20 lbs.

Written By: Katherine “Ringleader” Imp

The weight.

My alarm goes off. I get up and sleepwalk to the shower. I squeeze some face wash into my hand, and the smell reminds me of the travel size face wash I carried with me on the trail. The weight. I re-focus my attention to the day ahead of me. What depositions do I have this week? Did I keep track of my billing hours yesterday? I should bring my gym clothes to work. I step out of the shower and begin to get dressed. I notice the scars that have taken a permanent resting on my legs. The weight. I push aside the leftover boxes of Minute Rice and Backpacker’s Pantry in my kitchen cabinet and I grab a banana for the road. The weight. I walk to the bus. I get on the bus. I get off the bus and get on the El. I get off the El. I walk to work. I go up an escalator, two elevators, and a flight of stairs. I sit at my desk, physically present but mentally adrift. The weight.

I’ve had four of the best moments of my life this year: (1) the day I got a job, (2) the day I passed the bar exam, (3) the day I graduated law school, and (4) the day I summited Mt. Katahdin. But this year also included some of the worst moments of my life … and every single one of them happened on the trail. The weight.

Sometimes, when I’m on the bus, or at my desk, or even when I’m out with friends, my mind wanders to those moments. Those moments of physical exhaustion and mental strife. I remember the days that I was so tired I couldn’t find the energy to eat. I remember the days where every step sent a bolt of pain through my knees and broken toe. But worst of all, I remember the loneliness. I never knew what lonely was until I went on the trail. I remember taking breaks to cry. I’d put my pack down and I would just cry. For hours. Alone. On the side of a mountain.

And sometimes, when my mind wanders to these moments, I think … why? WHY. Why do we do this to ourselves? Every thru-hiker has been there, whether they admit those moments or not. And often times it is these moments that make people quit. Hell, it almost got me.

And then I force my mind into a better place and I remember. I remember Emily’s laugh in the tent at night. I remember Bran’s monkey noises over lunch. I remember the joy that one small can of orange soda could bring. So many thoughts come rushing to my mind while I stare at the inbox of my Outlook account or pay the bartender for a round of drinks at happy hour -- the smell of pine trees, the fresh spring water, the stars, the cows, the hitchhiking, the trail magic, the clouds MY GOD HOW ALIVE WE FELT and that’s why. That’s why we endured. That’s why the trail is magical. That’s why an experience like this stays with you forever.

It’s been four and a half months since I finished the trail and I feel the weight. And I’m not talking about the 20 lbs. that have made their way back to my stomach and thighs. I’m talking about the memories that both haunt me and bring me joy. And it is this weight that makes me feel closer to my thru-hiking community more than ever.

We were warned that the transition home from the trail can be hard. Some would argue that the return to civilization can sometimes invoke more loneliness than even the lowest of low moments on the trail. This happens because most of us return to a life that doesn’t involve people that can identify with what we’ve just endured. And because we go back to a life of buses, elevators, and Email accounts. But if this entry speaks to you then hear me when I say: it was worth it. Whether you’ve already thru-hiked the trail or you’re starting in 2011: it was worth it. And you’re not alone.

Cherish the good memories, and phase out the bad. Embrace the weight. And should you ever need a friend to talk to … the Traveling Circus is only an email away.

And That's All You Have to Show

Written by: Brandon "Monkey" Imp

This feels good. My fingers have minds of their own. They remember what to do. It's comforting.

Today marks four months since completing the Appalachian Trail. I only cried twice today; I call it progress. Crying is an odd concept - I am not sad or angry but satisfied and longing. My body is once again coated with a thin layer of healthy fat. Those "children strapped to the back of my legs" (as some NJ friends liked to call my calves) have regressed to mere toddlers. My face is not hollow and my feet are unmarked. The last of my hiking scars have faded. I want it all back. My body has become complacent yet my awareness of potential makes me feel on-edge. Why am I sitting in a pile of dirty laundry? I would rather be wearing them on the AT.

Four months have passed. I could have southbounded in this time. What do I have to show for my time away from the trail? An overwhelming desire for stabilization yet perpetual movement and an unsettled lifestyle. I want the 9-5, where I laugh with my new friends and go to happy hour after work. I want to entertain guests with a dinner party then crash on my couch over white chocolate raspberry ice cream and an episode of Dexter. My weekends should be open to exploring my new city of San Francisco; I should sleep in on Saturdays to cure my hangover. Doesn't it sound great? I think so. I am still searching for it - the lucky break in a down economy. Employers do not care about a Cornell degree or an AT thru-hike under my belt - they blindly need two years of experience for their entry-level positions. Doing your best has not been enough for the 45+ jobs I have applied for.

I am still hiking. Not the Appalachian Trail, of course. One step at a time. Know the end goal, but do not yellow blaze your way ahead. Love the trail angels that give you rides and housing; lend a supporting hand to those hiking alongside; do not let the nay-sayers bring you down. A woman begged for money on the street to buy me a hot cup of tea on Thursday - she saw something in me, and that's pretty cool.

I live in San Francisco now, staying afloat. I work 60+ hours per week and have yet to attend happy hour. I sleep in my camping gear on my bedroom floor and maintain a diet of cereal, chocolate milk, and pasta. I don't have much time for myself, let alone the handful of friends I am trying to establish. This is hard. I am tired. But then I walk out my front door and look at the sky - the sun and the stars are still the same. I think I'll be all right. Besides, there is another big adventure brewing for us. Fingers crossed this will pan out...

Pictures Pictures Pictures

Hello All!

Thanks to Monkey all of our pictures are finally available on Picassa. Enjoy!

http://picasaweb.google.com/ATHike2010

Doing Things

Written by: Brandon "Monkey" Imp

Saturday...

7 am: Wake up on a leather couch in a strangers house. My neck is cramped. Sam, my CouchSurfing host, has gotten up and is in the shower. My cell phone rings, my friend Alisa. Nope, I cannot hang out today. No, do not go to Carrabba's tonight! I won't be working! Why? Didn't I tell you? I'm in San Francisco.

7:30 am: Dressing for the interview. I try on two different belts and two different shirts; I stick with the original large black belt with a silver buckle and my blue button-down. Not nervous.

9 am: Board the BART at Rockridge with intent to get off at 24th Mission. Finish my lemonade from breakfast. Anticipate a 30 minute ride and a 30 minute walk to the hospital.

9:20 am: The BART ride was quick and I am 1/4 done with the walk. I slow down; my shoes have leather soles and I do not want to wear them out. Florence! What a great weekend - leather markets, relics, and David. At an intersection I look to my right. Mountains! I see mountains! They HAVE mountains! I call my sister.

9:30 am: Arrive at the hospital. The interview is not until 10:30 - I should check out the area. Should I live next to the hospital? Why are there so many taquerias?

9:40 am: Evaluation - loud, cars, pee. Yes, need bathroom.

9:50 am: A bar. And it's open! And people are drinking. I'm business-casual carrying a padded notebook. Let's beeline for the bathroom.

9:55 am: My phone is not going to last the weekend. WOW I need to shave. How did I not notice that?

10:05 am: Walgreen's bathroom, let in by security. Shave shave shave AHHHH THREADS. Ask pharmacist for scissors. No threads how do I look why am I nervous this will be fun is that a crumb or a pimple?

10:15 am: Group interview - the other applicants are already sitting and waiting! Did I miss something? Knowledge bank - show up 10-15 minutes before interview, no more no less. They are wrong I am right. Hmmm I am the only one not from SF State. She's a freshman. Is 22 the new old? Did I miss something? No, I am right and they are...also right but less right for the job. Right? Right!

10:35 am: Still waiting. Is there lemon in my teeth? I brushed this morning. I have to pee again! WHERE AM I

12:30 pm: Carla? Biddie? I can't find my host's house so I figured I should call you. Yep, San Fran. Interview just finished! *dead line* *ring ring* Carla? Ah the downside of middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania. Well, just don't move a centimeter while we talk! I thought you intentionally hung up on me because we haven't spoken in months...



Monday...

11:30 pm: This rental car is hideously lime green. I hope the front door is unlocked. I want pizza. And animal crackers. And grapes. Work went well tonight! Best Monday yet at Carrabba's - take that you worthless, energy-draining, depression-instating alternate universe known as NJ suburbia! Ha!

11:32 pm: Cat hair all over this chair. Smells like pork in here EMAIL THERE'S AN EMAIL is that sweat? My hands are clammy. Anticipation, worry, jitters...and if the answer is no? That would be shameful and debilitYES HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH pehgapoighapioghpaowiengpaowingpoawngpOWIEGNwpoiwnagpoinaewpgoINPEOINAWPOINipmaewogimag



I am moving to San Francisco in a few weeks. My internship at the San Francisco General Hospital's Emergency Department starts in mid-November. Now, to call those recruiters for a job...

Window Dreamin'

Written by: Katherine 'Ringleader' Imp

In 3rd grade, my teacher gave me a detention for staring out the window during class. That’s all I remember from the 3rd grade.
..........

In college, I met this lawyer guy. I asked him if I should take time off before attending law school. I don’t remember much of anything I learned in college, but I remember the answer to this question: “Picture yourself in, let’s say, a contracts class in law school. Are you looking at the professor or are you staring out the window?”

I planned a trip to Europe the very next day.
..........

When I graduated from college, I crammed 5 years of livin’ into 8 months of freedom. I knew that I wanted to go to law school, and I didn’t want to put it off, but I also didn’t want to spend 3 years and $100,000 to stare out the window.

So I took that advice to heart and dreamed like I was livin’ forever, and lived like I was dying tomorrow. I went to Europe. I led canoeing trips in the Everglades for delinquent kids. I danced at music festivals. I built homes for Hurricane Katrina victims and watched Barbara Streisand movies while couch surfing in Fairhope, Alabama. I dyed my hair purple. I lived out of my car. I hugged my dog.

And I didn’t stop there. How could I??? I had too many dreams!!! So I kept goin’ -- I traveled with my brother, with friends; hell, I traveled alone. I led a trail maintenance crew in Maine, I meditated in Sicily, I painted orange trees on an Italian organic farm and worked on a vineyard in the south of France. Shit I even slept on the floor of a cargo boat just so I could watch the sunset from Santorini.


And when law school orientation came around, I thought I was ready. Ready to be an adult. Ready to be serious. Ready to give back to a world that has given me so much joy.

And then I got to window dreamin’ again.

And I realized somethin’.

I DON’T HAVE TO CHOOSE. We don’t have to choose. I love the field of law, and I’m excited to have a career, but window dreamin’ is a part of who I am. And no matter how many times I, a teacher, or someone I know, tries to kick that from my system, it will always be a part of me.

And so I dreamed a new dream. And 3 years later I was standing on top of Katahdin.
..........

Now that I’m back home, I’ve got commitments and responsibilities like everyone else---commitments towards my friends, family, job, and creditors---but I’m still me. I’m still the girl who painted orange trees and slept on the floor of a cargo boat. And while this may be a sign that I’m finally grown up, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop being me.
..........

A month and a half after summiting “Big K”, I find myself on a plane headed to Florida on business. Starin’ out the window of aisle 18. Smiling. It’s time to dream a new dream.

The Appalachian Trail: Unknown Territory Video Blog - part 12

The twelfth installment of the Unknown Territory Video Blog.



Check back soon for a new installment and follow along with the adventures of a lawyer, an Ivy grad, and a city chick.

One Month in the Making

Written by: Brandon "Monkey" Imp

Ugh.

It's 11:22 a.m. on September 12th. At 11:22 a.m. on August 12th, I was in the midst of an insane rock climb up Mt. Katahdin. I was hoisting, I was scraping, I was sweating, and I was emotionally confused. Ringleader and I summited on August 12th, but we were emotionally drained from the unprecedented stresses of family, tourists, and the end of a 5-month adventure. Many thru-hikers say their summit day is one of the best days of their life; it's logical, but I think August 11th served a little better.

We were on a tight schedule. Some of our last days on the trail were marathon days; August 11th was a 21 mile day, and I remember every moment. We woke up on the trail in our busted tent to the sound of TP's voice, "I thought it was you guys getting in after dark last night." TP! We love TP! Ringleader got a 30-second conversation with her at the end of our marathon days in Virginia, but I hadn't seen her since Hot Springs. For months we were anywhere from 10 days to 1 day behind her - and our last day, we finally saw one of our first friends on the AT. She looked good and (we could tell, although she probably would not admit it) she was extremely happy to see us one last time. It was great closure.

After an extended two-hour morning, we set off on our 21 mile day. We were finally leaving the 100-mile wilderness and were making our way for The Birches campground in Baxter State Park. We chatted. We soaked it all in. We crossed paths with a few south-bounders and flip-floppers (including a sweet older woman who was convinced Ringleader's name was Almost There...). Finally, after a painful amount of miles across roots, we came to the last shelter in the 100-mile wilderness. The shelter journal was out of paper, so we wrote on the back cover. Little did we know this would be the last shelter journal we would write in...

On we went. We began speed walking with little hops in our steps. Then, we heard it. Cars. Trucks. Automobiles. The terminus of the 100-mile wilderness. We ran, ecstatic. We ran out to the street and kept going to the bridge. Now, more than ever, we could see the end. Katahdin stood before us grand and menacing. 5 minutes we stood there looking at the mountain before we realized that time was escaping us. On we walked.

Two minutes later we stopped at the Abol Bridge convenience store. Kate downed orange soda, myself a large helping of Gatorade, and a bag of Cheetoh's Corn Puffs between us. The well pump was being fixed by a couple of old men (coffee in one hand, a wrench in the other). While we waited for the fresh water (our filter was broken), a family arrived. "Do you know our son? My brother? My boyfriend? Oh, we have to use his trail name - Felo!" Of course we knew Felo, a new thru-hiker friend we had met only 2-3 weeks before. We talked for 45 minutes with his family, who were planning on intersecting him at the Abol Bridge and then hike Katahdin with him the following day. In a way, meeting Felo's family gave us a wake-up call - these people, your loved ones, will come from great distances to support you because they are so proud of your accomplishment. Our mom and dad were on their way to Baxter for the same reason.

With water filled and the day getting late, Ringleader and I entered Baxter State Park. I cannot say we were hiking. I would say we were strolling. 2,170-some miles we walked with barely a second of flat, pleasant ground, yet at the end of it all, we were walking on flat ground. The grade was not noticeable, and there were no rocks or roots. I was able to look up when I walked without fear of tripping! What I saw was remarkable. A rapid river, fresh air, lively trees and shrubs and flowers, rodents running, and the back of my sister's pack. It looked good for having traveled the entire east coast.

A few miles in, we took another break to document our last thoughts on film. Ringleader spoke first, so I went down to the river. There was a large rock slab jutting into the middle of the river, creating a thin but roaring waterfall. For the next hour, I inhabited the rock. I finished memorizing, "Oh, The Places You'll Go!", performing it a few times to an invisible audience. I basked in the sun and felt the warm fuzzies inside of me. When it was time to return for my confessional, I considered taking a picture of the rock. "No," I thought. "This one's for me."

Over the next hour I gave a confessional. I grew antsy within my talk, anxious to get to camp and upset that the setting sun through the trees kept dancing shadows across my face. Felo passed us in that time, and Ringleader promised we would see him tonight. Finally, we left. It was 7 p.m. and getting dark. We began with a quick walk. We rock-hopped two streams (in any other year they would have been tough fords). We were getting jittery. Then, out of nowhere, a sign. 2 miles left! More signs, with positively minute numbers on each one! That's when we started running. Running running running through the woods, yelling, screaming, making all kinds of noises, monkey and ape noises, panting, heavy breathing. Our packs were still heavy on our emaciated bodies, so the running gradually became intermittent sprints. Once, Ringleader yelled, "We got this!" and she took off sprinting. But, her trekking pole got stuck in some roots as she took off and she left it behind! Hahaha. I picked it up and passed it back, but the next 15 minutes of running included a mixture of gut-hurting laughter and gasping for breath.

By the time we got to the next road, it was dark and our headlamps were on. We found the ranger's station at the campground, checked in as thru-hikers #114 and #115 for the year, and headed for The Birches. This was it. The final destination. We were greeted by big hugs from Snickers and Sonic. We cooked our last freeze-dried Backpacker's Pantry meal with extra Minute Rice, sat by a dying fire, and went to sleep.

That was one month ago yesterday. Now, I work as a server at Carrabba's Italian Grille, biding my time until I can acquire a full-time career. Waiting tables is not the most flattering job; it requires precision and presentation when, in reality, most things the customer cares about (i.e. food) is out of your hands. Last night, one of my first out of training, was busy and every table seemed to be making their order difficult. Altering meals provides more opportunities for the kitchen to prepare the meal incorrectly, and it happened at almost every table. I felt my managers getting frustrated with me, and I did my best to remain calm. Then, the table came in. A couple, possibly mid-twenties but it was hard to tell. They frequented Carrabba's, although this was my first time with them. Her meal came out before the salads then taken back, was altered, and then made the wrong dish entirely. I felt terrible that I couldn't do such a simple task right. He found a pasta strand in his broccoli, and they took half of their meals home. Throughout it all, though, they never showed a sign of being upset. They laughed and were cheery. They sat patiently. Why? It was their one-year anniversary. Nothing would ruin this night for them.

Back in the kitchen, I washed my face to hold back tears of joy. One month ago I was running and laughing through the woods and today I was working for chump change. I was having a rough night, but this table reminded me to keep it in perspective. Today was my one-month anniversary. Mine! A cause for celebration amidst chaos. I'll always have that.