An inauspicious beginning...

My first week on the Appalachian Trail - just a little different than I planned.  I’ve dreamed of hiking the AT for at least 51 of my 55 years. Once this hike became a real possibility, I planned and I trained and I read everything I could get my hands on about the AT. I wanted to just kill it from the beginning - zoom out of the starting gates and hit the trail hard. I think I was on track to do just that. Unfortunately, I definitely didn’t plan for the severe infection from the abscessed tooth that developed a little more than a week before my start date nor the effects from strong antibiotics that I had to take to fight it. They didn’t even cross my mind while planning out my first week. I expected that I’d be a little sore and I’d be huffing and puffing up some of the hills, so I planned for a few lower mileage days, but that was it. Well then. What do they say? You plan and life laughs? Well, evidently, life had one heck of a belly roll in store. 

My first day started out beautifully. It was exceptionally humid (92%), but not too hot. The first three miles of the trail were flat and fast - and I think I took them a little too fast. After those three miles, the trail begins to climb - and climb and climb - up to about 1200 ft. and the first shelter.

Right after the climb started, I realized that something was wrong. I got dizzy, very dizzy, and my heart started racing. Of course I expected some of this - I was climbing up a hill with a 35 lb pack on my back. It was supposed to be hard. Still, I’d done a similar climb a few weeks ago and I was fine. This was different. My clothes were soaked through and dripping from perspiration and my mouth was bone dry. I had only brought 2L of water with me because it was a short hike and there was water at the shelter. Huge mistake. I went through that in two miles. 

You see, that massive infection, the 3-2hr grueling dentist appointments and the antibiotic that was causing major digestion issues had taken a major toll on my body. I was very weak and I had started the trail seriously dehydrated without realizing it. I was so caught up in the excitement of the hike, I never even recognized that I was setting myself up to fail. Idiot move. I’m a nurse and CPR/ first aid instructor. I know better.

So, there I was, stumbling up the trail, having to rest every few feet. I got really dizzy and started to spin, so I decided to rest on a rock. Forty five minutes later, I woke up and realized that I had passed out. Not good at all. Luckily, I only had a mile to go to get to the shelter. I was already out of water, so I just hobbled on. An hour later, I stumbled into camp and almost passed out again at the shelter, but I had made it! Whew. 

Yeah, I shouldn’t have started to celebrate just yet. I found out from another hiker that the water source was located a half mile down a very steep trail. Awesome. So, after an hour or so, I gathered my empty bottles and started down. I didn't have my pack, so this should have been easy, right? Is that ever the case though, once things start spiraling? No, and this time was no different. The trail was so steep that you had to hold on to trees to stop your slide down and pull you back up. The water in the spring was nice and cold though, so I filled my bottles and started back - profusely sweating again and thanking each and every tree as I passed. I fought dizziness the entire way and my heart was racing, but I made it. I forced myself to eat at least some food when I got to camp, but that was it. I was done for the night.The shelter was beautiful though, most of the other hikers were terrific, and the heavy rain soothed me to sleep. I’d be fine in the morning.

I was not fine. I was still really nauseous when I woke, so I didn’t eat breakfast or drink much water. Luckily, my own personal trail angel showed up with Gatorade and bananas. My husband had hiked 4 miles at daybreak to bring breakfast to everyone at the shelter and offer to hike out their trash. I drank half a Gatorade (very queasy) and hiked back to his car with him. He took my phone and satellite phone to get them fixed and then I attempted to hike the remaining 5 miles to the next campground. By the time he met me at a road crossing 4 miles later, I was almost crawling. He drove me a mile closer to camp, said goodbye and I hiked to my stop for the night. 

I was still too nauseous to eat, so I drank some water, took a nice shower and tried to sleep. Instead, cramps in my stomach and legs kept me up all night. I finally gave up at around 5:30 and broke camp. I was having a hard time even keeping water down at this point, but I put on my pack and moved on down the trail. 

As I write this, I just can’t believe this was me. I know the symptoms and seriousness of severe dehydration - what was I thinking? Why didn’t I stop? In my mind, it was just time to move on and if I just ignored it, I’d be “fine”, even though I was so obviously breaking down. 

I only made it 5.3 miles that day and barely 2 the next morning before I had to stop. The nausea and cramping were worse, so I made camp and  tried to rehydrate and rest for the remainder of the day. My plan was to stay put, but severe thunderstorms and a tornado warning made me rush off the ridge in the dark to the next site a mile or two away. 

I stayed there through the afternoon, with the cramping, dizziness and a racing heart just getting worse. I finally realized that I was in pretty severe trouble, so I called my husband. He picked me up at a road crossing a few miles down the trail and took me to the hospital where I was diagnosed with - wait for it - severe dehydration. I had lost about 10% of total body fluids. OMG. I could have died up there. When the doctor found out that I was a nurse, he gave me a very stern lecture and I couldn’t say anything in my defense. He was completely right.

I had to stay overnight at the hospital to replenish the lost fluids and promise to take it easy today - which I’m doing. I’m at home, recovering and beating myself up mentally for being such an idiot. My hike (and quite possibly, my life) could have ended because of really poor decision making. I’m frustrated and deeply embarrassed, but it is what it is. I learned a really tough lesson (the one I teach to everyone else) about listening to your body and taking care of yourself and I’m paying the price for denial. 

Now for the big question: is my hike over? Of course not. This is a marathon, not a sprint. I promised to rest and recover today, but I did not agree to take a week off the trail, as suggested. I compromised. I’m going to hike a few miles slowly during the day for the next few days and my husband will drop me off in the morning and pick me up in the afternoon. (Still on the AT, just on a section closer to home.) Next, I’ll hike with my pack, but just enough food for a night or two and then with a full pack, but decreased mileage. By next Monday, I should be completely recovered and ready to start back on the trail where I left off - very close to the PA border.

So, was it the perfect start I dreamed of? Nope. But it could have been much, much, worse. I had to start in Harper’s Ferry instead of Maine due to trail conditions, but this meant that all of this happened close to home. If I had started where originally planned, this would have happened in the Hundred Mile Wilderness - far away from help, and my trail angel. It was a lesson learned, I’m sure one of many to come. It’s all part of the journey.