It’s the People (Days 6-10; miles 41-101)

Yesterday was by far the hardest day for me on the trail. To start, it was the longest stretch (~16 miles) I’ve taken on so far. The elevation gain wasn’t unusually strenuous, but with a full pack just restocked with resupply food, my newly added snow gear items that were delivered to me in Julian, and fewer water sources along the way - the load was heavy. It was also the first day that some of the more complex emotional processing caught up with me - which is good, it’s a piece that’s been missing and part of what I’m here for, but that load is heavy too.

It was also the last night that our entire little trail family (tramily) will camp together. Yesterday’s miles seemed to be the realization of that truth. For some of us, like me, it was a reminder not to take it all on too fast, to slow down and listen to our bodies and prioritize the rest we need for the long haul. But for others it was the spark they needed to know they’re ready to move on, their bodies are adapting and they’re ready to take on longer days and seize the trail.

It was bound to happen, we all knew it would. But the realness of it now is still a little heartbreaking. It really is a unique and beautiful bond that is formed between humans doing hard things together.

They tell you that this experience is all about the people.

And that couldn’t be more true.

Of course the natural elements of the journey are amazing and mind blowing and truly indescribable. I can’t even begin to explain what it felt like to descend into glorious mountain-scapes after being cradled in breezy shady pine forests on the way out of Mount Laguna. Or the brilliant palette of wildflowers and cactus blooms framing our path - sunshine yellows, fiery reds, deep violets, and sexy pops of magenta peeking through the sea of green underbrush and sandy rock formations. Or the magic of hiking out into a rainbow that followed me for hours after a long windy night. I can’t summarize the lessons I’ve been taught by each curve of the trail, each shady rest in the afternoon, or pocket of sun on a windy morning.

But even more than all of that, the most powerful parts of this experience have been the connections I’ve made with the other hikers taking in all of that indescribable landscape alongside me.

There are 10 of us that became a little tramily, basically from the second day. Each person has already made a deep impact - showing me something special and fresh about the world, adding levity to the hugeness of what we’re doing, humbling me with their vulnerability, or helping me see something new in myself.

In the spirit of knowing that, starting today, our dispersal is inevitable, and because I’m feeling sentimental, I’d like to share some little bits that I appreciate about them.

Serena

This 23-year-old badass has undone me with the contrast of her fierceness and her calmness. She has so much wisdom (and not just “for her age” - I hate that phrase) and she is generous with it. Her insight into the people around her and her appreciation of the beauty in this world are unmatched. I think maybe the greatest compliment I’ve received so far on this journey was her telling me I give her “trail mom vibes” - which made us both laugh in the moment and has made me cry (happy tears) several times since then.

Grace & Michael

These two are such a special pair. They just ooze kindness and patience and optimism. I know they are human and I’m sure they have bad days and get ruffled and can be short with one another, but out here on the trail they have been nothing but appreciative and compassionate and supportive of each other. They have taken on the challenge of spending 100% of the time 24/7 for 6 months, doing strenuous activity, stretching themselves to the brink, TOGETHER - and they still say please and thank you in every interaction. They are a sense of calm for me, a grounding energy, and a reminder that we’re all in this together.

Max, Tom, and Ben

These boys are pure joy. They bring so much laughter and levity to every tramily interaction. They have also turned the concept of “toxic masculinity” absolutely upside down. They are all at once exactly what I picture when I think of typical dudes, in that they are young and athletic and strong and goofy and carefree. BUT - they are also equally tender and thoughtful and they care about music and art and deep conversations, just as much as they love a good poop joke. Their manhood isn’t threatened by an authentic appreciation of beauty and depth and the full spectrum of the human experience. They can love football and also sing the entire soundtrack of frozen as a trio to me when I need a pick-me-up on the trail in the heat of the day, or score our morning pack up to the opening number from LaLaLand. They are some very special men and I’m happy to know them.

Gabrielle

Gabrielle joined our group a little later than the rest, but she fit in with and completed our tramily energy so perfectly it was like she had been with us all along. For me, she’s like a mirror. She feels like home and creates such an easy, familiar, safe space where I can be fully myself. She’s the opposite of judgement. She doesn’t pry but she doesn’t need to, because she is naturally such a comfortable place to just BE, like a warm hug. She has a way about her that indicates she has lived enough life to understand you, and a resilience that gives you permission to laugh at yourself and at life’s challenges. She is also the most hilarious human I may have ever met, her humor validated by her realness.

Jacob

Jacob was one who honestly surprised me by how long he stuck around with the tramily. From our first conversations, it was clear he was on a quest of self discovery out here. But in his first week and a half on the trail, he approached that journey in a way I both didn’t expect and also deeply admire. He looked outward. Each day Jacob very intentionally connected and hiked with a different member of the group. Though he probably could have easily skipped over all of us from day one, naturally strong and having recently trained the most to prepare, he adjusted his pace and breaks and start times so that he could enjoy a walk with each one of us. He asked deep questions and actively listened, suspending judgement and exuding contagious curiosity about our lives. He shared pieces of his own journey here and there, but his mission was to dig into each of us. To discover, learn, compare, meditate, extricate, and embed our lessons and experiences into his own pursuit of self actualization. Jacob taught me about how to listen without expectation, to be humble without self depreciation, and to not be hasty to commit or decide on things before really checking in with myself.

Bob

Bob is a legend. At 68, he was definitely the eldest in the pack. Our token trail dad, but one we all also helped care for. Bob’s delight in traveling with our tramily has been a constant reminder to appreciate what we have been given in this special trail community. Every story he told, of adventures great and small, from travels to marathons to grandchildren, were precious reassurances that life is meant to be lived. I didn’t connect with him as father figure, but he does remind me a lot of my dad. Similar humor and delivery, and similar gentle spirit. Even though Bob was the oldest member of the group, something about being around him was like seeing it all though the eyes of a child.

A New Chapter

Bob and Jacob both said goodbye to the tramily today. It was Jacob’s time to carry on, time to take on longer days and new discoveries. Bob had to detour back into town for the day to look into some persistent health issues. I sincerely hope to see them both again soon.

Our tramily has developed a fun tradition of calling out an exaggeratedly high pitched “yooo-hoooooo” to one another when we spot each other at resting spots or at the night’s camp. This morning we called out our (maybe) last yoo-hoo to Jacob as he set off on the next chapter of his adventure.

Serena and I were commiserating about the melancholy of letting go, but knowing it’s the right thing. I said it was the saddest yoo-hoo of them all. She giggled and said I sounded like Dr. Seuss.

Some yoo-hoos are big.

Some yoo-hoos are small.

But that was the saddest yoo-hoo of them all.