. "Five hundred miles so far of just brutal hiking. I don't know why anyone would make a trail like this."

"Have you heard the term PUD yet?" I asked him.

"No. What does that mean?" he asked.

"Pointless up and down. I've heard other thru-hikers use the term...'another day of fucking PUD, all fucking day.' "

We chuckled.

As we talked hiker-talk I mentioned to him my dream of wanting to hike a flip-flop thru-hike starting at Harper's Ferry, West Virginia, and hiking the 1000-plus miles north to Mt. Katahdin, Maine; then take a bus back to Harper's Ferry and hike the 1000 miles south to Springer Mountain, Georgia.

"But, I don't know if I'll ever get to do it," I said, "because of some health issues with nerve damage."

"Nerve damage, huh? Let me show you something," he replied.

He lifted his hair on the back of his neck as I stood up in order to see what he was going to show me. There was a scar along his spine, reaching from at least the base of his hairline disappearing behind his collar and into his shirt.

"See that scar? In 1999 I was in a car wreck and was told I'd never walk again. I was a quadriplegic."

I was momentarily stunned silent.

"Oh my god. What happened? I mean, how did you walk again?" I asked in utter amazement.

"Time. And lots of weed. Lots of weed. The doctors said I'd never walk again or be able to use my arms properly. The damage was between C-4 and C-5. But slowly, over the years, it came back. The docs still kept telling me that I'd never be able to function. I didn't want any of the new experimental drugs, just my weed."

I was amazed, beyond belief.

"My left side came back first, but it was a long time coming. Slow, real slow. I'm right handed, so I had to learn how to do everything left sided. I was then a hemiplegic; that's what they call it when you are paralyzed on one side. I was told to not expect any more improvement. But I just kept hoping, believing, or something. And doing my weed."

"That's just...totally incredible. Wow." My eyes were wet with tears. I knew, I knew, I knew what this man had been through. I'd help care for my own dad after his car wreck that left Dad to live as a quadriplegic his remaining thirteen years of life. I shared a bit with this fellow survivor about Dad, about Dad's fight and drive and Dad's surry cart. The hiker's eyes lit up as I spoke.

"He was a fighter. You are too. You can do this thing, this dream of thru-hiking. You just put one foot in front of the other and take your time. I have balance issues and I get tired and I have pain. But hell, we're gonna hurt anyway, might as well hurt while living a dream. And you gotta pack light. My pack here can only hold 35 pounds; it's not designed to hold any heavier. So I can't pack over thirty-five pounds. You don't have to spend a bunch of money for ultra lite. Just do your research."

"What's your trail name?" I asked him.

"Rising Tide," he responded. He was from Florida and ran on the beach.

I smiled.

"Nothing prepares you for this trail though, the elevation gains and losses. There is no way to prepare for all the constant, grueling up and down."

"Yeah, I've heard that," I replied. "People say they prepare by doing the thru-hike."

"This Appalachian Trail thru-hike is my basic training for the triple crown," he continued.

"The triple crown!" I responded, with a grounded admiration, still stunned by his story.

He continued to share as I looked up at his six-foot-plus-inch lean frame. "One thing you have to do with nerve damage is to keep your tendons stretched. Otherwise they'll just tighten and be no good. That's the other thing I did. I had someone stretch my limbs and tendons until I could do it myself."

We chatted a bit more. Hiking. Trail life. Nerve damage. Life life.

 "My god, what a story you have.What you've been through and now going for the triple crown," I was inspired.

I was thankful I'd hiked this day to Thomas Knob Shelter.

"You heading north?" he asked.

"I am," I answered, "but I'm not quite ready yet to hike back."

Plus, I knew he'd out-hike me. And he wanted to get to Wise Shelter, at least another five miles. I was only headed back another 4 miles.

As we stood saying goodbye, he extend his right arm and hand, "My name is Jason."

I shook his hand. "My name is Carol, Jason. Good luck to you. And thank you so much for sharing. So much. It means a lot to me."

AT white blaze, up & out of Rhododendron Gap

"

"No problem," he smiled. "You can do this. Maybe I'll see ya on the trail one day."

My feet had wings on the rugged 4-mile hike back to the car.

***
Wings on my feet...(part one)
Wings on my feet... (part two)
***