Mile 1298. It takes a village.
The Trail opens up to a grassy field overlooking the Delaware Water Gap. I pause. A light breeze evaporates the thick layer of salty sweat accumulated on my arms. The patchwork valley below softens the distant hum of a lawn mower, the mark of a quintessential summer day. And the red barn down there looks quite inviting. A white fence surrounds its green grass. I imagine there are fresh tomatoes and cucumbers for sale. I’m getting hungry.
A deep exhaustion is weighing on me today. It’s permeating every cell in my body; and my feet aren’t dancing on the rocks like they usually do. I desperately crave sleep. And yet. Something in me keeps me pushing, driving, hungry for more.
I do love hard work. I set a big audacious goal. And I obsess until it’s done. Climbing all sorts of mountains – both literally and figuratively — is what I do. I am an achiever. I get a thrill out of pushing myself to heights I never have imagined. Just to see if I can. And when I do, the sparkle in my eyes comes alive. “What else can’t I do?” I ask myself. “Let’s go do it then. Yeah!!”
Right now, though, it’s not a time to push or to drive. It’s time to give into the inviting scene that plays out before me.
I sit down on the grass and lean back against my pack. I kick off my shoes. First one. Then the other. And I peel off my socks now plastered to my feet. Like cardboard. But smellier. The sun kisses three large red blisters that have re-formed on top of their predecessors thanks to today’s twisty rocks. “Be free, little feet,” I whisper. “Be free.”
I close my eyes and reflect on the angelic scurry of the past few days. Heck. In the past few months. Almost every day, generous people have given parts of themselves to support me on this journey. Strangers. Friends. Random social media connections. They all have gone out of their way to give their most precious assets: their time, their energy, their love.
Just yesterday, an unknown stranger left fifteen jugs of cold water at the trail head for us through-hikers. Two days ago, a stranger picked me up as I hitch-hiked into town for a food run; and he waited to make sure I made it safely back again. Three and four nights ago, social media connections offered me to stay at their homes so I could slack pack, relieving pressure off my aching foot. Five days ago, dear friends chipped in to sponsor my stay at a resort hotel – they thought I could use some luxury. Six days ago, another friend purchased a new pair of insoles to replace the ones that were killing my feet; and she drove an hour out of her way to hand deliver them to me on the trail. The list continues on and on and on.
As I sit on the mountainside, a lump forms in my throat and my eyes begin to tear. Everywhere I turn, I am overwhelmed with human kindness. Love is everywhere. And I feel it rush through my body and fill up my heart.
Climbing mountains – both the literal and figurative kind – is never an individual act. It’s the support of community that makes us great. I am only as strong as we are. Together.
