Feb 11, 2015

Dear friends, it's been too long since I've posted anything new to this blog. My only defense is that the past couple of months have been so mercurial. I kept waiting for things to calm down so I could catch my breath, or at least, wait for everything to finish uploading to my life before I set them down again in this blog. But now that you have me front and center, I'm thinking to hell with whatever pops up tomorrow. I need to fill you in to the pertinents of the past 60 days.

I have a new date for my hike. My mom, who is hiking with me, thought May 31 would be too early and too cold in the season for the hike. And after confirming with several Facebook friends and blogs, I agreed I may have been a little too eager about setting a date on the calendar. So it was back to square one and submitting requests for a new date. And it was nearly impossible! (The earliest you can apply for a permit is 163 days out. So okay, say you want to start hiking the JMT on June 1. The earliest you can apply for that date is Dec 20th.) So on Dec 21st, I began the daily ritual of faxing in my permit request to the Yosemite Wilderness Center. Each day I'd open up my Outlook praying I'd find an email saying my permit request had been approved, only to find a permit rejection email instead. All my proposed dates seemed to book up the minute they became available. And I was beginning to suspect that since the Trail is so popular, other more experienced hikers had already developed some sure-fire strategy for securing a permit date that I didn't know about. So I got my mom to start faxing in daily permit requests to try to increase our odds. This went on for a couple of weeks before we finally, finally landed on June 17. (So if anyone has any dire weather warnings or snow predictions for mid-June, please keep them to yourself. I have a date and a reservation for a permit and I'm not changing it again. Anyone see the movie Mile... Mile & a Half? One guy in the movie said the hardest part of the John Muir Trail is getting the permit. No doubt!)

So I had listened to my friends and family about the iffy weather conditions of late May and changed my date to June 17th. The other person I couldn't ignore was my husband and his serious concerns about me doing the bulk of the trail by myself. Now from my perspective, I have no fear whatsoever of being alone in the wilderness to hike 220 miles. The way I see it, when your worst day is already behind you, what else is there to be afraid of? But my Dearest was looking at things more pragmatically. So after much discussion, hurt feelings, apologies and contrition, I agreed to table my full 220 mile hike till next year. Instead, I'll be taking approximately 10 days to hike the JMT back-country with my mom. I really believe I could gain the experience and equipment necessary to do the entire hike by myself this June, but not at the expense of Don's feelings.

So there you have it - my Big Confession to you all, and to all who contributed so generously to my Vision Quest. My hike has now been downgraded to the status of A Vacation in the Woods with My Mom. And considering the change in my itinerary, I think it's only right that I return all the money and gifts I've received from my supporters, with heartfelt thanks and gratitude, as soon as I'm able. More on that to come...

What else? Oh yes - the other Oh, Snap! has been the state of my feet. This is what ankle impingement looks like:

... so I've been grounded, so to speak. I even traded in my Merrell's for a pair of Keen's with a wider toe box and more arch support. And except for my 6 mile trek around Catalina a couple of weeks ago, I haven't done any serious hiking for a while now and I miss it. I've got my eye on Big Bear though, so as soon as the snow melts a little and the trails become more passable, I'll be out there just as soon as my feet can stand it. Ha ha.

Jan 3, 2015

Anyone out there ever have problems with anterior ankle impingement? According to the internet, anterior ankle impingement occurs when scar tissue in the synovial joint at the junction of the tibia and the talus gets pinched upon dorsiflexion. Or more accurately described as, "It really hurts when I flex my foot." I don't know if it's exacerbated by trekking in shoes that should have been thrown out years ago, flat feet or my age. I used to think it was because I laced my shoes too tight. Whatever, whatever. All it means is I can't go walking today. I've been sitting around with icepacks on my ankles to try to keep the swelling down. And when I do get up to walk around, my insteps - where my arches would be if I had any - feel so bruised all I can do is toddle around on the outsides of my feet.

Yes, I push myself too far.  My broken down feet are just the latest example of how my passion for a thing sometimes exceeds my common sense. But I like this trait about me too. I've never learned moderation. I throw myself body and soul into everything I do: work, writing, relationships, hiking. All I know is how to live out loud. A recent argument with my step-daughter brought this point into focus. If you want to label or condemn me because I'm not who you expected me to be, or who you thought I should be, then I invite you to reevaluate your expectations. I can't be anyone else.

I've been reading the book Wild by Cheryl Strayed. My mom sent me the book after she saw a news story about Cheryl and the period of her life when she hiked the PCT. I won't spoil the book for you if you haven't read it. Just to say that I could be her. I'm reading her words and feeling her story and it's me on that trail. Scaling mountains and crossing deserts in every extreme. Breaking through every safety net just to stand in the place where fear, loss and hate demand restitution from hope, prayer and good intentions. Cheryl Strayed doesn't know I exist. But in truth, we're telling the same story.

I'm not quite finished. 

Dec 28, 2014

Super tired today, but in that really good exhausted way known to hikers and adventurists.  I hiked up to Mt. San Bernardino yesterday but couldn't summit.  By the time I could see the summit, I was sinking hip deep in snow and I had to admit I hadn't come well prepared.  Anyway, long story short, I pulled my groin, twisted my knees and ankles, and I'm finding new purple bruises every time I look in the mirror.  Oh well! The views from the trail were spectacular! Worth every single slip and fall.

A friend of mine recently told me that I should be more specific about what hiking the John Muir Trail means to me. And as hard as it is for me to talk about, I have to agree that I can't ask for support and/or sponsorship without telling you what this hike is all about.  So I'm pasting this excerpt from my blog, I'm Not Ava which is the best snapshot of my life, and what this hike is all about that I can give you. I'll let your own imagination fill in the blanks, read between the lines or write the  ending of this story as you will. 

MY BRANDON 

You died on February 28, 2006 when you were 13.  At the time of your death, I was with Lennon at his first grade school production of Three Billy Goats Gruff.  I didn’t get the call until 9:00 p.m. that night. 

My mother called to tell me there had been a terrible accident and that you had passed away.  Accident?  No. You had decided to leave us all to feel the same enormous rejection you must have been feeling for years. 

I was the first to see you laid out.  I tiptoed into the chapel, so afraid to come face to face with my biggest fear.  I begged you to tell me what had happened, what you had done.  I touched your eyelids to see if you’d flinch.  I noticed the small scab on your left hand and memorized the exact shape and size of it.  I noticed every freckle as if for the first time.  I thought about your braces behind your sealed lips.  I touched your chest and felt it sink in, as only a chest cavity can with no internal organs or rib cage to hold it up.  I moved your collar away to see the ligature lines around your throat.  Nothing, nothing was more real. 

For months I slept with the lights on.  I studied the long drop.  The short drop.  Asphyxiation.  Strangulation.  I wondered if you'd struggled.  If it was quick and painless.  If you'd cried.  If you'd  prayed.  My mother tore down her greenhouse. 

Remember when I taught you to drive?  Ten days before you left us.  Remember how cold that day was?  I should have known it was a precursor of things to come.  I never knew time was so short when I hurried you back into the house and out of the cold.  I should have held you tighter to me.  Delayed you from going.  Listened closer.  Listened harder.  Jumped first, moved you back home with me and trusted in God to help me stick my landing.  I could have you know.  God knows I’ve been leaping before looking all my life.  But with you I was afraid to be reckless.  I was afraid to jump so carelessly.  

I wish I didn’t have to convince myself so hard that I did what I thought was right at the time.  I tried to give you a life I couldn’t give, and happiness I didn’t think you could get in a tiny 2 bedroom apartment compared to 15 acres of sunshine and trees.  I swear on your life and soul I did what I thought was right.  Do you now ask me to grow from this?  Grow wiser?  Be a model for other people to follow?  Every form of virtue has its price. 

People tell me I’m stronger than I know, but how misguided they are.  I am the mother of a dead child.  Everything I tried to do for you has turned out to be my penance:  Guilt.  Shame.  Failure.  Regret.  These have become the death wish I wear under my crucifix. 

I miss you.  Oh my God, I miss you. 

I pray with a mother’s heart to know your tranquility, to know your forgiveness.  I pray you see only my good intentions and unconditional love for you. I  pray someday to see you living joyfully.  I pray for peace.

Dec 23, 2014

Been trying to figure out how to get the word out about my planned hike but so far, I'm hearing only crickets. How does one market? Everyone says social media is the way to go. But how many times can I post my blog site and Fundly site on Facebook before my friends get tired of seeing it? I did tweet the City of Los Alamitos this morning. Is that the best way? What I need is a manager.

Dear Potential Manager: if you can help me reach my goal of at least $3,000 by May 15th, you can have 10% of that for all your hard work.

We had both girls over for dinner last night which was really great. I loved seeing everyone together around the dinner table talking about everything and nothing. The only thing ... when I brought up a funny story of how I mistakenly thought a friend was offering to loan me his equipment for my hike, I got.... nothing. No follow up questions or comments. Not even a polite "huh!" And it wasn't just that I didn't get a response. The uncomfortable silence that I did get spoke volumes. It told me this hike was decidedly not going to be discussed, and it would, in every way possible, be politely ignored. I was suddenly embarrassed by my gauche equipment story. Maybe they don't think I'm really going to do this? I don't know. I know Don's supportive, if not encouraging, but I expected some basic interest from the kids at least - the when, where and how of it all.  And maybe a conversation about safety or the risks involved.  What I didn't expect was nothing.

But no matter. Onward! I'll figure out how to raise the money with or without a manager, and with or without support from anyone else. I do enjoy the look on people's faces when they realize they've underestimated me.

Dec 20, 2014

My first official post!

Thanks to everyone who's waited patiently for me to post this blog.  It's still a work in progress, so expect to see updates from time to time.  I figured my first post should include why I'm hiking the John Muir Trail, but first, some background: 

For 211 miles, the John Muir Trail passes through some of the most spectacular mountain scenery in the United States. The trail, which mostly follows the longer Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail, traverses the Sierra Nevada mountain range, passing through Yosemite, Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks, as well as Ansel Adams and John Muir Wilderness and Inyo and Sierra National Forests. From it's northern terminus at Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley, to its southern terminus atop Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the contiguous United States, the John Muir Trail offers some of the most scenic vistas in the High Sierras. 

So why am I planning a 220 mile, mostly solo hike through some of the most astounding and unspoiled wilderness the lower 48 has to offer? Look I'm sorry about this, I really am. I understand that by creating this blog, you'd expect to see a bullet point list of all the reasons I'm doing this. But honestly, I don't have one. Other than I think the past few years have been leading me here. I've had this sense of needing Something. "Something" was always just a little bit off, but I didn't know what that was or how to fix it. How to fix me. And then, a random phone call with my mom. I'd been telling her about my recent hike to the desert and she brought up how fun it would be to do the John Muir Trial. She'd been talking about doing the JMT for as long as I can remember. It was one of her ideas that always sounded great, but in the end, existed as just another entry in the Someday category. Sure I'd like to go backpacking across the country, but no one ever really does it. But this time when she brought it up, I don't know. Something struck a chord in me that was truly visceral. And I thought, all these things in me that I can't get right and aren't working, all my angst and anger and struggling and pushing and trying. Maybe what I've been looking for isn't something to be found at all.  

I'm reminded of Thoreau's Walden, and a quote which I've now memorized and repeat like a mantra at the beginning of every hike: 

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”

I hope you'll follow my journey.