Senior Citizen Trail Prep, Part Deux

Another team member emerges as I develop pain in my “good” foot. Dr. Chad, a local podiatrist in the Bitterroot, starts me with new custom orthotics, since the ones I have are over 11 years old, have thousands of miles, and are held together with tape. The new orthotics relieve some of the pain for a while, but it returns and the next step is a cortisone shot. I can’t watch. Within a couple days the shot does its magic and I’m back to road walking 8 miles at least 3 or 4 mornings a week. Knees are good. Feet are good. Life is good.

Cortisone shots don’t last, however, and four or five months later I’m back for another shot. This time the relief does not last as long.

Meanwhile, I also start yoga a couple mornings a week to help stretch and strengthen. Our class leader, Val, becomes an honorary member of the team, as well as the other “senior” ladies in our gentle yoga class.

I work up to an 8-mile hike with a 35 pound pack
three or four times a week. I do some road walking, but also include climbing.

We close in on three months before the hike and I’m in too much pain again to walk. In December 2017, Dr. Chad and I have a short conference and decide that the best thing is surgery. If I have the foot operation before Christmas, he believes I should be healed enough to start the hike in March 2018, as planned. I have surgery on December 21. Merry Christmas.

So here I am, less than two weeks (!) from starting The Trek. I rehab at the community pool almost every morning, I hike through the hills with a loaded pack, I do everything I can to reduce the weight I’ll be carrying, while doing everything I can to physically prepare. I’m ready. I can do this.

I've Got Gear, Too

A quick post to tell you about my kit... And to practice posting from my phone. I may be carrying a few luxuries, but my laptop won't be one of them.

My base weight is about 18 pounds, which is not super ultra light, but I've spent a lot of time on our food prep and we are carrying well under the average of 2 pounds per day. At around 1.5 pounds of food each day, while maintaining healthy caloric and fat intake, I'm comfortable with my 18 pounds base. My biggest worry is weight of water; some of our longest carries between reliable water will be 7 liters, which is 15 pounds of water.

Pictured above, starting lower left is the following:

2 bandanas, deuce of spades, fleece hat, floral buff (Kenna won't use floral anything), freezer bag cozy (This is actually a quilted bag for keeping baked potatoes warm that someone gave me ten years ago and I've never used. Turns out it's the perfect size for a freezer bag.), cookpot, Snow Peak stove, titanium spoon, 3 one-liter Platypus water bottles, Sawyer Squeeze with dirty bag and syringe, 14 oz Nalgene bottle, insulated reflectix pad I use for sitting and between my sleep pad and bag, cheapo Wal-Mart poncho (leaving the rain pants and rain jacket at home - hoping I don't regret that decision), above the reflectix is my waterproof pack cover, and my ULA Circuit, with 3-liter hydration system.

Above the nifty potato bag cozy are my electronics:

Anker battery, Inreach, waterproof notebook and pencil, Bluetooth keyboard (I know, extravagant), my Renology solar charger, and Petzl headlamp (and extra batteries), and my SticPic attachment.

From upper right, now going to the left:

Nemo 30 degree Rhapsody sleeping bag, Klymit Insulated Static V Lite 4-season sleeping pad, my half of our shared tent, three Coghlands odor proof food sacks, short sleeved shirt, two extra pairs socks (one to sleep in), and Hot Chili's top and bottom for sleeping, Dr. Bronner's soap, first aid and hygiene kits, sunscreen, bug spray, sunscreen lip rescue, pocket knife.

The upper left corner is what I'll be wearing, along with using the Black Diamond walking sticks.

Not shown is my puffy coat, warm gloves, Keen Targhee III boots, iPhone, REI pillow (which I think I loaned to someone and need to get back), stove fuel, Smart water bottle for drinking during the hike, and my nerve. I need to find and pack my nerve before leaving... in two weeks. 

What Would You be Willing to Carry for 800 Miles?

I won't be surprised if the answer to this question is different after the first 100 miles on the trail. I have done several 50-milers, but I know it's not the same. I can only tell you what I will carry in the beginning.

Whenever I create my packing list, I start at my head and work my way to my toes, writing down everything I will require along the way.

First off, everything will go in, or on, my 48 liter Osprey pack. It's not huge, so I will definitely have to cinch the tent fly and a few other things to the outside. Mine looks just like this one, except dirtier and with a chewed pocket from squirrels...

So, to cover my head, I have my shelter. Heidi and I chose the two-man, double door, 3-season tent, Morrison 2 tent, made by Mountainsmith. Two doors is hugely important for us because there's nothing worse than climbing over a previously sleeping body...or being climbed over...in the middle of the night to tinkle in the woods.

The tent has a wide floor, so it's comfortable for two, and although it's not the lightest weight or top-of-the-line quality, it's really good for its price. Also, when splitting the weight of your shelter with someone, 2.4lbs definitely seems worth the 35 square foot floor area.

Also to cover my head, I have a fleece beanie, a floppy rimmed hat for the sun, a Buff, which is the best thing ever, and 5 bandanas, though I use the bandanas for many things. I rest my head, and sometimes my backside, on my very necessary Therma-Rest pillow.

It's compressible, so it squishes down and tucks into it's own pocket. For something so lightweight, it gives great comfort for better nights. And on the trail, sleep is extremely important, which brings me to my ears. I bring ear plugs because whether it's an owl hooting, or a bear roaming around in the woods all night, I won't do anything about it until it's truly invading my borrowed space, so I need to decrease the noises on certain nights. Most of the time, I sleep peacefully without earplugs, but every once in a while, I get in my head about how vastly alone and exposed we are, and it helps to not have adrenaline shooting through my veins at the slightest twig snap.

For my eyes, I have sunglasses for the day and my beanie to pull down at night. Even though eye drops would be awesome to have, they aren't essential.

I have a sunscreen stick, mint chapstick, and a small bug spray container for my skin. Medicine-wise, I bring ibuprofen, Benadryl, Zolfran, and Immodium. Can't be losing fluids in the wilderness. 

Regarding that, I have wipes and a trowel for giving my poop a nice grave. My Energizer headlamp has extra batteries, and I bring a pair of glove liners, my DiamondBack trekking poles, and a first-aid kit that includes duct tape, tweezers, fingernail clippers, non-adherent sterile pads, medical glue, steri-strips, and triple antibiotic ointment. All that weighs about 4 ounces. I'll also have two lighters at all times and a few pieces of fuel that will burn under any condition. Speaking of conditions, I carry a pack cover and poncho for rain.

I wear 1 sports bra and 1 polyester t-shirt. I have a puffy jacket and some CuddlDuds long underwear. I am bringing 3 pairs of underoos that I wish were wool, but I couldn't find the right cut for the right price, so these are a cotton/poly/nylon blend. Fine. Whatever. <huff>

To cover me at night, I have a Slumberjack mummy bag (30 degrees) that I've had since high school. It laid dormant for probably 10 years, so it's in good condition. For extra cold nights, when being fully dressed inside my bag is not sufficient to stay warm, I have HotHands - little packets of magical heat that I can put at my feet or butt, the two places that seem to struggle at night.

Underneath me, I'll have my Klymit Satic V mattress, which I absolutely adore. I'm an all-over sleeper, so I like the way it cushions me no matter the position. The non-insulated one like mine has an R value of 1.3, with a 10oz weight. Heidi has the insulated one with an R value of 4.4, but the weight is 1lb 3oz.

I have enough water bladders and containers (mostly by Platypus) to carry 7 liters of water, which I expect to do at least twice on the trail, depending on water sources. I have a Sawyer filtration system with purification tablets as backup.

I have wool-blend boot socks that I got from Wal-Mart that I love more than my Smartwool, Wigwam, Redhead, or Merino Wool socks. Never done Darn Tough ones, but for now, I'm good.

Last, but not least, my boots. I first bought a pair of expensive Vasques from REI that I love, but then I happened upon some brand new Keens at Goodwill for $20! 8.5, just the right size for me! I'll start with the Keens and change midway through if need be.

So, there ya go! That's my gear list! What could you not do without for 800 miles?

Note: I wrote this while half asleep because I work weird hours right now and, after a nice nap, thought it was funny that I forgot to include my toothbrush and toothpaste, lightweight stove and fuel, and deoderant...all of which I can't do without! 😃

Lessons From Another World

On our shakeout hike to Havasupai Falls, McKenna and I learn about our gear, ourselves, and others.

For over 1,000 years the Havasu Baaja, People of the Blue Green Water, have lived on the Colorado River, west and downstream of what today we call the Grand Canyon. The Havasupai Tribe lives in the remote village of Supai, Arizona, which can only be reached by foot, horse, or helicopter. There are no roads and no motorized vehicles can traverse the steep, narrow, and winding trail from the top to the bottom of the canyon.

Above the village lies a hidden limestone aquifer which provides the life-sustaining blue green waters which nourish the fields of corn, squash, and beans. This water has enabled the Havasu Baaja to thrive for centuries in spite of the harsh desert landscape deep in the Grand Canyon. Life is simple, but not easy.

The night before our hike we stay in Seligman, Arizona, on famed Route 66. Because McKenna doesn’t want to fight the crowds, we leave EXTREMELY early. Cresting a hill, we suddenly find ourselves in the dark, at 70 MPH, in a herd of deer crossing the road. This is when I see some of the best driving I’ve ever seen as McKenna skillfully dodges deer right and left. Once through them, we pull over and sit in shock and amazement at what we just survived.

Continuing to the parking lot at the top of the canyon, we realize it is still too dark to start, but we have a great parking spot and take a bit of a snooze before finally starting our hike.

Along our almost 10 mile hike down the canyon we take the obligatory photos and pass several mule and horse trains going up. We enjoy a beautiful morning, reaching Supai in time to register with the village, and eat lunch.

We hike through the village and on towards the falls and the campground, hearing the first falls before we see it. And there are no words to describe the color and the beauty. A surprising gem in the desert.

Our tent and campsite are on the side of the canyon wall, not too close to the compost toilets and water spigot, but not too far. There’s a talent to determining the correct distance. Our view from our tent up through the canopy is relaxing and comforting.

Hiking back to the falls we enjoy a refreshing swim. Upon our return to our campsite for dinner we find we have neighbors. Sitting at our picnic table we try not to obviously stare at the them, but their antics of trying to set up their tents is too much for McKenna who finally offers to help them. They are true novices and we learn they are a group of friendly nurses from Colorado Springs. With no backpacking experience.

Throughout the next two days we help them in various ways… we lend them nail clippers, safety pins, moleskin, sleeping pad repair patch, give them instructions on how to use their stove, and tell them how far away some of the other falls are, and how to get there. At one point, they are clearly in awe that we have anything and everything they will need. McKenna smugly tells them this isn’t our first rodeo.

The next morning we travel to some of the other falls and explore the canyon. When we return for lunch and a nap, the nurses are gone and we see that a squirrel or chipmunk or some kind of small animal has gotten into their food, their garbage, and generally destroyed their campsite. Shaking our heads, we return to our tent, only to find that a squirrel or chipmunk or some kind of small animal has chewed into our tent and through some of our stuff sacks and we now have no dinner for tonight. Checking for other damage we determine that packs and sleeping bags are ok. We clean up and lay down for a nap, wordlessly agreeing that we will never tell the nurses.

Later we lay in our tents suppressing laughter when they return and, not knowing we are in our tent, hurry and clean up before they think we will return, because they don’t want us to know.

After a siesta we walk back to Supai and the woefully tiny market for makings for supper and also get a deck of cards. Kenna’s not much of a soda drinker, but I am, so I take advantage of getting a cold, refreshing Dr. Pepper. I'm so happy I could do a commercial for them... I'm a Pepper.

The next morning we are up early and head back to the top, to our car, and civilization. And other than the climb out, which kills me, it has been a magical three days.

But Why?

I am at odds with society. I love my career of serving the public, people who are generally in pain, ranging in ages from premature babies of less than 2 pounds to ancient souls in their hundreds. My oldest patient was 104. I take diagnostic x-rays. I provide surgeons with a glimpse inside the body while they operate. I help speech therapists determine if liquid is going down the esophagus or the trachea while a patient is swallowing. I aid in lumbar punctures (spinal taps for the layman) for chemo treatments, and take x-rays on patients that will soon be pronounced dead from a violent trauma to the body. I truly love it. I love to teach the concepts to new students at my hospital, and support their growth as well as my own.

But I hate society. I hate politics and government - those ultimate indiscernible tangles of lies. I hate the way people act and treat their fellow man. The condescension, facades of perfection, aims for power and perversion. Society is deathly ill, and despite my meager efforts of helping one person at a time, I feel helpless and frustrated.

If I think too much about it, a senseless panic grows inside me. If I'm too long in the metropolitan giant of Phoenix, Arizona, I take on the sickness of others. I become grumpy. I treat others with impatience. I lose the peace and joy I usually keep sacred inside me.

I want to eventually get off the grid, to live a life of straightforward work, close to the earth and sky. Close to myself and loved ones. Part of my 800-mile journey through Arizona is to test myself and see if I really can live without the necessities that society tells me I need. The adventure is not only a test, though. I have been brewing inside about my past, which still lingers and haunts. I can let go of a past that lets go of me, but when it continues to torment and rear its ugly head, I have to find a way to distance myself until the sting is less potent.

My daughters. They are my world.

I need to care for myself...for them. They are too young to know and understand the depths of struggle a woman can experience, and I truly hope they never learn it. But I know different. This world is a harrowing one. They are both passionate and strong-willed like me, so they will suffer. But because I have learned how to care for my mind and heart, I will be there for them, to reassure them that just like their mother did, they can overcome any plight that comes their way.

Since nature lacks that knot of manipulation tied so tight by society, I hope that's where they go to find themselves once more, just like their mama.

How a Senior Citizen Prepares to Hike 800 Miles

Support for this trek is provided by a large number of people. For this post I focus on members of Team Heidi.

My feet cause me no end of problems. I have my first foot surgery in 2006, which turns out so badly that I vow to just live with it and never have my feet operated on again. But while working in San Jose, a colleague speaks highly of her podiatrist, and since at that point I am limited to only about 2 miles on a hike before I am in pain, I think I’ll at least see what he recommends. Dr. Smith provides corrective surgery the summer of 2014, which includes cutting and pinning the bones in two of my toes to straighten a problem I’d been living with for eight years.

Seven months later McKenna and I do a three-day shake out hike into Havasupai.

Happy, happy feet. Although the hike down into the canyon wrecks my knees and the hike out is physically taxing.

Really physically taxing. What am I thinking even planning an 800 mile hike?

This is the photo that I threaten my family to never never never ever show  to anyone. You can see why. And now I’m showing it to the world.

Next step is to figure out what is wrong with my knees. I try braces. I try stretching. I get trekking poles. While working in southern California for 10 months, Candace, my massage therapist, makes a good start at eliminating the tightness in my muscles.

Eventually, back home in the Bitterroot, I connect with Linda, my physical therapist, and Elizabeth, my muscle therapist. Between the two of them they help me stretch and strengthen my IT bands, eliminating the pain in my knees. Linda gives me some seemingly benign stretching exercises, but Elizabeth manhandles me until the muscles surrender. Other than maybe childbirth, Elizabeth inflicts the most pain I’ve ever endured. But it works.

So muscles are nicely stretched and I no longer have painful IT band syndrome every time I hike downhill. But what develops is a different type of pain in my knee. Linda explains that my large propelling muscles are strong and overpower my smaller stabilizing muscles, essentially pulling my knee cap off track. So I begin more exercises to strengthen my stabilizers, this time using a bosu ball. I squat on an inverted ball, trying to balance while moving up and down, side to side, without falling off. I look like I’m slaloming in place. It’s harder than it looks.

But eventually the knees feel better, although I find I need to keep up the exercises or the pain returns.