There are plenty of reasons why my 15-mile hike last Monday morning should’ve been ranked five stars.
For starters, you read that correctly: I hiked on Monday morning. Taking advantage of a flexible work schedule, I worked Sunday, and then “commuted” to Evergreen on Monday morning. Not surprisingly, Colorado trails on weekdays are sparsely populated; no need to dodge mountain bikers as they hurl themselves around switchbacks, as I often do on the weekends. I had a full pack of vittles: two tablets of Kona Cola nuun and plenty of ice in my hydration bladder, two water bottles with pure H20, two GU Stroopwafels, one sleeve of Gu Chews, one Nature’s Bakery Fig Bar. Plus, I had scoped out a new route—12.4 miles, 2,100 feet of climbing—on AllTrails. “A great training hike,” wrote one reviewer. Sold.
Despite my searching for the perfect route extensively on AllTrails, I don’t take the time to actually figure out where I’d actually be going. In more remote areas, this would’ve been an issue. When I arrive at the parking spot (deftly directed by my phone, natch), I hop out and head towards what looks like the most obvious trail and open up the app. Thankfully, the route is close enough to Evergreen to have wifi. Within a few steps, I realize I can simply orient my phone so my blue dot can trace the designated route. Sweet.
I start out excited and feeling strong, much as one does at the beginning of a long endurance day. Leaving my long sleeve in the car, I love that the cold air gives me goosebumps as I start downhill–a good sign that it will take hours for the August heat to feel oppressive. I bounce along, holding my hiking poles, not yet expanded to full length, in one hand. My legs are fresh and the sun is twinkling on Evergreen Lake below.
After about 3 miles, I see there’s a 2.5 mile loop I can add that brings me back to the main loop. I want to get around 15 miles today. We’re going to be hiking 21 miles on the Grand Traverse, so going at least 70% of that distance as preparation is important, especially because the trails of Superior are going to be much more technical than the ones I’m training on. (Read: more time on the feet.) It feels like a no-brainer, so I take it. Not much of that bonus loop is shaded though. At 7,500 feet elevation, the potent sun infiltrates my skin and my spirit.
Although I have mentally adjusted, as much as one can, to hiking—not running—the trails, there are still bittersweet moments. It’s like I used to be able to drive 65, and now my car, more traveled and rusty than it was years ago, can only handle 45 before it starts to shake. Even when the pavement is smooth and the tank is full, I have to stay in the metaphorical right lane. Yes, I’ll still arrive at the same destination and travel the same route, but along the way I feel more restless and less capable than I’d like. One time, when the trail feels as smooth as an ironing board, I get a little greedy, push on the gas pedal, and open my stride. Before I can even get up to speed, my knees, seeming to have absorbed my mood, plaintively tell me to cease the impact.
Going uphill is when I feel most like my former running self; forehead sweat soaks through my hat, my glutes clinch and fire with each step, each step feels purposeful and important. Getting up the hill as fast as possible is my only focus. On the final climb before the halfway point, I notice two women ahead of me. They seem young-ish and fit, and I challenge myself to catch them. I pick up my pace and within a few minutes, I pass them. As my pole tips click on the rocks, one of them says, “You get it, girl!” I smile widely and say, “Thanks so much.” I am grateful for the acknowledgement.
That glow gets me up and mostly down Evergreen Mountain, until, somewhere around mile 11, I trip on my right foot and fall. Hard. The kind of fall where, after you realize you’re on the ground, you’re not sure you want to move because something could easily be broken. “Owwww, owww, owww,” I say loudly, before I start to inventory the damage. Thankfully, no bones have cracked. My right side has taken the brunt of it. I’ve got trail rash and blood dotting my palm and hip and shin, and, within a few minutes, my wrist is swollen and the padding below my thumb is badly bruised. I slowly rise to stand, wipe the tears away, and look back to sight what I’m sure is a large rock that brought me down.
I see nothing. No rock. No branch. No caterpillar. I just fell because…I’m tired from today’s effort? I wasn’t paying attention? I’m getting older? I’m in perimenopause and my muscle tone and hormones are both plummeting? I have no idea.
All I know is that I feel stung. My skin is ripped up and bloody, the sun is relentless, I can’t move like I used to, I don’t even know what I’m doing out here anymore.
Just stung.
Perhaps as a joke from a higher power, a fit female runner comes up bouncing up the trail. She’s wearing a hydration pack and climbing with ease. I’m sure she’s training for her seventeenth ultra, and today just an easy jaunt up the mountain for her. I’m also sure she’s a very nice, loving person and would’ve quickly helped me, had I not been upright by that point. But I am stung, and I am resentful of her energy, her fitness, her youth. I keep my head down and barely mutter, “Hi,” as she greets me kindly with a smile.
I hike for a few more minutes before I find a shady spot to regroup. I squirt clean water over my hands, and apply band aids so my pole handles won’t sting when the raw skin touches them. I suck down a huge swig of Kona Cola, now lukewarm from 3.5 hours on the trail. I stick my final Stroop in my side pocket so I can easily grab it in about 20 minutes, a little motivation to get me through the final 3 miles.
“Three miles,” I say to myself without really processing the words, “Three more miles, Dimity. You can do this.”
When I pull out the ole third person, I know two things for sure: first, I care. I am so invested in the outcome, I’ve taken to cheering for myself so I can achieve it. Second, I am an endurance athlete. I never go third person in the grocery store or at the keyboard or while walking the four-leggeds. It’s always when I’m pushing against a physical limit: lapping the track for 800-meter repeats; finishing up an 80-mile bike ride; getting into a pool at 5:30 am.
And endurance workouts, despite being repetitive by nature, always contain the highs, lows, and falls, be them physical or mental. World-class marathoners know this, Olympic swimmers know this, and I—a Monday morning hiker—also know this. Thanks, Dimity, for the reminder.
Thank you Dimity for sharing your vulnerability, honesty and strength! As I fight age and injury, this is just what I needed. I am hopeful you will share after your hike in Minnesota. (I am considering it next year). I always learn from your thoughtful reflections.
I hit the sidewalk hard last week, tripping on…the sidewalk. Not picking up my feet, not paying attention. The injury to pride and self doubt that suddenly appears requires our most important muscle – mental and emotional endurance to keep going. I love the conversation you have with that Dimity – and I’m so impressed with the strength of your mental endurance!! You go girl!
I ran/hiked 10 miles on the AT on Sunday. I could have written this! Especially the third person part: “Get it together, Jenn” when my feet were dragging and I nearly tripped for the 3rd time in as many minutes. “You can do this, Jenn” for the mile 6 that’s straight uphill and the mile 8 that’s straight down. And you know what, we can. We can and we did. Good job to us!
Thank you for being so honest and doing it humor added in! Age and injury have me down but you made me smile today and that’s a victory! March on!!
Hiking can be harder than running! All the uneven footing, the lack of a convenient water stop place like a starbucks just around the corner, often no GPS or cell signal, and the sense that if I really get hurt I’m in very big trouble.
Thank you for sharing this, Dimity. The last 3ish years have been a giant “what is happening to my body” experience. With undiagnosed chronic right hip pain and left foot plantar fasciitis I’ll be shuffling the Twin Cities 10 miler. But I’ll see you there!!
Thank you Dimity for such an honest recap of your hike. As another aging woman (about a decade older than you) the struggle is real, but yet we keep pushing to be the best version of ourselves. I fell about a year ago and I know the pain! Hang in there! We are behind you:)
This is so powerful. So powerful. And I think it applies to any and all distances at any and all points in our lives. You go, girl. And your “going” gives the rest of us the push we need.
I’m tired, emotionally and ohysically, but you brought tears to my eyes. You ARE an endurance athlete and it doesn’t matter what activity you’re doing, running, swimming, hiking… you’re doing it! You’re still you, the activity is just different.
Sounds familiar, and I am way older than you! I love the trails though, after many long distance road runs!
Remember… every stick is a snake until proven otherwise, and if you don’t have a bit of the trail on you, did you even do it?🙌😜🤣
Glad you were okay! Falls are scary whether it was a big rock or not. Crazy thing though, you had your poles in hand, not extended, at the beginning of your hike. I now know, that is a no-no. One of our local badass father runners fell and his non extended pole pierced his leg. He’s okay but it was a super scary situation. Read story, link below.
https://www.spokesman.com/stories/2022/aug/11/endurance-runners-fall-nearly-proves-fatal-after-t/?fbclid=IwAR2mqMdKU6JLxojQCmK2ib453uUDzTxvC1yPTdJhPIohEKP0Ci0GorvG46c
I hope you are feeling better after your fall, I fell in June on a sidewalk when running and broke my humerus/elbow. I had emergency surgery that day and I will be having my 3rd surgery on Friday, as it isn’t healing correctly. I am so regretting my moment of clumsiness that day in June.
This spoke to me in so many ways. Thank you!