I was patient in the beginning, the humidity smothering me from the moment I stepped out of the car. My shirt was soaked through within the first mile. Any whisper of winter was officially gone by now.
But all systems felt oddly good as I ascended. With a giant effort not two weeks behind me, I recognized I might need to bail at 1 of the 3 planned summits. The mountain laurels, rhododendron, and flame azaleas were peaking in color. Their blooms scattered the trail like spring snow. I told myself I'd save my picture-taking for the return trip and it gave me something to look forward to.
As I reached the ridgeline, dense fog ruined any chance of morning views. I hoped that it would burn off, relieving me of the humidity and making these climbs worth it. The rocks on the ridgeline were slick with moisture and as I came into view of the first people I saw, I slid down very slowly. They stopped and made sure I was okay before I overly reassured them I was unscathed.
A mile later, I ran into a group of 5 hikers who moved to the side to give me room to pass. The one with a giant headlamp still on his head way past dawn asked me what time I started. I glanced at my watch and told him, “about an hour ago”. He seemed angry and impressed in one facial expression. I asked if they'd ever been on this trail before and after they said no, told them that the worst part was mostly over. There's a bit of a rock scramble before you reach the top, but it's very short.
I got to it myself very shortly thereafter, enjoying the dense tree tunnel that leads right up to it. There used to be a fixed rope in this scramble area, but they rerouted the trail into switchbacks with some rocks as stairs. It's a little dicey where some of the trail has continually eroded and even dicier in wet conditions. I made it through without any incident and started to do a little running after that.
The goal was to go very, very slow and finish the triple. So if I ever felt like I was pushing during the run, I'd pull myself back to keep it easy, easy, easy. I was jogging slowly in the easiest sections of Arkaquah when I rolled my ankle and came tumbling down. The same one I rolled during SCAR and heard the same crunchy noise it made that night. Cursing my own name, I rose back up and hobbled gingerly for a few steps. Flashbacks of Frankenfoot haunted me. That was 7 weeks out from UTMB. This was 7 weeks out from Eiger.
Somehow, I avoided further damage and as it loosened up, I continued to pick up speed and confidence. Reaching the parking lot felt like I'd checked the first box. I climbed the paved trail hard, my lungs and hamstrings burning happily. At the top of the lookout, I plopped on the bench, pulled out a croissant, and took a few photos. I sent the foggy landscape to the running group chat, telling them they were missing the great views.
I filled up my bottles at the water fountain and headed out for the longest section. Down Wagon Train and then back to the summit. This trail is even less used than Arkaquah and in June, the flora often hides the path. I fought my way through the greenery and then found a good rhythm as I descended. Running felt good and I was conscious of keeping it very relaxed.
I ate every 30 minutes, taking my time to get in calories and not worry if I needed to walk here or there to open packages or dig around for the right thing. At the bottom of the descent, I stopped to pee and was happy I was hydrated enough to do this.
I fully expected to spend the ascent power-hiking. But I continued to feel oddly good and ran way more of the uphill than expected. The fog had lifted a bit and I snapped a few pictures of the Brasstown summit from this trail. As I got over 4,000’, the breeze picked up and I reached the field of ferns feeling really happy. I wasn't feeling mile 1 fresh, but I felt strong and confident for finishing what I'd started out for.
I climbed the paved path again, now swarming with day hikers. As I got to the vending machine, I pulled out 2 very soaked $1 bills to buy a Dr. Pepper. I was salivating at the prospect of guzzling the cold, sugary fizz. The dollar went in and was spit back out. In and spit back out. In and spit back out. I tried the other dollar. Same result. I thought briefly about asking someone to trade me $2 in non-wet bills, but decided perhaps I didn't actually need this Dr. Pepper that badly and stuffed them back in my shorts pocket. Note to self that yes, you should have put them in a plastic bag as planned.
Reaching the summit again, I sat on the bench, pulled out a second croissant, and took another few photos. Refilling my bottles, I listened to people sitting on the rocking chairs talk about going to Anna Ruby Falls and going to lunch.
Was it only lunch time? Was it already lunch time? Time in the woods can often feel irrelevant. I could live a thousand lifetimes before noon.
I jogged back down the paved trail, the eccentric load hammering my quadriceps until I reached the parking lot. Of all the gin joints in the world, there was a Porsche party in the summit parking lot. Like 40 of them. All backed into their spaces, obviously. A few new ones, but mostly from the 80s and 90s. I should have taken a picture, but I'd just stuffed my phone back in my pack after queuing up a playlist.
On Repeat Spotify playlist seemed to be a good start for the Jack's Knob descent. A mix of EDM, country, hip-hop, and indie currently.
Relieved to be leaving civilization again, I hiked the one tiny uphill before getting to the fun part. The descent on Jack's Knob is a blast if you've got legs. Mine weren't so fresh, but I found a nice cadence nonetheless. I was only a couple minutes into the down when I spotted Chad. And Loucus. And Daniel. Not surprising in the least, but also funny that the only other people I saw running were 3 people I know. And I'm 90 minutes from my house. We chatted for a few minutes and fist-bumped as we headed our respective ways.
I cruised down to the bottom, still feeling like I had gas in the tank. Which was good, because the climb back is a beast. I tagged the road and then clipped my poles back into my gloves. Climb time. Sweat poured off me as I inched my way up. I was almost to the top when a hiker and I passed each other in reverse and started chatting. He was training for some long Colorado hikes and was encouraged to do one more repeat of Jack's after we talked.
Shortly thereafter, I was back at the parking lot and then back to the summit. I dug out my third and final croissant, took a few more photos, and then waited until I was back at the parking lot fountains to fill up water. I only peed once and I was 7 hours in at this point. So my goal was to deplete as much of the 1.5L on the descent as I could.
It was slow going in the beginning as I pulled out my phone to change my playlist. I played Dream On by Aerosmith and then let shuffle mode take it from there. Then I took some flower photos. Climbing back down the dicey section was, well, dicier.
At long last though, I reached the final summit and knew I could tuck my poles away. Much like Jack's Knob, the final descent of Arkaquah is a blast if you've got legs. The trail is pretty narrow in sections with a step drop-off, but I was feeling better than I deserved. Sultans of Swing played as I cruised down full of joy. I was tired and scratched and ready to see my car, but I was also so incredibly happy in that stretch.
I didn't expect this day to go well. In fact, I didn't know if I was going to make it more than one summit. But it went unreasonably well. Not perfect, but a really happy solo 30 miles in nearly 100% humidity with over 8,000’ of climbing.
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I bring a can of sparkling water out with me and it sweats in the summer evening. Lightning cracks across the sky and I curl up in the rocking chair. My hair is damp from the long bath I just took. I call an old friend and rock slowly in the chair as we talk. Our conversations over the phone are far lighter than in person. We talk about family, health, and upcoming plans, but nothing of true depth. Those are saved for our far less frequent meetings.
The summer thunderstorm lingers around me, but I'm protected from the rain on the porch. My azaleas are just tall enough to give me privacy. Not that anyone is out anyway in the weather. On a regular night in June, kids would be racing by on their bikes and adults walking their dogs one last time for the day.
It's never how I imagined it to be, but it's also everything I imagined it to be. The routine of summer rain and stories of an old friend weaving a thread of comfort into an otherwise strange existence.
_________
I'm drenched in sadness. The words on the pages bring me to tears at 30,000’. I blink them back, stuffing my sorrow deep inside of me.
All of it washes over me like a tidal wave. The uncertainty of everything too much for one lifetime, let alone one year, one week, one day. I feel like I'm running away again. But I know you need me now and the guilt wrecks me. I keep trying to find the light, some sliver of hope that makes me feel like I'll once again find comfort.
I awoke from my dream that I woke up too late to catch my flight in time. And that I was wandering around the parking lot nearly hysterical because I couldn't find my car. That I had no time buffer to make it to the race on time and that I was going to lose my streak. Nobody cares except me, but I felt the disappointment so heavily in this dream that when I woke up, I was almost startled that it was on time.
All the emotions of the week had my mind racing as I tossed and turned on the pillow last night. I needed to sleep because the 4am alarm was going to be rough even in the best of circumstances. I heard Megan draw herself a bath, the familiar sound of her routine providing white noise as I spiraled. I'm not sure if Adam was asleep or not, his inability to easily toss and turn forces him to lie on his back until he can drift off.
I slipped in and out of consciousness until Riley made her bedside appearance. I knew I should have just put her in bed earlier, but most of the time I scoop her up in a semi-vegetative state and fall back asleep early. My mind was still spinning when I laid her on the bed. She takes very little time to nest these days, especially in the night.
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Places I have bloomed. Or rather, watched my bloom fade.
I'd rather think of when it was just happening, having no idea it would burst full of color and scent. Tipping its petals to the sky and then dropping slowly as all the insides are revealed.
Bloomed all through the middle of winter and came back again for a season. I felt it ebb and flow, wishing for that one day again that the bud might erupt.
But I prepared for my bloom to die. Like dust in the wind, forgotten as that town. The leaves and petals becoming brown and wilted. The seasons come and go and I can only hope someone scoops up my seeds and plants me once again.
_______
I wanted to scribble furiously like I'd imagine Hemingway to have done in a drunken stream of consciousness. But I've seen the gardens now, a breezy oasis amid the creative chaos. It seems too sunny, too rich with sea breezes to be filled with grief. The words don't fly off the pen like they once did, the sadness smattered across thousands of sentences with no end in sight.
I imagine my fingertips touching the grass in the field and fire igniting in my wake. Scorched earth and scorched soul, never to be the same again even as the dandelions poke through the ash.
I said I'd put it to bed, bury it under the tree. But I'm only human. The days it follows me like a shadow are far fewer than they used to be, but they still exist.
I don't even know what it is that compels me to feel so enraptured by it all from time to time. I think about that electric hum that felt like my entire body was boiling and I'm chasing that high.
On days I'm busy, I'm free of wondering too much. But those pockets of free time are ripe for toying with my fickle mind.
