04/18

I’ve grown quite fond of sleeping in my tent. Just enough room to lay out my things, cocoon in my 20 degree bag, and pretend I don’t smell like a foot. Laying on top of an ultralight blow-up mattress, most nights, feels like floating on air. This morning however, I couldn’t get up.

My back seized the moment I leaned forward. Locking in with a sharp, familiar pain. Now picture me, crawling out of my tent on all fours like some wounded animal, just to take a piss. Not my proudest moment.

I stretched carefully and packed up camp with the grace of a man three times my age. I was extremely hesitant to throw a 35lb pack over my shoulders, but out here, there’s no other option. The mountain is indifferent to your pain. It doesn’t slow down, level out, or hand you ibuprofen. The only way through, is up.

A few miles in, I was surprised to find that the pack actually helped. Working like a makeshift brace, it held me upright, and somehow kept things from getting worse. As we climbed, my back loosened up, and before long we stumbled upon a cobblestone fire tower perched on top of “Wayah Bald”. There’s a joke there, but I’ll let you find it.

Most of the hikers from our previous camp had ambitiously planned 18 miles into town. I wanted to follow, but my body just isn’t conditioned for that kind of mileage. So instead, we settled for a modest 7-mile day and were rewarded with a pristine mountaintop campsite, completely empty, just for us.

We spent the evening trying to get ourselves clean, an impossible task when everything you own, including the soap, is covered in dirt. We did a little yoga and watched the light change over the mountains. But after a few hours of sitting around, my back decided it hadn’t suffered enough. The pain came back with a vengeance, even worse than the morning. I ate my ramen hunched over like a street urchin, while frantically searching for the closest chiropractor.

All of this playing out like a silent film, as we didn’t want to draw the attention of hikers down below. A part of me felt guilty for keeping such a spot to ourselves, but honestly I was desperate for a good nights sleep. No noisy neighbors, no headlamps flicking on at 3 am, and just maybe, a pain free morning.