There’s a saying on the trail:
In New York, I found the pain. There was a day last week when every step sent waves of pain shooting through my foot.
I finally had to admit defeat and stop hiking. I setup my tent, crawled in, and wondered if my foot was broken.
I sat there, staring at my feet in brand new socks and cried. 1400 miles had finally started to take a toll on my body. I blamed myself.
I cannot tell you how much it hurts. How badly I wanted to cover miles and how disappointed I was with my body.
Anything else can break, but not my feet. Anything but that.
Since then, I had a few low mile days. I loosened the laces of my shoes, popped pain killers… And waited.
My prayers were answered. It is slowly getting better. Yes, it still hurts, but it’s healing.
Right now, I’m curled up at the Bearded Woods Bunk and Dine in Connecticut.
It is one of the best secrets of the trail. I have been spoiled here.
I don’t feel like a hiker.
I feel like a person again.
(Sorry for the quick update. I have to get packed up and hit the trail.)