It was truly spectacular! The sun warmed my face, frosty air nipped at my back, and scree crunched beneath my feet as I powered to the 9400 ft crest of Dicks Pass. At the top the Sierra stretched into the distance painted with the last golden hues of sunrise. It was September of 2019. I was averaging 16 miles daily on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and I didn’t have a care in the world. The journey to this point was arduous and two years earlier I wouldn’t have believed this was possible.
In my early twenties I was the definition of healthy. I was active working out regularly, commuting by bicycle, and pursuing my love for hiking every weekend. Celiac disease was prevalent in my family and I was highly sensitive to gluten. As a result I had been eating a gluten-free whole food diet for years. However, despite my lifestyle, my health wouldn’t last.
My physical troubles began in 2011 when I found myself on Fort Mountain in north Georgia with a right knee that wouldn’t bend. The diagnosis was patella tendonitis. I would spend the next six years on an injury roller coaster. I’d hike, get injured, see a specialist, complete extensive physical therapy, and repeat the process. I experienced numerous recurring injuries including patella tendonitis, plantar fasciitis, achilles tendonitis, and heel bursitis. The downward spiral continued. By 2016, I was constantly fatigued, my muscle mass was dwindling, I couldn’t maintain my weight, I was losing my hair, my allergies were endless, and a three mile hike would lay me up for days.
Unfortunately, my symptoms weren’t strictly physical. Sometime in 2014 my cognitive performance started tanking and anxiety began consuming my thoughts. Just a year earlier I confidently handled adversity and difficult choices seemed effortless. Now I was liable to become teary eyed while trying to decide what to eat for dinner. For a long while I thought I simply lacked the mental toughness and I pushed myself relentlessly to overcome the symptoms. My internal conflict was obvious to friends and family. They desperately wanted to help. However, I was too proud and I turned to isolation in a futile attempt to conceal my struggle. Finally, in early 2015 I began opening up to my loved ones and started visiting an excellent counselor. With their help I made huge progress but the results were fleeting.
By early 2017 I was completely exhausted. This was the sixth year of my losing battle. I had worked with almost a dozen doctors from sports orthopedics to endocrinologists without lasting success. Worst of all, a victim mentality was slowly eroding my determination to find a solution. Little did I know this was all about to change.
The clock read 2am. I lay in bed but I was ruminating on the day’s worries and sleep was elusive. In a fit of determination, I began scribbling a list of potential goals in a tattered notebook. These goals weren’t the attainable but ambiguous milestones I failed to meet time and time again. These goals were seemingly impossible and completing them successfully would require resolution of my problems. I considered the options before me. As improbable as it seemed the choice was obvious. I was going to attempt a long distance hike. This decision was pivotal. In time it would lead me out of the darkness and into that golden sunrise atop Dicks Pass.
