Boo!
My heart racing, my palms sweaty, and my vision impeded by a borrowed- and quite frankly, horrifying- rubber mask, I rounded the corner of weathered sidewalk in front of the Ohm’s home. Filled with competing rushes of anxiety, excitement, nostalgia, and disbelief, I was no longer taking stride within the hills of Appalachia, but rather the street on which I spent my childhood. The very sidewalk on which I hid behind the line of tightly parallel parked cars in my hand-me-down Fisher Price “1-2-3 Grow with Me” roller skates 30 years prior, shielding myself from the others who were fashionable in their magenta leather Roller Derby’s.
“Go ahead, you’kn have one!”, my father invited me. A neighborhood Halloween tradition, he was one of many gathered around the landing of the steep set of concrete steps that led to my parents’ front door as each offered a treat to costumed children.
I reached into the box of snack-sized chips and returned a bag of traditional Lays to my orange plastic pumpkin, my hand shaking.
I stood, silent. I stared.
“Ya wanta ‘nother one?!”, he asked.
I nodded, yes.
“Don’tcha talk??”, he clucked.
I nodded, no.
I remained silent. I turned to my right, and high-fived John, who has lived in the neighborhood long before I was a thought. “Do we know this person??”, he excitedly asked the group.
“Charlie, who is this??”, my mom’s apprehension was escalating, pointing at me.
“The heck if I know!!”, his laughter hiding his unease.
It was time to pull the trigger.
Remaining fully disguised, I continued to face both of my parents as I slowly lowered my plastic pumpkin to the ground. I reached beneath the mound of “prop” candy and unveiled a towel.
A Terrible Towel. A Terrible Towel that read “#1 Dad”. The one that I waved high atop Mount Katahdin.
“SARAH!! Is that…you?…”, his voice cracked, his eyes filled with tears. My mom followed through her cries, her hands over her face, “Oh my God, oh my God…oh my GOD…I’m going to pass out…but I haven’t finished your ‘Welcome Home’ sign yet!!”.
I raised the alien covering from my face and fell into their embrace. With their arms around me, holding me in the flesh, they could now believe that I was safe. They could quiet their minds. They could rest.
I was home.
Home.
Now that’s a relative term.
I do not have a home at present- the kind made of brick, mortar, hardwood, hardware, and hard-wiring. But I have found retreat in the store fronts of Walnut Street. In the powerful scent of Mrs. Meyer’s Lavender hand soap. In the architecture that soaks Regent Square. In mussels, frites and fellowship. In the simplicity of a flickering tealight. In Aunt Sandra’s marinara. In seeing my sweet friend walk into Mad Mex for our annual Gobblerito and a cold one after her long day at the big house. In freshly brewed coffee over NPR in my robe. In feeling Emily’s hand-stitched combination of silk, merino, and linen wrapped around my nape. In punching keys with my fingertips- they are no longer held captive to a screen. In hearing my father scream so passionately at John Cryer while watching Two and a Half Men, that you would think that Big Ben had just fumbled with 20 seconds left in the 4th. “But he likes Charlie Sheen”, he says. “So that’s why he watches”, he says.
Not only did Abby Mackey, of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, beautifully detail my time on the trail in her article titled “Pittsburgh woman shares hard-earned lessons from the Appalachian Trail”, she also gave a voice to my life that both preceded and will follow my hike. Both humbled by the accolade and a stranger to such publicity, I asked, “Why me?”. Why was my story capturing the attention and the hearts of many when numerous other hikers had crossed the same finish line? Was it the dichotomy between this accomplished woman who abruptly found herself choosing to live in the wild, only to be pictured on her website in a floor-length red dress and boutiquely biolaged locks? Were others finding antidotes to their own trepidations through my story? Or perhaps my admitted underdogism was far more than simply just relatable, had it allowed my readers to blindly trust my message and serve as a bridge to the realization that self-reinvention is forever within our reach?
My time in the limelight has been serendipitous, if you will, bringing exposure in bounty to my writing, my journey, my choices, but most importantly- to my message. My inbox is filled with emails from readers who often lead with, “I have never written to a stranger before, but…”.
There is no greater compliment.
None whatsoever.
To have silently impacted the lives of perfect strangers in ways that leave them compelled to take the time to reach out to me in support. In camaraderie. In pain. In inspiration. In question. With their dreams…tells me that I have been victorious in conveying both my humanness and my approachability through my words. We talk gear. We talk fear. We talk heartache. Backache. Family, feet, and failure.
Keep writing. I’m right here.
Malcolm X reminded us, “If you have no critics, you’ll likely have no success.”
And criticized with a rather punchy backhanded compliment, I certainly was. A reader very publicly commented on the Post-Gazette’s website, “I can't imagine the sense of accomplishment. Well done! I'm sure tackling a challenge such as the AT is helped when one doesn't have a house, a spouse, a job, or children.”
This was hurtful.
Why such venom in response to such a positive tale?
Hurtful because this individual sees my lack of these blessings as assets, presumably making my thru hike easier and uncomplicated. Suggesting, “All of us would flock to the mountains if we, too, had no responsibility…”
I discuss this not in anger, nor to discourage one from using their voice, but to bring light and thoughtfulness to 2 very apropros ideas.
The first- spoken by Leo Rosten, “We see things as we are, not as they are.” I gave up my home, my stable place of refuge, and lived out of a 65 liter backpack while managing every aspect of my life from a telephone for 27 weeks. I deeply missed my safe space and am now working to rebuild it. My marriage failed 10 years ago, and in the years following, I have not met someone who fills the shoes of a man with whom I want to spend forever with. It can be lonely. I may be able to hike 2,193.1 miles without permission, but I miss the compromise. Mostly because of this, I haven’t yet had the privilege of having children, of being someone’s “Mom”. I am not independently wealthy. I hustled to rid myself of every debt, including a car payment, in order to bring my outgoing expenses to their bare bones. I’ve eaten mostly from a gas station for the majority of this year. This has allowed me to walk away from my work, as a Nurse Anesthetist, that is. However, I started a new, and equally demanding job, on March 18th. And that was the one that required me to walk nearly the length of our country.
The second- profoundly put by Wayne W. Dyer, “What other people think of me is none of my business.”
A mindset in progress, but in progress, nonetheless.
“Our vision becomes so narrow that risk is trying a new brand of cereal, and adventure is watching a new sitcom. Over time I have elevated my opinion of nonconformity nearly to the level of an obligation. We should have a bias toward doing activities that we don’t normally do to keep loose the moorings of society. ”
Yes.
YES.
YESSSS!!
I have returned to Pittsburgh less ruminative. More decisive. Light on the complaining. Heavy on the patience. Comfortable with ambiguity. Guided by my intuition. Less of a chameleon and more of a maverick. I have found freedom through using my voice. I say “yes”. I say “no”. I start where I “am”.
And I am no longer rationing my blueberries with a measuring cup.
This is huge, folks.
H. U. G. E.
I nervously gripped my steering wheel, as if I was a soldier returned from deployment, as the driver of the F-150 remained wedded to his horn on Forbes Avenue, “BEEEEEEEEPPPP!!!!”. Take me back to my tent. My charcoal colored leggings now cry for a lint brush. I miss the crunch of stone beneath my feet. My 401k. The COVID-19 booster. Rear brake pads. And discs. A studio? One bedroom? Two bedroom? THREE bedroom? But where is the next white blaze? They’ll show me the way…
“I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page, and I could do anything that I wanted.”
Boo!
Surprise! With Mom & Dad (note: wearing AT “blazed” baseball cap), 10/30.
Eggs, over easy, and buttered cinnamon raisin toast at Becky’s iconic diner in Portland, ME. 10/20.
“Everything is fine.”
Made it to Ogunquit by lunch, 10/20.
A serendipitous Hunter’s Moon sunset viewing from the peninsula, 10/20.
Lighthouse along Marginal Way, 10/21.
Perkins Cove, 10/21.
Lobsta’ roll at Barnacle Billy’s, 10/21.
Pumpkins on the beach!
Time to hit the road! This was my “kitchen”, chock-full of hops, cottage cheese, plums, hijacked peanut butter and yogurt from the breakfast buffet, and my beloved bananas.
Bear Brook State Park, New Hampshire, 10/21.
With car camping, comes poké.
What can I say?…I missed my tent!! 10/22.
Pictured: “Living out of one’s car.”
Meet John & Patty, New Hampshire natives, who I had the privilege of camping beside. Patty wandered over to my site, offering her lantern, as I was setting up camp at dusk. “What a luxury!”, I thought. She returned moments later offering her husband’s hand in erecting my tent- I was a woman, I was alone, and nightfall was setting in- which was cause for her concern. I declined her kind offer in the setting of one of the very most prideful moments of my life. I was doing “it”. I had done “it”. I could handle myself in the most primitive of settings. Confidently, calmly, independently, and happily. I disclosed to her my recent adventure, and she invited me to their site the following morning to talk “trail” with John- he would need to meet me, she exclaimed! And what a beautiful morning it was. Two solid souls. Two new friends.
Lunch and window shopping in Woodstock, VT. 10/22.
Got my paws on a Heady Topper!
Then to Killington, VT for the night!
Emotional pause came over me as I drove through the mountain ranges that my feet had taken me through two very long months prior, 10/22. Perspective.
15 years ago, the AT ran past the Inn at Long Trail as it separated from Vermont’s Long Trail. I spent the night at this iconic resting spot, as I didn’t have the time to do so while on foot, 10/22.
Lobby of Inn at Long Trail.
McGrath’s Irish Pub is housed on the 1st floor of the Inn ☘️.
Meet John & Ed. From New Jersey, they were staying at the Inn during a weekend of mountain biking. We exchanged stories over breakfast, 10/23.
Meet Ghost, a thru hiker of the Vermont Long Trail, from California. I met him over coffee in the lobby of the Inn and overheard him asking the innkeeper for a bus schedule into Rutland for resupply. This was my chance to pay it forward! Dips drove Ghost into town for groceries, epically cool.
A New York state of mind, 10/23.
For a long overdue visit with my ride or die, JT. Pittsburgh neighbors for many a year, we hadn’t seen each other in a few. This called for peanut butter whiskey. Obviously. #asiawayadvantage
Bulleit and vinyl.
He also graced me with my Very. First. Pedicure. Tracy had to stand to gain the force required to go to war with my callouses! 10/24.
Read that again.
Carousel in Congress Park.
From Saratoga to Saugerties, NY to spend 3 days with the Imhoffs at their mountain retreat! Karen is a retired Nurse Anesthetist, turned family, who mentored me through my practice in Neuroanesthesia. Her support through my hike was unmatched and she wept tears of joy upon my arrival, the most memorable. 10/24.
A gift from Forrest, Karen’s husband. He now calls me “Shakleton”, both the author and the expeditionist!
Karen and her son, Ben.
Fresh lamb and garlic confit from the Imhoff’s farm 🥘
I dog sat Linus while the Imhoffs spent the day in the Hudson River Valley wedding planning with Ben & Liberty. I fell for Linus ♥️
Forrest.
The comfort of the indoors was both luxurious and unfamiliar, 10/25.
My darling suite 🛏.
Ben’s lovely fiancé, Liberty, 10/26.
Welcome to Pennsylvania! Back to the Bethlehem area to visit with the Kazans! 10/27.
Morning stroll to the bus stop with sweet Zoey.
Of course, I chose the black & yellow mug!
From Hellertown to Lititz, PA for a proper visit with the Bowlby’s. 10/27.
Dear Judy & Dave, in good health! No visits to the ER this time 🙏🏼.
Judy was at it again…eggs made to order, homemade artisan bread, preserves, potato and freshly whipped chocolate milk! 10/28.
Coffee in town with Judy at Slate ☕️ 🍁.
To Shippensburg, 10/28.
Ang and I were college roommates at the University of Pittsburgh, we and hadn’t seen each other in years. I spent two days in her beautiful home, hot tub, with her family, and squeezing two decades of catch-up into 48 hours! We are truly friends, in sickness and in health.
Ang crafted my whole milk latte remotely from her PHONE!! Talk about a contrast…
Ang’s husband, Brian, 10/29.
And on October 29th, at 2:12pm, the calendar…broke the surface.
Driving along Shippensburg Road, I spied a 2x6 strip of white beauty. One of my beloved blazes. Despite the rain, despite the pain, I wanted to start walking…again, 10/29.
Quite a different vantage point! This mile marker is roughly 5 miles shy of the half-way point of the Appalachian Trail, Pine Grove Furnace State Park.
I spent the afternoon at the AT’s donation based museum in Pine Grove Furnace and was invited to return to speak next summer!
Artifacts abound, including original Katahdin signage. What a different response I would’ve had, had I not thru hiked…
A serendipitous run-in with Rocks at the museum! I met Rocks outside of Glasgow, VA when she sprinkled us with trail magic- frappuccinos, bananas and donuts! At that time, she had just completed a “L.A.S.H.” (long a$$ section hike), and was paying it forward. After returning home, she craved the trail and returned to complete a thru hike, hiking Southbound from Katahdin to Glasgow.
My return to Pittsburgh was met with top notch charcuterie, courtesy of Misana. Misana and I were co-nurses in the Medical ICU, over 15 years ago, and she invited me to spend my first night back in my hometown at her home in Regent Square. My travels from Katahdin were filled with friendships’ past, 10/29.
Local java, how sweet it was! 10/30.
We surprised Patti, too! A pulmonologist colleauge and friend who happened to be in town, visiting, upon my return. My friendship with Patti was truly fueled through my hike, as were many others. Kinship knows no distance.
Be still my heart! Dill, how I’ve prayed for you.
“Sarah Salad”, numero uno!
And the dreadlocks are handled! Lisa, at Posh Salon, has been styling me since I was 19 years young ✂️.
And to Sarah, at The Studio, for some “pop”!
“1…2…3…SMILE!!”, I raised my voice so that my 95 year old Grandmother could hear me. My Aurora. After putting her to bed, she whispered, “You sound just like my granddaughter…I feel safe now.”
This.
This is “home”.
