Learning to Listen

It’s a funny thing, how life works. This blog, for example, was something I’d given a lot of thought to as I started hiking. It was a really fun thing, I enjoyed it, and it showed me (and others) that while I was limited, I wasn’t that limited. I’d even pushed beyond some of those limits, with varying success, but never into anything I couldn’t handle.

Of course, that was destined to change.

I’ll jump ahead here a few weeks, when we went to hike at a very popular location, that a lot of folks hang out in (and, sadly, vandalize). It’s called Bake Oven Knob. I’ve no idea why. Every local around here knows the spot, and it only takes about a quarter mile hike over rocky terrain, to get to a lookout both north and south of the mountain. It’s along the Appalachian Trail, which continues beyond the lookout, to some even better vistas that lack the spray painted profanity on the rocks below. Sad that people find this entertaining.

Here is what you get when you leave your car.

It escalates quickly.

There were some pretty dicey areas where you had to sort of wrap around some rocks off the side of the hill, but the AT continues into a state game land. From there, I’d located a return trail, but it wasn’t well mapped, and there were issues with the trail markings. Here, once again, I do apologize for the profanity, but this person had it dead on right. The AT is marked top to bottom with white blazes. The state game land, you know, for hunting, is marked by … white misshapen blazes. Really?

In any event the trail is a fairly easy one from parking lot to lookout and may people go there for lunch and with children. Here are the views.

Pretty sweet, eh? Too bad you can’t see the beautiful tumbling rocks, because they’re littered with graffiti. I had to crop all of these as a result. In any event, you continue a little further down from the traditional lookout, there are some even better views. There are also some side trails, they look something like this, and you can tackle them if you’re feeling brave.

Not this day.

We continued on, and when we found a second side trail, that appeared to have a fantastic view, we were a little distance apart. It takes me longer to move, as I am probably over cautious and move slower than I need to, but I use my poles heavily to ensure I don’t lose my balance over the rocks. I have enough problems with proprioception, so I have to make sure my foot position is sound, because by the time my brain realizes I’m off balance it’s too late. He bounced back onto the main trail I was navigating, at this point over rocks that were almost like sheets laid on their sides, about 2 inches wide at most. He called back, to say there was a great view off to the other trail.

I looked up.

You may not know it, but this is the worst thing you can do when going over these rocks, but much more so if you have balance problems. Predictably, I lost it. I couldn’t wedge the poles in and there was nowhere flat to get a foot down. I landed almost flat on top of all of these rock sheets. I didn’t even bother to look at my shins and knee – I knew what had happened and getting worked up about it wasn’t going to help. They weren’t severe injuries, they were annoying bruises and scrapes on my hands as well, where I barely saved my chin from hitting. I really only stopped to review  the damage when we stopped in the forest for a snack.

Oops.

Between the fall and the snack, we went around an interesting rock formation that you have to see, and it sums up Pennsylvania hiking in a very neat package. First, the trail. If you look closely at the big rock in the first photo, you can see the smudge outline of the AT white blaze. Yes, in other words, this is the Appalachian Trail, and you follow it. The second perspective gives you another view from wider out. See those trees? This is the side of the hill, those are tree tops and branches. There’s no choice, you have to go around or over the rocks. Such is life. We did it, both ways. I was starting to feel like a boss, which is never a good sign.

It is both a good and a bad thing to leave yourself without choices. As they say, if you get yourself to a place where you have no choices, your only choice is to succeed, isn’t it? When you no longer have the ability to fail? I guess it’s true. We made it around here and did another 2 miles, I’d say, into the game land. At that point we realized, from the placement of the power cut (this is a power cut, on a trail)

that we were not close enough to the return loop to finish it in daylight. We still had a few hours left to us, but there was also the issue of the first Steelers preseason game, which of course we had to be home in time for. I wish I were kidding. For me, preseason football is pretty anticlimactic, but for him, it’s another story. So, back we headed, forgoing the loop. We prefer loops to out and back, I’m sure most hikers do, but you don’t always get that option. We retraced our steps, at a pace that was too fast.

Well, it was fine on the less rocky portions of the mountain, which in this location was thankfully a lot of it. Once we recrossed the power cut, though, I really started to have trouble. The fatigue had become overwhelming – I really have noticed a common issue, which is that as I’ve pushed too hard, I’m not getting to where I can properly pace myself, meaning I go from a fast pace, and then get to complete fatigue. A time or two we stopped for a rest and a drink, but time was passing fast and I began to feel like we were close enough, not to take those breaks.

We made it almost all the way back to the first lookouts, about a quarter mile from the car, and I was done. I was fatigued, I wasn’t being as careful, I wasn’t testing my foot placements as I hurried across the rocks. Things were about to get much worse. I just couldn’t go further. I was having trouble even taking one step at a time, but I still wasn’t willing to stop.

Here’s where I get to be your inspiration. Don’t ever, ever, when you have a chronic illness, ignore what your body is telling you. Because your life as you know it can change in an instant, even when the result is from nothing more than you being stupid and hard headed and impatient.

I fell again. But not like the last time. I fell straight over backwards, and I couldn’t place the poles in a position to break the fall at all. I landed almost flat on my back, neck and head. Yes, all of that, on the rugged rock face. It meant my head fell from about six feet, right onto a rock. Even in this, however, I was very fortunate. Someday I’ll go back and take a photo of that rock, I should have when it happened. I had the good fortune to have the pointed rock, impact to the side of the neck, while the one my head hit, had a nice concave shape, allowing my head to fit into the rock when it hit.

I’ve had more than one concussion in my life, but I don’t even remember the one after I was knocked unconscious, to be this bad. Being me, I got up, and we kept going. I wasn’t bleeding – how, I do not know – but I thought we just needed to get as far as I could, and I really wanted to get home and shower before going to the ER. I know, strange, but that’s how I roll. I was completely soaked, and I knew it would be a long night. On the ride home my entire left arm went numb, which convinced me I should plan to spend a night at hospital, which I then did.

The headaches have been blinding. The dizziness and nausea, however, have been the real enemy. I’ve since learned how amazingly and irritatingly and maddeningly the body reacts in response to a brain injury. I’ve learned to retrain my eyes and learned new ways to repair things like memory and retention. My concussion team – because I have one now – believes I will make a full recovery, and I have already come a long way. It’s been two months, and only now do I really feel confident in my writing skills again, which was something that for some time, I was concerned may have permanently left me.

So the result of all this, is fewer posts, probably some grammatical errors, and some disjointedness to my writing. Forgive me as I learn how to overcome this new challenge. But I promise that it is only a mistake along the way, and will not be the end of my hikes – indeed, it has not been.  Probably something my team would object to, but we’ve been hitting local parks and state parks that have easy walks and basic hikes that have allowed us to enjoy the fall weather – my favorite time of year – and this weekend I’ve no intention of missing out as our forests change their color in preparation for winter.

Fight on, but listen to what your body is saying. It might make you pay in ways you cannot imagine.

In Spite of Virtue and the Muse, Nemesis will have her dues…

It was the return, the chase around Good Hope, round the Norway Maelstrom, round perdition’s flames. We return to the Trexler Game Preserve, this time with more preparation and an idea what the hike holds.

The weather was fantastic, and now that we had a few months of walking and exercise, it was time to tackle the insane inclines again. We arrived with food, water, and shoes appropriate for water crossings. (Lesson learned.) Off we went, me in my ridiculous long sleeves, and hat.

The initial climb to the meadow wasn’t too bad – it seemed shorter. We didn’t encounter as many bugs, it seemed, at least not at this point. We practically slid down the hill leading to the zoo entrance and exit, but this time turned along the river, It’s a paved path for the most part, meant for parking. There are lots of picnic sites and a lot of space, so if you’re in the area it’s a fantastic place to bring the kids and enjoy the weather, particularly now when autumn has shown her face. We walked the full length of the parking area and crossed a bridge while trying desperately to ignore the delicious smell of the hamburgers grilling at a large family picnic.

As soon as we were on the other side, it was back to the norm. The opposing side of the creek is more or less a cliff face, not quite that dramatic, but enough to keep you leaning in one direction. It was a lovely walk through the foliage to get back to the place most of the kids hang out – the car crossing, with its mini-waterfall, and their joy of playing in the wake of passing motorists. Here, we again met the green trail, which is not for the faint of heart.

Possibly the worst part of this little connector isn’t even the inclines, for while they suck, they aren’t as long as those on the red trail. The issue is sunlight. You’re exposed to it. A lot. So even on a temperate day, you’re going to have some heat to deal with, as a great deal of it is crossing grassy fields. We made it up to the environmental center and again took a break there for some snacks and relaxation.

Let me paint a little bit of a picture. Because I already have issues with my immune system, I’m really quite desperate to keep from getting a tick-bourne disease. Part of the reason I wear the clothing I do is yes, my ridiculous ability to get a sunburn in mere minutes, and yes, the fact that I’m allergic to most green things, and heading through bush in shorts makes my calves look like I have wrapped them in poison oak, BUT – it also keeps the ticks moving on to a better meal. I dutifully prepare, I layer my socks and my pants and my boots to create a seal so that no skin might be found. I wear the long sleeves, again, to be able to push through vegetation, without having to look at much other than my hands to be sure I’ve not picked up any passengers. Can you guess what happened?

A tick was on my face. I’m not kidding. It’s like the little ba$^*rd sized me up and mounted a stealth attack. From what, the air? Fortunately, it had not yet bitten me, but it freaked me out pretty badly. We now carry insect repellent, along with the benadryl and alcohol wipes. (In case you wonder – alcohol wipes are my weapons against everything. Use them to clear off the oil from poison ivy, use them to disinfect things, to make a puncture wound bleed – I like to have them any time we’re on the trail.)

We got on the red trail past the larger animal enclosures that are supposed to hold bison, deer and elk. We’ve never seen any of those animals on this trail. We didn’t even see the goofy ground-birds this time. I figure I have enough problems, I don’t really need a stray bison or elk to deal with. The first thing you do on the red trail is go down, on a lengthy downward slope. Then, the up begins.

Once again, this incline felt shorter than I recall. It was long, but I made it far longer without really starting to drag, and we recovered very quickly once we hit the top – all good signs. Every incline was starting to go this way – shorter, easier recovery, and the bane of the middle distance runner, causing me to go out too fast. As it always happens, I didn’t see it coming.

For the non-track athletes, this is a common affliction among runners of the 400 and 800. At least it used to be, they damn near sprint the thing full out now. But with an average athlete, it’s one lap around the track. Mentally, you start out by thinking, this isn’t that far. I can do this. So you come out of the blocks sprinting hard. You’re reeling in the distance as you come off that second turn and you think whew – we’re like halfway done, let’s get the straight. You’ll start to feel tied up as you approach the next turn. You start to wonder why you can’t keep your sprinting pace on the back straight. Then you trick yourself into thinking the turn is shorter than the straight, so in your mind, the end is near. But your legs are starting to feel sluggish. Breathing is starting to require a lot of effort. Then, you come off the turn onto the last straight. This is where you will meet your end. You may make it halfway, but your body is done. You can see the finish line, but you are helpless. You’ll make it there, but you will wonder how it is that you simply had nothing left in you when the end was so near.

Keep that story in mind.

We reached the outer road in a much faster time than previously, and we were both feeling great. As we strolled the part of the trail that’s more of a meadow, we could have conversation without too much effort and felt we were well rested to start the next part of the trail – the loose rocks on steep inclines. The first one, for example, you could easily sit down to get to the bottom. But still, we were feeling pretty darn good as we headed for the home stretch, as it were. As you might imagine this is not the feel good, triumphant post I was planning.

We crossed a little road where the green and red trail pass, and just after this is one of those lovely hills that you practically need to hang onto trees to stay upright. At this point, not only your physical body is reaching the end – your mind plays tricks. You think to yourself, ok, just to that bend, that’s all we have to do.

But then you get to the bend, and it’s just a bend, the trail is still going up. This particular bend, is one you almost need to crawl around, the angle is so steep. About three quarters of the way up this hill, I had to stop and rest. You think to yourself, you can’t go up anymore, you just can’t, but what else can you do? You’re out on the trail. So, put one foot in front of the other, use the poles like I’m climbing a cliff, and off we went.

Now the mind really starts to play with you. Where am I in the loop, I ask, isn’t the river coming up soon? I was a little disappointed as well, since I felt so good in the beginning, I knew now I’d gone out too hard. It just sapped my strength, and the muscles only have so much fire in them. Little did I know, there’s a point where they just stop.

As we navigated the last hills, including avoiding the spiders hanging from low branches that jut into the trail, I was thinking. My inability to finish that hill bothered me. (I finished it, but you see what I’m saying.) There have been many times in stories that you hear someone say they just cannot take another step. I’m from stock that won’t ever give in to that – or I think I am. The bottom line is when things need to happen, they need to happen. For example, I’ve always been haunted by stories of the evacuation of the World Trade Center. I don’t understand it. I didn’t, I guess. How do you come down 80 floors, and when you’re a mere couple of flights from the ground, you stop. You just can’t take another step, even when it might mean your life. I can’t understand that. How is it possible to give up when you’ve done so much, and you are so near the end?

Clearly this wasn’t a life or death situation. But I did suddenly have to face the feeling – I had to stop on that hill. I had to. These thoughts consumed me for the next mile or so, until we came to what we knew was one of the worst climbs. You make yourself think it won’t be so bad, because now we know we’re near the end. This is where you trick yourself into thinking turns 3 and 4 are shorter than the straights. You start going up, you go up the rock covered hill, to the bend where it turns to grass. You’re now in full sunlight, adding to the misery. I turned onto the grass path, and started heading to the next bend which I hoped was the end, but I knew better, it still went up. Halfway to that bend, it happened.

I could not move one more step.

Now I know, it was not permanent. I knew I wasn’t going to give up and call the rescue squad. I just thought, maybe we just have to stop and have a snack here. Even with my poles, I could not take even one more step. I’ve never faced this before, and for me, it was both terrifying and unacceptable. Finding your physical limit is a feeling that’s hard to describe. We spend years accepting that our disease process is taking its toll on us, and yes, we maybe limit activities, but to find the wall you simply cannot go around, over, or through? This is a new one for me. It is horrible, when you have to face things that your body might have done easily a few years ago, that it can no longer can do.

After taking a lengthy break, we were able to move on. But at this point, I was mentally wrecked. Every hill I am desperately casting about for that stream crossing. I hear the traffic on the border road and I need to get to it. The last few hills were utterly excruciating. Blessedly, of course, the stream came up.

We donned our aqua shoes to cross the river more confidently, this time. For me the cool water felt wonderful, and I didn’t really want to push on, because I knew there was another hill or two before we hit the parking area. But, we made it. We kept our aqua shoes on, and for the first time drove into the zoo area, finally bringing us to the water crossing for cars. In one of the best decisions we’ve ever made, we brought some collapsible chairs and went and just sat in the river a few feet from the waterfall. The rush of the cold water felt amazing on very tired feet. I’m not one to sit quietly without my mind racing from idea to idea, but I was so completely exhausted, that I did it on that afternoon. Sitting in the river, staring into the trees, watching the kids fish and run around in the water…took the edge off some of the issues I had, mental and physical. After another hour or so, we packed up and headed home for the traditional post-hike pizza.

I did not land my white whale on this day. But return I must, and return I shall.

A Trip to the Falls – Without an Actual Fall – Glen Onoko and South Mountain

Since conquering – or as close as we’ll ever get to conquering – the ridiculous Skyline trail, perhaps I was getting overconfident. This weekend, I got to select the hike again, and I thought I’d go more sensibly. Glen Onoko falls, near Jim Thorpe, PA, is a well known location, and a family friendly spot. Or so we’d thought. This seemed like it was going to be an easy one.

When will I learn.

It wasn’t too different from what we expected, in that there were a ton of people there of all ages. This site shares a parking lot with a lot of recreation areas, not just hiking but river access for swimming, tubing, and nearby there is a historical train tour that can be taken in town up through the mountains. So off to the trail we went, and I felt a little overprepared – long sleeves, long pants, poles, a hat – and a bunch of bare-chested and bikini-clad college students. Such is the life for the immunocompromised and the fair skinned. But as we started to go up the hill parallel to the falls, I’m so glad I had the poles, at least.

     

If you are from the area, you have probably heard of these falls, and not always for a good reason. Every year, for a reason we couldn’t ascertain, people actually die at these falls. It seemed to us, that you really have to, to be brutally honest, be doing something really stupid to fall to your death here. Sure, there are lots of rocks, and many of them are often wet, and the inclines can be challenging, no doubt. But if you take even the slightest care, you should be fine here.

And then we saw it. There are several “levels” of falls, as it were. The water cascades down different rock piles, then in some places pools, to drop off the next rock wall or pile. As we reached the first large falls, I went out toward the center of the pool for some photos, and some college age guys also went into the middle of the pool – and proceeded to start to climb the rocks in the middle of the falls.

An example of the rock walls they tried to climb

Now I’m all for challenging limits. But that’s just stupid. No matter how young or in shape you are, climbing wet rocks, with water pouring down on you, up 30 and 40 foot cliffs? An injured hiker there a few weeks later, said it took 45 minutes for rescue workers to even reach them, so the risks people are taking are really out of line. But that isn’t the fault of the trail, and it’s too bad the place gets criticized. It’s really a great trail and anyone can do it. You can also reach the top of the falls pretty easily in maybe an hour.

In any event, we continued up the side trails like you should, and got great views, and nice places where you can get into the water and just relax. Few people go up and over the top of the mountain, but I don’t know why – there’s a switchback trail down the other side that frankly is much less difficult than going down the wet rocks you just climbed up. Locals there say that’s when people get hurt, by going down the rocks – those who know the trails always go back to the switchback to get off the mountain. We spent some extra time walking along the rails across the river, where the historic railcars tour.

The next day, I guess we didn’t feel like we’d gone far enough, so we headed out again, this time for an easy local hike on South Mountain. Most surprising was the location. There are very nice trails here, basically right in the middle of western Allentown. I certainly didn’t expect it. The trails weren’t marked the greatest, and no good maps are available, but they all loop back on one another so it’s not like you’ll wander the wilderness for days. There’s also a massive power cut, if you get desperately lost you can walk down that.

It was actually a really nice hike. Except for the flies.

Yup, I said flies. Not like some bugs, not like gnats and things that irritate you, flies like in horror movies. Flies to the point that we were almost running down the trails trying to get out of the woods into the parking lot. Flies in numbers that made me wonder if this place isn’t used as a body dump. It really, completely ruined the hike.

What was fun was to see the number of people using the trails with bikes. Even when I was 24 and in good shape, I couldn’t have gone up these rough, steep hills, and we saw lots of guys take it on. That was pretty cool. And the trails were really well maintained, it’s a great place – in the non-bug seasons, from now on.

Next up…..Call me Ishmael….

Insanity Goes for a Hike – Hawk Mountain

This was the first weekend that I was in primary charge of selecting the hike location. That’s not quite as much responsibility as you might think, but I did put some work into it. I’d been on many trips to Hawk Mountain as a kid, so for me it was like visiting an old friend. Of course, I was a kid a long time ago, and just like we discover every class reunion, stuff isn’t quite like you remember it to be.

I was also feeling full of myself on what would be my first trip fully decked out with hiking gear, including poles. I’ve never used poles, I wasn’t real versed in how to really use them, but for what I’d read about them, and what I know about my own instability – you can read that as, tendency to wobble and fall down – I was pretty excited. As I said in an earlier post I have nerve compression that makes me not have proper feeling in my feet, so I can’t tell necessarily where they are. It’s called a lack of proprioception and as you might imagine it makes you lose your balance a lot. (Hiking sounds like a brilliant idea for me, doesn’t it?) But I didn’t know quite how much I could rely on them, if that makes sense – to me, they felt a bit fragile.

I planned this trip extensively. I cross referenced and checked multiple sites and trail reviews. I put together a nice loop around the sanctuary. I vividly recalled the River of Rocks from past trips, it was no secret much of this trail was going to involve large boulders. There were two nice connectors, the Golden Eagle trails, that linked the River of Rocks trail with the Skyline trail. From what I could find, they were rated as challenging.

A bit more fungible was the description of the Skyline trail. It was rated as very challenging, one that included being ready to go hands free. That sounds a little ominous…sort of. Because on one other site, said not to bring children unless they have been on at least one previous hike. With that description, how bad can it really be? They didn’t even note how strenuous a prior hike children require before going on the trail. Accordingly, off we went.

We came off the main trail turning off onto the red trail, River of Rocks. It was very rocky, shocker. We were being passed by families with kids, but I’m not really worried about that so much any more. As I’m getting my hiking legs back under me, I move really, really slowly on rocks. It’s always better to stop and take a step back, if you discover your foot placement is wrong. Of course this ignores the sometimes positive effect of momentum in getting across large rocks, but I’ll leave that for another day. We crossed the closer intersection of the Golden Eagle trail, and decided to go further around the far side of the River of Rocks. Not many people take that hike, so we were thankfully pretty much on our own. Less witnesses and all.

Somehow, I got my foot wedged in between two rocks, and it slid deeper in and stuck. I fell backward, onto a large, flat rock face and landed pretty squarely on my entire mid and low back. There really wasn’t any speed to speak of either, I felt it coming, and had planted one pole, which slowed down the speed at which I landed. It hurt, and I knew there would be hell to pay later, but it could have been much worse. No one was around to see it, which makes it a little more bearable. The good news was I put incredible torque on the pole, and it held. I had two other near falls soon after that were averted only by the poles, so at the least I was feeling very confident hiking with them. I now fully acknowledge they are two of my closest friends.

On we went, around the sweeping turn that marked the River of Rocks boundary, meeting back up with the Golden Eagle trail. From there, we went up. And when I say up, I don’t mean in that sort of like a staircase up, or a switchback up. I mean like elevator to the mountaintop up. Now I have enough balance issues of my own, but  it was amazing to see even experienced hikers have to hang on – actually hang on – to trees and rocks to not tumble down the face of the mountain. The only saving grace was it wasn’t very long, which how can it be, there’s only so many feet in elevation possible. Using my poles as a skier might, I dragged myself up to the top of the hill.

You might think that an unexpectedly difficult trail up the hill, might give us the idea to maybe change course and just turn around to continue on the River of Rocks loop back to the easy, ADA trail to the visitor’s center. You’d think that. I’m pretty stubborn in an often really stupid way. We hit the top of the hill, and turned left to begin the Skyline trail.

Well. Difficult, yup. Taxing, yup. Somewhat threatening, sure. Of course there’s always the chance you’ll encounter a poisonous snake what with all these rocks, but you kind of figured that’s about the worst thing you’d find on a trail that again, had noted that children who had gone on one previous hike would be prepared for. The first thing that happened was climbing, more across than over, a small pile of large rocks. Here, we decided to take a break to have a snack and get a bit of rest from what going up the hill took out of us. We believed we were in for a nice hike along the ridge of the mountain with some great views.

It didn’t take long to realize our error. I was still moving pretty slowly for lots of reasons, the falling, the rocks, not wanting to fall into the rocks, things like that. You’d go through a little bit of trees, then onto another boulder pile. Just, more rocks than you can ever imagine.

On one of the next piles, we saw a young man standing there, and before long it was apparent he was waiting for us to get to him. He had to wait kind of an embarrassingly long time, but whatever, he was half our age. He had stayed behind to let us know about a snake he’d nearly stepped on, a copperhead. Which was interesting, because at the same time we were noticing that the terrain had very quickly become unforgiving – we were now on rocks that if you fell into them, or from them, you were in serious trouble. This was a situation of potentially serious injury, or worse. Now, we’ve identified a poisonous snake to boot. But once you’re on it, what are you going to do?

There’s a copperhead in there somewhere

We soldiered on, passing field after field of these boulder piles, slowly creeping across them. For a trail that’s under I think two miles, it took hours. Seriously, like two and a half of them. But that makes it sound like we are now at the end, when no. We are still so very far from the end.

Now I’ve been on the trail from hell at the Game Preserve, the one that keeps getting worse as you go – but this was different. This was actually getting increasingly dangerous. The threat level was not decreasing, our confidence over the rocks was not increasing. Then suddenly, we came to understand the hands free admonition. Now, there weren’t just massive rocks to navigate over – you had to climb them first. No exaggeration, climb, as in scale to the top of on a near shear face. It really started to reach the level of ludicrous – why are we continuing this, why were we here, how the hell were we going to get out alive?

Looking onto a rock wall – the blue line is a recommended hand and foothold

Given my limitations, it was even worse than for a normal hiker – my strength and balance are not what they used to be. That’s been really one of the hardest thing for me to face, is that loss. We go on, regardless. When we started having to climb up the rocks, he went first. My theory of hiking danger is, I’m going to fall, sooner or later. I’d rather not take him out with me, so I let him go first. If he falls he can land on me, I have more padding anyway. But after climbing about 15 feet upwards, he didn’t know what to do. It had been so difficult for him, he didn’t know if I was going to be able to do it.

Never let it be said that a woman won’t find a way to do what needs doing. Because, as always, my motto is it’s got to get done, who else is going to do it? That often gets me into trouble, because I take on too much sometimes, but it’s also a way for me to control the illness, so to speak. There are things that simply need to be done, and I’m the only one to do them – so they get done. Here at the house, there at the rock pile. I needed to get to the top of this rock pile. Done and done. Note to other hikers: there is value in momentum. If you know your arms and one static leg pushing won’t carry you upward – swing your weight into it, like you’re jumping straight up off your trailing leg, onto the rocks. Know where your foot will land, and make sure you have good handholds.

This is kind of deceiving; it’s actually taken hanging off a rock looking straight down to the tree roots

 And so, over the rocks we went. There finally came a little bit of a “forest” canopy, which was really nice, and also where I fell again. I guess when you get to the little rocks in a world of these big rocks, you’re not as careful. But, falling often can actually give me an advantage – I’ve learned long ago that the best way to minimize impact in a fall, is to bend your knees. The closer to the ground you get, the less distance you have to fall, and it also concentrates the center of gravity for you to get back in control. Watch gymnasts, you’ll see how it works, when you don’t want to step off (potentially off a rock) or not fall – collapse your knees. So this fall was just dumb and compared to everything else, it was nothing.

We thought we were in the clear. Then, the height of cruelty – there was a massive pile at the end of the trail, just before it meets back up with that ADA trail. Suddenly, it was up again, straight up, climbing the rock pile. The down side was, since it was the most open view from the trail, and met up with the easy trail, there was a big audience to watch the two of us painstakingly make our way up and over the rocks. Once we finally, finally dismounted, I had back pain like I’ve not had in years. It actually was quite difficult for me to make my way down the easy trail to get back to the car. Lesson for today: make sure you have plenty of pain pills on your hikes.

The views

 As soon as we got back to the car, I pulled out my maps from the morning’s preparations. I couldn’t figure out how we ever thought this trail was something we should try. It was only then that I read, right in their main map, the warning on the blue trail, which from the easy trail, begins with a 15 foot shear drop (that we had to climb up to get out of there). Oops.

It was worth it, all said and done. Once you complete something like this, you gain a lot of confidence. I don’t ever want to do it again, mind you – but we did it, no matter how out of our league it was. And after a few days of rest I was back at it, ready for the next adventure. Rest assured I’ve learned to look around at more websites, and now anything with a black diamond is off the table.

Back to the Trails – Lehigh Gap Nature Center and the AT

We once again chose a trail-only weekend hike, I’m not sure even how we got turned on to it, but it is really worthwhile if you are in the area and looking for a nice, moderate hike. This one started in Lehigh Gap, near the Lehigh River, at the Lehigh Gap Nature Center. There’s a nice little building there and from there, you head up the hill to where it meets the Appalachian Trail. We passed quite a few hikers, all going in the other direction, as we walked up to the side trails associated with the Gap.

If you take the blue trail off the AT, you head up, not at too bad a pace. Eventually you’ll see two ways to go – if you go to Devil’s Pulpit, someone has chalked or painted it on a rock, you’ll come to a very nice vista to sit and enjoy a snack. A lot of people seem to choose this spot for lunch on the trail if they know about it. We then rejoined the blue trail and kept on the ridge of the mountain, around some communications towers, and wow, if you want to see the rocks of PA trails without too much threat or hazard – this is a great trail. We passed probably six really nice vistas, and the trail was a little weird in that it was like every ecosystem you can imagine. Fields of ferns, fields of wild blueberries, thick forest, almost jungle like, it was wild.

This was also the first – and last – time I tried hiking in shorts. I figured it didn’t have the sun exposure that it turned out to have, but I also didn’t expect trekking through a lot of plants. I’m a little bit allergic to almost everything that’s green outside. Still, we trudged on, and the hike was really worth it. It didn’t seem very strenuous coming uphill, but when you rejoin the AT and start going downhill – wow, was that decline tough on knees that aren’t too happy to begin with. We followed the trail across the river just to see the view. There was a small shelter on the AT that has, as many of them do, a little sign in book where people can record their experiences and different things, their hometowns and whatnot. Several entries we saw as we paged through, referenced the trail to the east, that it was not for the faint of heart. We weren’t about to challenge their opinion. By the time we got to the river I was looking forward to just getting into the car and blasting the AC.

There are some much easier trails, that are good for families, that hug the river, and this really was only moderately challenging. Of course, me being me, I had to bring home some issue, in this case, this wild rash that popped up later that night on my exposed legs. It most looked like poison oak, which, yeah, lovely, but a day of oral antihistimines and topical benadryl gel – love that stuff – cleared that right up.

All in all this one was a very nice day, a very nice trail, and a nice outing if I can ignore the pain in my feet as we got to the end. This was still only my second or third time in my hiking boots in I can’t even guess how many years, which took its toll. But if you have a couple hours, I’d highly recommend this one. Just pack out what you pack in, it was really a shame how much glass and other detrius were left along the blue trail.

I know, no sarcasm, right? Just wait for the next one, I’ll make up for it.

Two Steps Forward, A Mile Back – My Story With AS

I think I need to take a little bit of a step backward, to go forward. After our latest foray, we took a day to peruse some proper hiking gear. A trip to Cabela’s later, I was carrying a UPF 50 light colored shirt, a hat with an expandable neck protector, and a pair of sturdy poles.

I’m going to be brutally honest, which is a little out of character for me. Normally, I enjoy my privacy. But this is for more than just me; this is for those who might have similar problems, who may have similar pain, or who share this diagnosis, and I don’t want anyone to leave my hiking stories saying yes, but her symptoms aren’t as bad as mine. I want you to come away from this knowing you can do something. Try something. And keep trying. No matter your diagnosis or symptoms, there is something you can do for yourself. It might be walking, it might be swimming, it might be crochet, it might be sodoku. There is something you can derive joy from in your life.

Many, many moons ago after a series of strange and seemingly unrelated symptoms, I found out about my family’s genetic disposition for an autoimmune arthritis named ankylosing spondylitis, or AS for short. As I’ve pointed out before, this results in the formation of calcium deposits and new bone anywhere in the body there is inflammation. Sometimes you can tamp it down, for example after a car accident, you know you’re in for some trouble, and the only thing that will keep your joints from forming bony fusions, is movement. Quite the paradox – joint fusion and pain, that requires you to move.

Stretching and not staying in one position for any amount of time are vital to managing AS. Part of that means I can’t sit at a desk all day long. I also can’t stand still for really longer than a few minutes at a time. So long as your disease is active – sometimes, it goes into spontaneous remission – you just have to keep moving. But so many things cause so much pain, and inflammation causes weight gain, as do many of the medications we take. It can also attack just about anywhere, sometimes fusing the joints of your ribs to your vertebrae and sternum. The hallmark is the fusion of the pelvic bones. AS can also form extra bone in the holes in your vertebrae leaving your spinal column and nerve branches less room to work properly, compressing them and causing tingling, numbness, and other sensations. It can affect other things, but these are the main issues I deal with. You can imagine that moving a lot might be low on my priority list with such a mess of symptoms.

All this, combined with the metabolism of a woman in my 40s, I found I’d put on some weight. More than a little weight. I started out having a firm number in mind, and I would not allow myself to pass it. Then, passing that was ok as long as I only was a little over it. Then I raised the number. I sort of gave in to it, I guess.

Then I saw the picture. It was at an unflattering angle, sure. It was bad lighting, yeah. It had no finishing done to it, of course, it was an amateur photographer. What I saw was the only thing I feared becoming as an adult, and I was horrified. It’s probably not the best way to get motivated, but there it was. I still have that picture. It motivates me still. I won’t post it, because it’s mortifying enough to know it’s out there. I was going to do something to change it if it killed me.

But the logistics matter. I tried running, that was okay for about a week. The impact was just too high, and caused too bad of a reaction. Too much pain. Tried plyometrics, you know, all those “work out for 10 minutes a day” things. That was even worse than the running. Things like rollerblading are out – the risk of falling is too high, and I have balance problems due to a lack of proprioception in my feet due to nerve damage from stenosis, or narrowing of the bone in my vertebrae compressing the nerve roots that go to my legs. I don’t have a pool, or the cash to pay to be in a pool doing PT. It appeared there really was only one option for me, walking. So, I started walking.

The time of year worked out, that we just tried walking together around the neighborhood. Eventually we built up to a pretty good clip, averaging 4.5 miles in an hour and 10 minutes, pretty consistently. That along with some dietary changes brought a lot of the weight off. Not all of it, but a start.

As you might imagine, walking the same loop around local streets gets a bit boring. For me it did, anyway. But we had established a pattern of walking, and it worked for me. We started visiting more battlefields, and took on more walks around them. Walking around Bolivar Heights, where the real action was in Harper’s Ferry, we just kept taking new trails as we found them and walking further and further. When we were in town, we knew we wanted to stay later than the last shuttle to the parking lot, so we decided to hike back. What can I say, a hobby was born.

I still find myself embarrassed at some of what my disease causes me – that’s probably why I thought it would be a good idea to start this blog. I feel like I have to introduce myself to everyone we pass, explaining to them why I’m covered head to toe, and why I’m also drenched in sweat. Honestly at any time you see me, there’s a pretty good chance I’m sweating. It’s just what my body does; pain reactions sometimes take strange forms. Anyone who isn’t familiar with me, would think I’m a perfectly healthy person. I’ve learned a lot about dealing with the so-called invisible disability. Trust me, it’s just as bad as one you can see in front of you.

I know some might ask, if this is something I can do, or that helps head off my disease process, how am I handicapped? Well, I never said it didn’t hurt. It does. A lot. But at a certain point, you have to decide to take at least a part of your life back. Walking around the neighborhood wasn’t enough for me. Some people have already lost the ability to walk in the woods, and I walk for myself, but I walk for them too. You never know in this life when things we take for granted will be taken from us. Until then, I will walk.

So, if you’re out on the AT or in the area, and you pass a hiker on a moderate difficulty trail, who seems very overdressed and working far harder than the trail demands, don’t hesitate to say hello.

My White Whale

The next venture we took was a bit different than normal; rather than basing the trip on a visit to a historical site, we were just going for a hike, pure and simple. Nearby we have a nice game preserve, which surrounds the Lehigh Valley Zoo. There is an outer “ring,” the red trail, and we planned mostly to follow that. The path we took also crossed the center of the preserve on the green trail, so we were maybe planning 8.5 miles. I’d never been there, so I had no idea what to expect. Zoo, game preserve, this can’t be too bad.

I knew I was in trouble about 15 minutes in. (To be fair, our inability to find a parking lot should have been considered a sign.) The trail just seemed to keep going up. Then, it was in an exposed meadow, where you had full access to all the bugs the spring could offer. The next thing we knew, we were descending down a hill that was so steep it was hard to retain your footing. This seemed to be a lesser used trail, maybe this is why, we thought.

We then reached a cross area of a paved road, and found ourselves at the road leaving the Zoo, which goes across the Jordan Creek, by actually going through the creek. We crossed the footbridge and found a helpful sign about snake identification, which was good for nervous hiking partners. (In my youth I one day nearly literally stumbled upon a rattlesnake – since then, I realize they want nothing to do with us unless they have no choice.) Off we went to the green trail, which would cut across the west side of the preserve.

The green trail. Well, we went up. Up. And still more up. It was as if it would never end, until we reached the Education Center, and sat for a most needed rest and refreshment. So far the majority of this hike was also in direct, full sun, and while it wasn’t overly hot, it was not exactly comfortable. I’m blessed with a background of Irish and Slavic skin that is basically translucent. I’m surprised I’m not mistaken for a ghost in photos. That, plus a few medications for my AS that make me sun sensitive, leaves me little choice but to wear long sleeves, long pants, and a hat. It’s awesome. The only clothing I had at the time that were light, breathable, and offered coverage, were all black.

Anyway, after our break, off we went, joining the red trail (finally!) and starting off on a wide trail road covered in grass, that was, joy of joys, downhill. We went past what was supposed to be the bison enclosure. Clearly this road was meant for staff to be able to maintain the large pens, but the amount of fencing that was either missing or in pieces didn’t really inspire confidence. It was pretty well for naught anyway, since the most wildlife we saw was a strange little apparently ground-dwelling bird that didn’t move until you shooshed it out of your way while standing nearly over it.

Then, we started the up. It kept going. And going. And going. What was cruel about it was, about two thirds of the way, this about 45 degree incline, became a steeper angle. It was the kind of hill you end up using your arms to press down on your thighs, just to get every last inch you can from each step. Of course, this wouldn’t be the last hill like it.

This was the craziest part about this place. If you drive its borders, which we did, there really isn’t a noticeable elevation change. At no one point do you say, wow, this is really high up there, or that’s quite a hill. There is no indication of what you face on this trail. It was up, and down, and up and down, over and over, and nothing, not one, of these hills was gentle. It was straight up, straight down. Unfortunately, photos don’t capture depth, and you lose a bit when you’re looking at a steep incline.

On many of these hills, and there were many of these, I had no choice but to stop part way up and have a breather, and in some cases, to stop and have a drink. It seems repetitive to call it insane but there’s no other word for it. It was this same nonsense, over and over. If there is any redeeming part, the absolute brutal pain of the hill and of labored breathing made me really ignore anything my back was telling me.

Then, blessed be, we thought we could see the parking lot. Now prior to being able to see cars, there were two hills. I’ll single these two out because they deserve it not only for their ridiculous nature, but also for their location – just when you’re close enough mentally to sense the end is near. There is something really powerful in your brain when it senses an arduous task is nearly complete. When things interfere, and that is snatched away from you, it is crushing mentally and physically. My brain at this point would have all hope dashed.

The first hill. Loose rock. So straight up that you actually do it on the balls of your feet, because you’re quite literally climbing. You climb and climb and then you see a turn and you think Ah! Just to the turn! Until you reach the turn and you see it’s a hairpin that keeps going up, you couldn’t see it from below. Up and up you climb, at some points hanging onto tree limbs as you try to rationalize with yourself, why you have to take that next step. What are the options, really? And when you’re convinced you can’t take one more step – you see the crest. You think, it can’t possibly get worse than that. The worst is over.

Hardly. Because the trail as we walked it, had saved the best for almost last. As you can hear the cars, and you know the map, and you know the trail signs, and you are so very close, it’s up again. Once again, this demon hill hides itself behind corners. You climb the rocky hill, thinking once you hit that left turn, you’re in the clear. You even see the trail opens into a grass path. You get to that left turn and you see another 50 yards or so, still up. But you think, okay, I made it here, all I have to do is make it to that right hander and … yeah. Still with the up. To add insult to injury – this entire hill has no canopy, you’re in full sun.

Things get fuzzy at this point. You lose your mental edge, you start to get panicky – this must end, and soon. Now we know it will, it must, there are distance markers on the trail and we’re quite close to our starting point. We went down the big hill, it’s almost over. The end is near!

That’s when we found the river crossing.

I’m not sure what to say aside from the cackling laughter of the insane, to describe my reaction to this. We’ve now got to cross this thing, there’s no bridge, there’s no path, there is only the water, and the trail on the other side. No choices. After some debate, we decided the best course was barefoot, so now I am carrying my boots, walking across very slick rocks, trying to get to the other side without a thorough soaking. Honestly, I got to the point where it didn’t matter to me if I sat down in the water. This had to end. Off to the right of the other side of the trail, we could see parked cars. I was completely prepared to go barefoot up the hill into the lot.

Except it wasn’t where our car was parked.

At this point I could have cried. We  had to put our boots back on and get back to it, and thankfully it was maybe a quarter mile over not too difficult – let’s face it, what would be too difficult at this point – terrain. The whole way of the trip all I could say was this was incredibly stupid and the worst trail ever. My partner kept wondering if his trail-hardy friend would like to give it a go. It made the most sense in the world for me to get into the car, start driving and never look in the mirror.

Maybe I’m not that smart. Somewhere between the point of utter despair in climbing those hills, and the euphoria of being in the air conditioned cabin of the car, I lost my mind. Synapses fired, or died, who knows which, but somehow, some way, it got into my brain, like an earworm – I must conquer that trail. I am coming back here and I will continue to do so until I conquer it and hike that trail without failing, or I will die trying.

Optimism? Madness? I’ve not decided which yet. One lesson learned – a “hard” trail should be taken seriously. What might have surprised me most of all? The next day, I did not have the overwhelming back pain and spasms I expected. Maybe this was a good thing to take on, after all. On to the next…

 

 

A Bit of a Rough Go – Morristown, NJ

Ironically, one of the worst hike/walks we had so far is one that was one of the simplest. This was a lesson in what not to do, which was fascinating to me, because what I did seemed to make sense.

I figured, that since I’ve been advised to try out an SI brace, which is essentially a belt that holds your pelvis rigid, that compression might do the same trick. Now, I’ve noticed there was something off every time I wore spanx-type undergarments, but I never could figure out what. Again, with these undergarments, you think support of your pelvis and lower back and stomach, should mean reduced back pain, right? So I’ll just go with a tight bike-short type pant with a tight waist around my SI joints. That should work, right? Right?

The hike we took was around the historic sites in Morristown, NJ, where the Revolutionary troops spent a winter. It’s by and large paved, with wide, grassy paths to walk. It includes a few gentle hills, but really no steep upgrades to speak of.

I seriously wanted to die.

I couldn’t even figure out what was happening to me. My back hurt in ways that I didn’t think it could, and I had no idea why. I was taking pain pills along the way and we eventually had to cut the trip short, because I just could not continue.

I still don’t exactly know why this happened, but at least it’s a lesson learned. Previously when I’ve worn spanx under formal gowns, I usually ended up taking them off within 15 minutes because something just didn’t feel right – and now, I know that was the right thing to do. And I should have heeded that call and figured out that binding my SI joints was not what my back needed or wanted. Oops.

We finished the hike, but I’ve no pictures, and honestly few memories about the trip. Visiting Washington’s headquarters was kind of cool, we were there late and it was just us and the tour guide, so it was very interactive. But to anyone who wants to follow this path – beware the effort to find the site of (ironically) the New Jersey Brigade. They’re off to a side area, down a hill where the trail is completely unmarked. Come to think of it most of the trails at Morristown are nearly unmarked, so it was a very frustrating day.

Lesson learned. Loose fitting clothes only from here on. We live to fight another day, and have a better hike next time. This is what I mean when I say sometimes, we guess what our bodies can handle, and we’re wrong. And that’s okay, and it doesn’t mean we give up.

The Beginning

It all started innocently enough. We were traveling for an event that was on a Saturday, and given its location, we decided to visit a few Civil War sites. We spent Friday walking the Antietam Battlefield and then on Sunday, headed to Harper’s Ferry. That’s when it got…different.

We first walked the town – which let me tell you, involves some strength. It’s built practically on a hillside, where the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers meet. It’s quite lovely, really. We had first spent the morning walking the nearby battlefields, which are some distance away, and only a very mildly challenging hike through woods. We really, really enjoyed being out, in the nice weather, with just enough of a challenge to call it exercise. When we got into town proper, we decided to hoof it up the hill to Jefferson Rock and take in the views. We’d quite accidentally found while in town that the Appalachian Trail goes right through Harper’s Ferry, across a railroad bridge over the Shenandoah (which we crossed for the fun of it). It was still early, so we thought, why not see what the other side of the trail had to offer? It seemed harmless enough; I remember as a kid doing outings on the trail, so I was up for it.

I mistakenly thought my phone’s GPS would point us to a trailhead. Luckily for us, my search for the AT did locate something – what we discovered was the headquarters of the trail masters. The office is open long hours, even on a Sunday, so after chatting with them we were on our way in the right direction. Down a hill, across the river, and then…UP. To me, it was like hanging off the side of a cliff up. It had been a long time since I’d tried to walk or hike anything quite this challenging; mostly just walking around a few loops of our neighborhood at night trying to take off a few pounds and keep me in a bit better shape. That doesn’t sound too hard, right? A woman in my 40s, former athlete, sounds pretty simple.

Hence, the moniker. It’s not simple. Unfortunately in my family, there’s a nasty little gene we can’t seem to get rid of, one that wreaks havoc on just about every part of your body. My formal diagnosis is Anklyosing Spondylitis, which sounds probably about as bad as it is. Our immune systems attack us, and at the site of  any inflammation at all, will form calcium deposits. Not bone, exactly, because what it is, is really crappy bone that is easy to break. The area most commonly targeted, is of course the one you would expect to have the most inflammation – your lower spine, and your sacroiliac, or SI joints. These joints are the area that in part make it possible for you to move your legs forward and back as you walk.

So why are those areas inflamed? You may ask. They always are. Consider every act your body takes as one that degrades something, be it muscle, ligament, tendon, whatever. The best way to explain it is weightlifting. When you pick up a dumbbell and do a biceps curl, you’re actually tearing muscle fiber. Then when you rest that muscle (why you’re always told not to lift the same area of the body two days in a row), that muscle fiber heals, but stronger and thicker. That happens every day, all the time in your body, in your joints. And your spine has a lot more joints than most people think it does. Every time you use something, that degrades something, there’s just a tiny bit of inflammation. And that’s when my immune system rushes to the “rescue.”

All that leads me to here. Someone with chronic back pain, shortness of breath (because sometimes it attacks the rib joints that allow you to breathe deeply), and fatigue from all of it as a result, and I’m hanging off the side of a mountain. I’m probably not coming off as too smart right about now. I’m not entirely convinced that isn’t true.

We climbed back off that mountain and hiked back to the car in the parking lot, finding a nice little waterfall along the way, and the thought occurred – we really enjoyed this weekend, we saw what we wanted to see, got some stamps in our National Park Passport booklets, and got some exercise. We should do this again! And again….and again….and again….

Hopefully if you’re reading this, and you’re wondering yourself about what you can and can’t do with limits that the universe has placed upon you, you’ll see that it’s okay to err on the side of “you can.” Sometimes you’ll be wrong. You’ll always pay a price, it takes days for me to recover in time to do the next round, and I’ve also learned I need a day off before just to create the energy needed to make it the weekend. Only by testing our limits will we find their borders, and I’d rather squeeze every last ounce of energy while I still can, because someday I may lose that ability too. I hope you’ll join me on your own journey doing what you love.