"Why?"

Surprisingly few people have asked me that question.  Nevertheless, it is one that I have asked myself repeatedly.  Here are my answers:

I am hiking the PCT for the experience.  I don't know if I believe in reincarnation, but I do know that sometimes it feels like there is a wise, 80-year-old woman inside of me telling me that this -- right here, right now -- is my life.  And it's the only one I have.  And I had better get the hell out there and do whatever it is that I think I want to do, because this is IT.  Two years ago, I got tired of wanting to hike the Pacific Crest Trail and decided to listen to the wise old woman.

I am hiking the PCT for the challenge.  I love challenges, both physical and mental.  It's why I've run marathons (read:  s-l-o-w-l-y run marathons -- I'm a tortoise.)  It's why I moved 2,500 miles away from my family to take the most terrifying job I could think of (one that involves, gasp, public speaking -- but also involves a uniform; which somehow makes the speaking easier.)  It's why I chose to become an EMT (that and the usual fascination with blood, guts, and helping in emergency situations that most people in the field share.)  It's why I fought my irrational fear of suffocating in avalanches to summit Mt. Hood (a fairly unlikely cause of death on Hood -- but I guess that's what makes it irrational.)  It's why I look cows in the eye, track wild turkeys, and am committing to sleeping outdoors, somewhat alone and in the dark, on the PCT -- all irrational fears of mine.  Perhaps because of that wise old woman, I like to meet my challenges, head-on.

I am hiking the PCT to become a better person.  I know; it sounds cliche.  But I also know that the 20-some-miles-a-day for days on end of the Trail is going to push me harder physically and mentally than I've ever been pushed before.  Something about being out for so long seems to make everything a little more immediate and raw.  Parts of yourself you may never have known were there (and maybe did not want to know were there) come to the surface.  All of the hidden stresses, unflattering character flaws, greatest fears, and unconstructive thoughts are all right there for you (and sometimes everyone else) to balk at.  (I know I get toilet paper-, map-, and water-stress; that sometimes my shyness turns me into a fun-hater; that I really am afraid of the dark; and that my doubts can trap me in a cycle of indecisiveness.)  Discovering these things can be the absolutely most horrible, painful, and frustrating experience, ever.  Who wouldn't want to give up a fantastic job, soft bed, and heat that kicks on with a flick of the finger to spend $6,000 and beat his/her feet into a pulp for 5 months of this?!  Ah, but the wise old woman says that it is in this place that we grow.  And the only other way I can think of to do it is to have children.  And I'm just not there yet.

I am hiking the PCT because it is my passion.  I love hiking.  I love being out.  I love sunrises, sunsets, and alpine lakes.  I love wildflowers.  I love the smell of conifers.  I love watching wildlife.  I love finding animal tracks and absolutely love finding animal scat.  (Yes, it is what you think it is.)  I love piecing together the stories of geologic formations.  I love watching the constellations roll around throughout the night as I lie awake, terrified of some bump I heard.  I love hot dinners and creek dips that feel earned.  I suppose I love enough things about backpacking to balance out all the awful ones I listed above.  And so, I am hiking the PCT because it is my passion.  I am also hoping that in following and sharing my passion that I might inspire others to do the same.

Now, up until the other night, I was pretty secure in the belief that these were the reasons I was hiking the PCT.  And they are.  But, as I lay awake with little pools of tears at the corners of my eyes, I realized that I might be hiking to heal a little as well.  Now, I do not think this is unusual.  Many of us turn to an adventure or a vacation in a time of need.  A trip is healing.  I just didn't think I was in that category.  I'm generally happy and healthy.  I have a great job, good friends, and enough money to manage to pay on my school loans, squirrel away for a trip like this, and still go to The Lorax.  But, admittedly, it has been a rougher year.  These past six or seven months saw the death of my grandfather, medical issues for my father, a medical scare for myself, difficult times for my sister's family, and the end of  a nearly 4-year relationship.  We all have these times; some of us have much worse.  Mine have not been unbearable.  And all of them have worked out:  My 96-year-old grandpa was calling the nurses "baby" and using his "c'mere, and give me a hug" line up until his last days -- they were 96 well-lived years; my dad and I are resolving any issues or scares; my sister's family is stronger; and I'm in a new relationship and in a friendly one with the past.

So, why the tears?  Well, those were for my best bud who I lost the first Thursday in February.  Scout (my cat) and I took down the tree together on that Wednesday night.  (Yes, I waited until February this year.  I know.)  We had a fantastic time batting ornaments, chasing strands of lights, and (still) listening to Christmas music.  When it was time for bed (somehow he always knew), he lay down on his blanket at the foot of the bed, and I got ready and then climbed under the heaps of blankets and curled way down to rub his belly.  (My therapy.  My roommate was gone, so it was a night alone for the scared-of-the-dark one.  Cats help immensely.)  It was the regular routine the next morning, and then we both left for work -- I, as a park ranger; he, as a fierce hunter of all things four-legged on our 10 acres.  When I came home, I found him in the road; he'd been hit.  Thoroughly hit.  I was devastated.  Actually, I was hysterical -- like how people are in the movies.  It was surreal.  It still is.  And, judging from the other night, I guess I'm not over him yet.  I know all of you animal lovers out there understand.  And for the rest, you're correct.  I am destined to be a crazy cat lady.  All Kwaiser women are.  I'm even looking forward to it.

Scouters, sleeping in his box.

I've come to conclude that there are as many reasons to hike the Pacific Crest Trail as there are hikers hiking it.  For me, it is for the experience, the challenge, the personal growth, and my passion for the outdoors.  And for one little runt, giveaway kitten who grew into the most handsome, smart, athletic, funny, and intuitive friend I've had in a long time.  RIP Scouters.  I'll be scaring up four-leggeds for you all the way to Canada.

Confessions of a Luddite

I went to the eye doctor's office today to order my contacts (yes, I'm bringing them -- and sticking with my good-for-a-month kind) and get my glasses fixed before I head out for the trail.  And as I was waiting, I saw a sign on the counter that read, "Please turn off your cell phone."  And I smiled (a little smugly) and thought, "Good for them, asking people turn off their phones."  And then it hit me, and my smug little smile was replaced with a brief look of terror.  They were talking to ME.  I quickly pulled out my new smartphone, turned it off as fast as possible, and tucked it away in shame.


You see, I've never owned a cell phone.  I've been staunchly against them from the beginning.  Just as I've been against Skype, mp3 players, iPads and eee Pads, GPS's, Netflix, and online bills.  I still go to the video store and rent movies.  I don't have television.  My car has a tape player.  I pay my bills with checks.  I have a landline and unlimited long distance!  I go to the bank to do my banking.  I don't need to go on.  You know my type.


But lately, and for the purposes of this trip, things have been changing.  I bought my first cell phone, a smartphone nonetheless, about one month ago.  I now know how to send and receive a text.  I can enter contacts and call people.  I even found and downloaded a PCT app (PCTHYOH)!  I also bought an mp3 player and downloaded music for the first time in my life -- I can now Jazzercise whenever I want on the PCT.  I bought a SPOT Locator -- I don't know how to use it yet, but my super-techy friend and mentor, Mike Niemeyer, is going to give me the 101.  After he gives me the 101 on blogging with Blogger.  (He already gave me the 101 on my smartphone.)  And I'm blogging!  Pretty soon here, I'll learn how shoot video with my new camera that does not use AA batteries to post videos on YouTube to post on to my blog.  I know it's possible.  I do not yet know how.  There is a lot I do not know, and honestly, I'm getting a little anxious about it.


But here's what I do know:  Reluctantly embracing technology has been humbling.  I am still not too happy about cell phones or mp3 players.  Or Skype, GPS's, YouTube, online bills, and cameras with funky batteries.  However, I do see their usefulness and realize how, at times, they might actually make life a little richer.  "Appropriate technology, Dor," as my professor, Tom Fitz, would say.  So, for all of you whom I've always given such a hard time about your gadgets, I concede to some of their usefulness and enrichment.


Now, admitting this is only the beginning of my humbling.  The real humility has come from learning how to use these gizmos.  I often want to throw my phone for misinterpreting my finger tap or not listening to me, my mp3 player for going to the wrong menu, and my camera for not having a touch screen like my phone.  And I'm of the digital age!  It makes me admire even more people like Grandpa Kwaiser, who would have been 97 today and who was playing solitaire on the computer, listening to CD's, and watching DVD's to the very end.  I can't even imagine.

Training and All of that Jazz

There seem to be all sorts of training regiments for a thru-hike of the PCT.  Some people train increasing miles with increasing pack weights for up to 6 months.  (This was my good-intentions plan.)  Some people sit back and chow, gaining a few pounds for the 20 or so pounds they know they'll lose on the trail.  (This has not been my plan, though it has been recommended by others.)  Some people just keep up with their normal fitness plan--running, swimming, hiking, cycling--and figure the first 700 miles of desert will bring their bodies into distance hiking form.  (Not a bad plan.)

Me? Well, as I said, I had good intentions.  I had a 6-month spreadsheet all laid out in September.  Increasing miles, increasing pack weights.  I'm more of a distance runner, so I took my marathon and half-marathon schedules and traded long runs for long hikes.  Simple.  It made for a great regiment.  On paper.  I've never followed it.

Oh, I am running.  And I am hiking with a weighted pack.  And I'm lifting free weights.  But I'm also doing something else.  Something I'm certain will improve my trip, body and soul.  No, not yoga.  Not Pilates or any type of technology-age machine routine.  Just Jazzercising.  Yes, I said it.  Jazzercising.  And I think it has made all of the difference.

I know, I know.  I didn't think that after the 80's, I'd ever do Jazzercise again.  I used to go with my mom when I was a kid.  We had Jane Fonda workout tapes.  I had sweatbands.  I lived in leotards.  I wore side ponytails.  I thought turquoise and pink were the best color combination ever.  I knew what Jazz hands were and could do a jazz square on command.  And all of this came back remarkably quick when I went to my first Jazzercise class on Thanksgiving.

It was a bit of a dare from my officemate.  My 20-something male officemate.  His mom has been Jazzercising since I started in the 80's, and there was a special fundraising class every Thanksgiving morning for the local food aid organization.  We rounded up nine of us and dressed in our 80's best.  It was a blast.  And I knew it would be fun.  But it wasn't just fun.  It was a heckuva workout.  And it challenged my coordination.  And there was pretty good music.  And for whatever reason, be it watching half of the town doing synchronized dance moves with Jazz hands or the feeling of euphoria when 33-year-old me remembered something that 8-year-old me used to do, I could not stop laughing and smiling.  I was hooked.  I became a member the next week.  And have been Jazzercising regularly since.

The benefits of Jazzercise?  (I'm sure you're curious to know . . .)  Increased coordination, strength, stamina, and flexibility.  Dance moves that work surprisingly well while out on the town.  (Just don't do the entire routine.  And drop the Jazz hands.)  Increased nimbleness and stability.  (These are what I feel will really benefit me on the trail.)  Confidence.  (Just try shakin' it in a room full of people during the daytime under fluorescent lights.  You can only hide out in the back row for so long.)  And last, but not at all least, happiness.  These past seven months have been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster--we all have these times, and leaving everything that's secure for 5 months of adventure just adds a little something extra.  Jazzercise and the company of the women in my class have kept me balanced and happy.  If you swing by the Trail this summer, I'll be the one grapevining with Jazz hands to my mp3 player.