Therese Marie

I GUESS I’m Hiking the NH48…

She said, begrudgingly. I’ve put some thought into it, and I suppose I am just glacially attempting the New Hampshire 48.

I really struggle with accomplishing these long-term goals that require excessive planning, routing, etc, due to having The ADHD. I’m still learning about all the ways this diagnosis affects my life every day.

I kind of knew this already, but planning and making lists are horribly overwhelming to me. And then I don’t do what I said I would. And then I feel horrible about myself for not being able to accomplish anything (See: attempting the SB6K – I tried. I only did like, 3. I went with friends, had fun, and then I stopped writing about it. And then I stopped writing on my blog completely because I felt like a FAKE).

Bottom line: I’m embarrassed to attempt the NH48. I don’t think I can do it.

Blah blah blah but I’m going to try anyway.

On Two Occasions This Month I Did a Very Full Day of Hiking

Both times with my dog, one time with my friend and his dog. First, let me tell you about the bullshit time I had on Whiteface.

Whiteface Mountain, Elv. 4019ft

The day started heckin’ early at 3:30am. I woke up, swallowed some coffee, and got me and my dog into the car. The morning felt eerie. It was cloudy, and something felt…amiss. But there was no reason to feel weird other than the fact that it was 3:30 in the god damn morning and I was about to drive four hours.

The drive was lonely and quiet.

Eventually, I got to the parking lot and there were already a LOT of people there. People with their crap spread out everywhere. Does it bother anyone else when two cars don’t park close enough to each other? When there are no lines, and people leave spaces in between the cars that are not-quite-large-enough to fit another car, but still big enough to take up enough space?

I’m not sure why I let myself get so perturbed by this. But, crankily, I leashed up Roo and we started hiking.

We started the hike at a good clip. I thought that to myself, I thought, “We are hiking at a good clip.” And then this thing happened where I get a phrase or single piece of a song stuck in my head on repeat. I mean on repeat. In this instance, I’m taking steps, hopping over rocks thinking, “at a good clip.” Stepping, walking, “We’re going at a good clip.” There is a slight incline, I feel it in my legs, “at a good clip.” I just kept saying it in my head over and over again.

I got annoyed with myself. At a good clip.

Then it got steep. And I realized that I was not in good shape.

So I’m going up this increasingly-steep mountain (at a good clip), getting increasingly annoyed with myself and my body and my habits, and I just…lose it. I start slamming my trekking poles into the ground like a little kid, and then when I get to this small little view point, I sit down and allow myself to have a little temper tantrum.

Why the CRAP am I here, I ask myself. What am I doing, what am I trying to prove. But more importantly, what am I upset about right now? The reality is that I’m out in a beautiful place, hiking on the weekend, even though the weather is not perfect, giving myself and my dog exercise, hiking up a mountain that I can cross off a list, I have plenty of time, I’m alone, I’m on my own schedule. What’s the problem?

Pre-existing thoughts, ill preparedness, and perceived judgements, that’s what.

The nice thing was that despite all this crap and judgement I carry in my mind, I still had no intention to quit and turn around.

Another terrible realization hit me: I didn’t eat enough before I started hiking. So I was hangry as all hell. But I told myself, “We’re going to eat at the summit of Whiteface, it is only a 3 mile hike.”

Dude, I know. I KNOW. I’ve already learned the hard way that

1. You should always properly fuel yourself. Don’t wait to eat. Make sure your body is fueled to perform what you are asking of it. and
2. Never, ever, ever say, “But it’s only 3 miles.” 3 miles was the dreaded distance on the AT. It sounds short, but it’s not THAT short.

Yet here I was, giving myself a hard time.

Whatever.

We got to the Real Hard parts.

There was a rock face that was so slick and steep, I could barely get up it. Which meant sweet little Roo also could not scale it. I got to the top of it, hoping my presence up there would encourage her. She just whined at the bottom, then attempted to jump up – but all I could do was watch her slide back down and listen to her little nails scrape against the granite. The sound of failure.

I had to go back down and push her 75lbs up the slat while consequently slipping down myself. Then, of course, at the top was a rock shelf that I had to climb, so I didn’t bother letting her try, I just picked her up.

Really recommend you have your dog wear a harness if you’re dragging it up this mountain.

Alright, so we get up past all that crap and we’re just still. not. at. the. top.

I don’t even know how much more we had to hike, but I had tears coming to my eyes with every step. My stupid legs were not doing well, I questioned if I had any muscle at all. Why do I think that I’m capable of this? Ah, well. The cycle of thoughts continued.

Finally, after many desperate internal pleas to stop, and after many pauses to bend over, wipe sweat from my brow, and curse my existence, we finally made it to the top.

I THREW my pack down and chugged some more water and pried the food from my bag. Roo and I ate, feeling better by the second.

Misty clouds rolled through.

“Ah, now THESE are the white mountains that I remember,” I said outloud. I thought back to all the days I spent in the Whites on the AT, my first experience in this magical place. I thought about when I got to the top of a mountain and met up with Growler, and we laughed about the pure whiteout. You couldn’t see a single thing. “I swear it’s beautiful,” he told me.

It was just after noon. Even though I’d started at a good clip, I eventually went so slow that I averaged 1 mile an hour. At that rate, I’d not finish until well after dark. That felt…awful to realize.

Passaconway loomed in the distance.

I decided I would still go for the loop. I had literally zero desire to try to get back down all that crap I’d come up, and I knew that the disappointment I’d feel in myself would outweigh any relief I’d find from ceasing hiking. I had to finish this hike.

I set off, and only after about 50 steps I collapsed under a wave of anxiety. I felt so defeated, I felt so terrible. But I wasn’t going to turn around, I wasn’t going to turn around.

I pushed through. These feelings are only temporary, I thought. I will be ok.

The distance from one peak to the next is a couple miles, and I suffered on the monorail that connected them. Did you know this? Did you know that the snow stays up on the ridgeline well into May? Did you know that it gets slushy, and there is a thin monorail of packed snow that you can walk on? Did you know that you’ll immediately post-hole into 4ft of snow on either side of that thin, slippery line? I didn’t know any of this. And it SUCKED. My spikes only marginally helped.

I eventually, begrudgingly got to the intersection of Passaconway. Up to my left, I assumed more bullshit awaited me. But even if I skipped it, I’d still have hiked almost 12 miles. I stood there for awhile.

I felt really bad still. And not the fun kind of bad.

I decided I didn’t care. What was important to me was hiking double-digit miles. I’ll have done that when I arrive at the bottom. So I turned right.

Yes. After all that, I skipped Passaconway. Passing on Passaconway. PASSaconway. Passing-conway. I’ll-take-a-Pass-a-Conway. I think you can gather what new phrase got stuck in my head.

When I got to the bottom and only had a mile left, I paused to stick my aching, shriveled feat into the creek. Let me tell you, that made all the difference.

Now for some stark contrast…

North Twin, Elv. 4,760ft & South Twin, Elv. 4,902ft

I drove up with my friend, we had two dogs, so many snacks and beers, and all the time in the world. We did this all in one day too, so we also left at 4 in the morning.

We made it to the mountain in the warm dawn. We had to hike a little extra to get to the trail head, but it was the absolute PERFECT day. The temperature was just…exactly what you wanted it to be. Cool enough so you didn’t really sweat too much, but still warm enough that you could enjoy yourself without having to layer. Like April 25th, the Perfect Date.

There was a beautiful roaring roaring creek that we walked alongside.

My friend informed me we’d be fording that creek – how exciting!

If you happened upon this looking for information about the trail, the Trail Proper crosses the creek 3 times. BUT because this is arduous, and the creek looks more like a river, there is an Unofficial Trail that stays to the left and bypasses the first 2 fords. It is very well marked.

…but I can’t tell you the name of the trail, I can’t remember, so I supposed I’m not much help after all.

Because, why go across only to come back again?

Except WE didn’t know that until we’d already taken our shoes off and I was thigh-deep in FREEZING water (my friend was a little better off being 6 feet tall). Roo didn’t want to go across, we had to drag her, except she really really didn’t want to swim.

The shocking cold of that river made me feel so very, very alive. And so very, very numb.

By the third fording I just flat out yelled once we got to the other side – my friend thought I’d gotten hurt. But no, it was just that my lower-half was pretty numb, and walking on numb feet isn’t super comfortable, so I yelled about it.

QUICK shout to to my PANTS.

Having quick-dry pants really came in clutch here. I don’t give enough appreciation to my pants. They got SOAKED because, again, I am so short that I suffered the consequences. But that water was no match for my La Sportiva pants. Man, I love those pants. Sure, I got wet. But I was dry again in like, 20 minutes.

Ok, onward we went at my glacial pace because I am a short girl who still needs to exercise more if she would like to move faster. But I wasn’t getting down on myself. Having a friend helped. No more terrible thoughts. Just one foot in front of the other.

And once we broke treeline…God damn. I mean, really, wow.

Mount Washington was there in all her glory, snow-capped and massive. All the world opened up in front of us, and rolled into the great beyond. God, it was so beautiful.

We spent what could have been hours up on the ridge line, laughing, eating lunch, taking pictures, talking in funny accents, petting our dogs, enjoying summit beers. Time evaporated.

A mile of intimidating-looking terrain separates South Twin and North Twin. But once we started hiking, it was super easy. It looks SO much worse than it actually is.

The weirdest thing was…we had the summit all to ourselves. This BEAUTIFUL day, a perfect spring moment, and no one else was up there. I relished in the solitude. I knew this would not last through the summer. It felt good to still have this mountain top as our own little secret.

But alas, what goes up must come down.

On the way, we started talking about all the food we wanted to eat. Those are my favorite conversations to have while out hiking – you’re exhausted, you still have miles to go, you ate backpacking food all day and your stomach is starting to grumble and you come up with all this brilliant, fantastic ideas for all the meals you could slam.

We walked alongside the setting sun and eventually settled into silence. We had plenty of light by the time we got back to the car. And so commenced the long ride home, a journey that led us both to sleep-deprived delirium.

I am not sure what the mountains of New Hampshire hold for me in the future,

but I do know that I’m enjoying spending time in those woods.

And, from all this rambling, I hope you see that running off into the mountains isn’t always the most exciting, wonderful thing. I hope that if you’ve ever felt like crap about yourself while out on an adventure, you know you’re not alone. I hope you relish the good times, hold them close to your heart and happily share them with others. I hope you experience fantastic tales of woe and triumph.

And I hope that if you believe your problems will disappear if you do cool stuff like running away to beautiful vistas in the woods, you learn this isn’t true; your problems will always come with you.

But, you might have to learn that last one on your own the hard way.

I know I did.

Fly on,

Lil