Steel yourself

Physical exercise in preparation for a hike is a must, but mental fortitude is the key to success.

I was approaching the 70-mile mark of my first long-distance backpacking adventure, 272 miles southbound on the Superior Hiking Trail in Minnesota. I was a few days in and had already faced wind, snow and soaked feet. I had managed to avoid blisters, but my right ankle was sore from a bumpy stretch along the lakeshore. Although I tried my best to hide it, I was limping.

My longtime hiking companion was getting off the trail at the lodge in Cascade Falls State Park. As we enjoyed a parting-ways lunch at the lodge, my stomach began to sink. I was heading into the wilderness for the first time all on my own, and my ankle hurt. I had more than half the trail ahead of me, and the specter of uncertainty haunted my anxious mind.

“You should spend a night at the lodge,” my friend suggested. “I think we’ll both be licking our wounds tonight.”

I hated those words. I hated them because I knew he was right, and I wanted to take his advice. On the other hand, I hadn’t planned on staying a night at the lodge. In fact, I didn’t plan on taking a single day or night off the trail to rest. I was in this thing from start-to-finish, no stopping until I reached my endpoint in Duluth.

I chose to power through. I wanted so badly to escape the rigors of the trail and to lie on a soft bed in a warm, dry room after a hot shower. I wanted respite from the cold air and moisture that permeated everything I wore and everything I carried with me. But I overcame the allure of escaping the elements and came to learn that it would make all the difference, time and time again.

The weather stayed mostly fair. My ankle recovered in a couple days and I moved like the wind. I gained some swagger in my step when I encountered other hikers on the trail as my confidence grew that I would complete the trail.

Three years later, I thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, also southbound. Early on, I met other thru-hikers who were taking zero days within the first week of being on the trail. This time blisters plagued my feet, and severe leg cramps were soon added to the mounting pain I faced with each step.

I wanted relief. I wanted to escape from the rigors of the trail.

I reminded myself of my experience on the Superior Hiking Trail. I found myself in a similar state of mind: concern over finishing my thru-hike just a few days into it. I worked through my pain and discomfort and I didn’t take a zero day until I reached Oregon, just over 500 miles into the trail. By the time I stepped foot back on the trail, I knew I had done it right. Sure enough, I was refreshed and reinvigorated, but more importantly, I had held true to my goal of not giving into temptation and taking an impromptu zero day. I had stayed strong.

By the time I had taken my second zero day in Etna, California, I decided I had given myself over to the trail. I no longer craved a hotel room, I no longer needed air conditioning and windows with the shades drawn. No, I needed only to get shit done, let my loved ones know I’m doing great and then get back on the trail. A shower is always welcome. Clean clothes are wonderful. Fresh food is tantalizing. I would certainly address those needs at nearly every opportunity along the trail, but I wouldn’t allow myself to take breaks when they weren’t absolutely necessary.

I was trail-hardened. It was the secret to my success in completing my thru-hike of the PCT in 2017. It’s been the single biggest factor in every section hike I’ve taken since then, whether I’m outrunning a storm or literally going the extra mile before stopping to make camp. It’s how I move swiftly, both physically and mentally.

So steel yourself. Don’t heed the siren song of civilization when the whole purpose of your backpacking adventure is to leave behind the trappings of real life if only for a brief window of time. The soft beds, the hot showers, the delicious food will be waiting for you when you get back. For now, breathe the fresh air, embrace the rigors of the trail, overcome discomfort and keep hiking. It’ll make all the difference. It certainly has for me.