[at-l] Update on Longhaul

[shellydhale at earthlink.net (Shelly Hale)]

Here is Longhaul's journal entry for yesterday.

 

I began the day with a hot shower and an earnest prayer on behalf of my right knee.  My pack was sitting in the corner, fully loaded
with seven days food and enough water for my planned 10.6 mile day, most of which uphill.  Jeff Hoch, my host, got me to the Dam by
7:20 am for an early start.

 

I hoisted my pack and cinched down all the different straps with some trepidation, but my knee seemed compliant as I took my first
few cautious steps down the road leading across the Dam.

 

A significant thunderstorm had been predicted, and the skies were overcast, but the rain was holding off for the moment - a good
omen, I thought.

 

It took me 35 minutes of hiking along the road leading up from the Dam to reach the intersection where the trail began its ascent
through the woods toward the first ridge - a distance of 0.6 miles from the Dam.  I had achieved my goal of one mph, but only just,
and that was on a smooth surface and not a very steep section.

 

Still my mood was positive, and I couldn't help thinking that - no matter the day's outcome - I was so very grateful to have the
chance to be back in the woods once again, back on the trail, climbing toward a summit.  It strengthened my conviction that I would,
one way or another; complete this little walk in the woods.

 

As I climbed further and further up the trail, I felt all the more at home - back where I belonged.  The only things missing, and
they were sorely missed, were my hiking partners.  I knew that they were somewhere ahead of me, by three days at least, but I
figured that if I could just keep going, I would - one fine day - again be in their company.

 

The climb was invigorating, and I was pleased that my 6 days off had not taken much away from the hiker legs I had developed before
my knee went bad.  It felt wonderful to once again work up a healthy sweat - and to know that I was finally back to a routine of
burning more calories than I was consuming for a change.

 

For the first hour, I maintained a steady upward pace that I estimated to be within my standard but not much more.  I took a short
break, refueled with a bag of peanut M&Ms, and resumed my march.

 

I'd taken my pain/anti-inflammatory pills just before leaving the Hike Inn, and wondered how soon they would wear off - and how the
knee would feel when they did.  The good news is that hiking uphill is far easier on the knees than downhill, when the full weight
of both me and my pack must be absorbed by those particular joints.  

 

I had promised myself that I would continue to hike a smart hike, and not take unnecessary chances.  There are enough interesting
things that can go wrong out there even WITH good knees - no need to tempt fate.

 

I stopped for a second time exactly two hours into my hike.  Coincidently, that was precisely the point at which my meds wore off.
I stood there on the trail, facing north, leaning on my poles, struggling to clear my mind of the conflicting emotions and my heart
of the conflicting passions - on the one hand, to continue with what I knew to be the joys of the trail, the good times with my
friends, the exhilaration of reaching another summit, the satisfaction that comes from sheer physical exertion -  all of which were
in stark contrast to the stabbing pain that was entering my consciousness from the direction of my right knee, accompanied by
feelings of profound sadness and loss from its undeniable message - that my hike was essentially done.

 

In the end, it wasn't so much a decision as a capitulation to overwhelming evidence.  From the realization that my hike was done
came NOT resignation but, rather, determination - to get home, to get it fixed and rehabilitated, and to get back to the trail in
the shortest possible time.

 

That feeble voice that tried to convince me to ignore the pain, to hike on, was easily silenced.  They say you have to "hike your
own hike."  Well, I'm here to tell ya that MY hike does not involve a contest to see just how much pain I can endure.

 

Unfortunately, my then-current position, two uphill hours into the Smokeys, was about to reinforce that point.  I swallowed another
handful of pills, washed them down with long pulls on my sip tube, took a deep breath, and began to retrace my steps toward Fontana
Dam.

 

I will spare you, assembled eyes, a complete rehash of that journey, in part because I have little interest in recalling it myself.
Let's just say that every step provided compelling evidence of the rightness of my new course of action.  

 

Given my normal pace count per mile, you will appreciate that I really didn't need ALL of the more than two thousand such reminders
I received during the two and a half hours it took me to return to the Visitors Center at the southern end of the Dam.  The message,
however, was needlessly reinforced by the battle raging between my pain medication and the growing urgency of the sensory signals
emanating from the nerves in my right knee.  

 

The meds were losing badly and, by the time I reached the northern end of the road across the Dam; it was pretty much a complete
route.  I gave up my hiking poles and clung to the railing as I limped slowly across the top of the Dam.  After an unseemly period
of time I reached the Visitors Center and the pay phone from which I called my friends at the Hike Inn.  Nancy answered the phone,
and said she'd come down right away to get me.  

 

I limped around to the front, closest to the parking lot, took off my pack and collapsed with relief on the steps.  My spirits were
surprisingly high, which I took as a wonderful sign that all would be well, and I was at peace with my world.

 

My knee, however, chose to remain in a foul mood, not that I could blame it.  As if in sympathy, the sky suddenly opened up and rain
poured forth.  I stood and made a move to hoist my pack so as to get up under the eves of the Center out of the rain, but my knee
would have none of that.  In the end, I half crawled up the steps by myself, abandoning my pack to the elements.  A few minutes
later, Nancy arrived to rescue both me and my pack - returning us safely to Room #6 at the Hike Inn.  Exhausted, I lay on the bed,
said a brief prayer of thanksgiving - ending with "Thy will be done"... and promptly fell asleep.

 

Stay tuned, Longhaul

 

(Editor's Note)

 

--"Success is sweet and sweeter if long delayed and gotten through many struggles and defeats."

--"We climb to heaven most often on the ruins of our cherished plans, finding our failures were successes."  

 

Amos Bronson Alcott / 1799-1888

 

Tenacious Tanasi

  (Shelly Hale)

 

 

Tenacious Tanasi

   (Shelly Hale)

 

 

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