Called Again (28 page)

Warren had hiked the trail over sixteen times and was actively working on number seventeen. Horton had done trail maintenance on the A.T. for over twenty years, and Andrew moved to a house in New Hampshire that backed up to the White Mountains. Critics who mistakenly believe that a record holder cannot really appreciate their time or experience on the trail have obviously never crossed paths with these men.

Another personality trait that stood out about these three previous record holders was that they had all been supportive of my endeavor. Warren had agreed to help us for twelve days at the start of our journey, and he wanted me to succeed so badly that when I was injured and sick, I felt like I was letting him down.

Andrew, on the other hand, had clearly stated that he did not want me to break his record. But at the same time, he had provided us with his daily mileage and blog, offered to come and hike with us in New Hampshire (even though he was out of town when we passed through), and called Brew three or four times to check on our progress. Sure, he wasn't sitting at home cheering me on, but he wasn't standing in my way, either.

Then there was Horton. No one was more vocal about his love of the A.T.—in fact, no one was more vocal, period—than David Horton. That is why it was somewhat surprising to come to the next road crossing and find him so subdued.

“Hey, Horty, whatcha up to?” I asked.

“Not much,” he replied. “I got some more doughnut holes here if you want some.”

“Thanks!” I took the doughnut holes, offered some to Dutch, then began popping them in my mouth one by one.

“I'm going to take a break for the next few hours,” Horton informed me. “Brew went to get some groceries and do laundry, but he'll meet you at the next few road crossings. And you have Dutch with you, so you'll be fine.”

I looked at Dutch and winked. “Yep, me and long-legs over here. We'll be fine unless he hikes me into the ground.”

“Well, you should try to run a little, then maybe you could keep up,” suggested Horton.

“Uh-uh,” I said with my mouth full of glazed pastries. “Don't need to run. Don't want to run.”

“Well, you are lucky to have so much help,” Horton continued. “I never had anyone like Dutch helping me and carrying my day-pack when I set the record.”

“I know,” I said. “But we pay him well.” I extended another doughnut hole to my hiking partner as he laughed and accepted the offering. Then we headed back into the woods together.

A few hours later, Dutch and I came out at a road crossing and met Brew. He had picked up blackberry milkshakes for the two of us, and also stopped at the drugstore to buy some antinausea medicine.

I sat down in my camp chair and started working on my milkshake.

“Brew, do you think Horton is acting weird?”

“What do you mean?” Brew replied. “Horton always acts weird.”

“Well, in 2008, he kept saying things to me like, ‘You're doing it, girl!' and ‘This is really special!' And this summer he hasn't said anything like that.”

“Well, in 2008 you weren't three days ahead of his old record.”

“Yeah, but he always said before this summer that he thought I could set the overall record and that he wanted to help.”

“He
does
want to help,” Brew confirmed. “But he wants to be on the trail with you, and he can't keep up because he's tired and
his knee hurts. He also wants you to run, and you're not running. The problem isn't that he doesn't want to help; the problem is he feels like he can't.”

“Well, his doughnut holes are helpful.”

Brew smiled. “Don't worry about Horton. His heart is in the right place. I know he would do anything in his power to help you.”

The next day, our second in Shenandoah National Park, Horton proved his devotion.

I woke up feeling nauseous for the fifth straight morning, but this time it was even more overwhelming, and it was difficult to breathe. At five a.m., I took a few steps to the exact spot where I had stopped hiking the night before, then I turned around to look at Brew.

Instead of walking forward, I hiked backward toward him. For the first time since Vermont, I decided that I couldn't start hiking at five a.m. I felt absolutely horrible. All I wanted to do—all I was able to do—was sit down with my head between my legs. I tried to take deep breaths for several minutes, but they sounded labored, as if I had asthma. Brew stroked my back.

“Honey, do you want to lie down? Or what about putting your hands over your head? Or maybe you should drink something. Would that help?”

Brew was at a loss. And so was I. It felt like there was a cinder block on my chest. I knew that in that moment I couldn't hike. I laid down beside Brew and put both hands on my forehead. My breathing gradually became less labored, and as it did, my eyelids grew heavy. I dozed for the next hour or so, and then when I felt like I couldn't afford to rest any longer, I looked at Brew and said, “I need to get up.”

He helped me to a sitting position and I felt okay. Then he took my hands and pulled me to my feet. At that point I felt really sick, but I knew that I couldn't afford to rest any longer.

Brew grabbed my gear, and together we went back to the same trailhead where I'd turned around an hour ago.

I looked back at my husband one more time.

“Do you need anything special?” he asked. “Can I get you some more medicine? What about doughnut holes?”

I hesitated. “I think what you should get me is a pregnancy test.” And with that, I turned around and trudged off into the woods.

I didn't
really
think I was pregnant. I mean, I had taken the typical precautions to ensure that I wouldn't be. But I had never felt such severe nausea and exhaustion in my life. For the past three days, I had been contemplating whether or not birth control was still effective on a person who was hiking fifty miles and eating 6,000 calories per day. I highly doubted that the pharmaceutical company had run that research study.

I had always wanted to be a mom, but I was
not
ready to be pregnant!

I knew that if I took a pregnancy test and it came back positive, I would have to end my hike. Even though my ob-gyn was extremely progressive, I didn't think anyone would tell me that I could keep trudging so many miles per day if I was pregnant. Just like the non-existent birth control study, I was equally sure that there was not a test group for pregnant women hiking repeated fifty-mile days.

I had overcome so much, dealt was such adversity. It was strange and bittersweet to think that my hike could actually come to a halt because of something positive. I wanted to keep hiking, I wanted to do my best and finish the trail in less than forty-seven days. But in the grand scheme of things, if I had to pick between being a record holder and being a mother, then hands down, I wanted babies. I was convinced that being a mom was better and
probably harder than any record, but I also hoped that starting a family could wait just a little bit longer.

I did the math. I had been on the trail for four weeks without having my monthly cycle, and I began to think of times that Brew and I had been intimate since leaving Katahdin. Thankfully, that wasn't too hard to keep track of.

In 2008, Brew and I began our hike twelve days after we were married. Thus, we “celebrated” our newlywed status nearly every night. When calculating all the ways I was going to add mileage this summer, I decided that foregoing sex would equal at least one extra mile per day. A half mile's worth of time plus a half mile's worth of energy equals one mile. It was all very scientific.

However, there were times on the trip where I needed the physical connection with Brew because it provided added emotional strength. For his part, Brew always claimed that it was probably one of the best ways I could stretch. “Think of it as multi-tasking,” he would say. So yes, based on a few nights of stretching, it was not probable that I was knocked up, but it
was
possible.

The silver lining of needing to take a pregnancy test was that Brew was not the one who bought it. That honor had been bestowed upon Horton.

He and Dutch had stayed at a hotel in town, and Brew called and asked him to pick up the test on his way to the trail. I could just see our extremely conservative, self-aware, sixty-two-year-old friend walking into a drugstore to buy a pregnancy test. Man, what I wouldn't pay to get my hands on the surveillance video at
that
CVS! The mental image itself was priceless, and it helped take my mind off the potential life-altering implications. Brew was right; Horton would do just about anything to help us out.

The other piece of encouragement that kept my mind off the miles—and the possibility of having to quit—was that during my first two hours of hiking, I had seen seven bears. I often referred to the Shenandoah National Park as the Shenandoah Petting
Zoo. Deer graze inside the campgrounds, turkeys parade down the asphalt roads, and you have a better chance of spotting a bear in there than almost anywhere else on the trail. But seven bears before breakfast was unheard of!

Brew, Horton, and Dutch met me at Big Meadows Campground. They handed me a hot breakfast from the nearby lodge, and Horton handed me a brown bag.

I ate only a few bites of food, but this time it was due more to nerves than to nausea. Then I stood up and put the brown bag in my daypack.

“Do you want me to hike with you?” asked Dutch.

I smiled and replied, “I think I'd better do this section on my own.” Then I leaned over and gave Brew a peck on the cheek.

“I'll see you in a few miles,” I said.

For my husband, I am sure those were the longest miles of the entire trail. We hadn't had the opportunity to talk about it, and based on the look of uncertainty that crossed his face, I couldn't tell if he was excited, upset, or simply amused.

After leaving my crew, I hiked a little farther and then stepped into the woods to unwrap the pee stick. After doing my part to activate the test strip, I stood there hypnotized by the hourglass that kept flashing on the screen. My heart was racing. What was taking so long? Did Horton buy a faulty test? I could have been another quarter mile down the trail by now! But what would that even matter if I had to stop at the next road?

I decided to keep hiking with the test in my hand so I didn't waste any more time. Every day of this record attempt, I had wished for a valiant excuse to end the hike and stop the pain. Yet every day, I also prayed that nothing would force me to quit. Now my entire fate rested on a urine-saturated device that was clutched in the same hand as my hiking pole.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, two words popped up: “Not Pregnant.”

YES! Hallelujah. Thank you, Jesus.
I had never felt so relieved.

I pumped my fist and my hiking stick in the air. But as my arm came down, I also began to feel a little bit—just ever so slightly, kind of, sort of—disappointed. I didn't want to be pregnant right then, but I decided that I would not be upset if that was the last negative pregnancy test I ever took.

At the next road crossing, I was surprised that Brew and Horton also seemed to respond to the test results with mixed emotions.

“Did you really think you were pregnant?” asked Horton.

“Well, I have never felt this nauseous, tired, and weak in my entire life. So yeah, I thought it was a possibility.”

“Well, I'm glad that we don't have to quit the record attempt,” said Brew, with a somewhat sullen look on his face. “You had better keep going. You have to make up for lost time this morning.”

I looked straight at my husband. I heard what he was saying with his lips, but I also saw what he was communicating with his eyes. We both had a bad habit of planning our next adventure before we finished the one we were on. And after this morning, it was becoming very clear what that next adventure would be.

Dutch seemed to be the only person on our crew who was completely, one hundred percent happy that the test results were negative.

“Does this mean we can hike now?” he asked enthusiastically.

That afternoon, he and I waded through another thunderstorm, and that night I followed the back of his shoes with my headlamp until we arrived at our campsite. We had seen another seven bears since that morning. Fourteen bears in one day—now, that's a record!