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.

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.