At times I thought we'd never make it
And all that ever took was patience"
- Joey BadA$$
It amazes me how time can alter my mental. Ten years ago, I sat alone as tears streamed down my face. My eyes blankly fixated on the chipped paint along state highway 60. I could not walk. Within 24 hours, I had successfully removed the epidermis and part of the dermis layer along both of my heels. How was I suppose to cover the remaining 2,150 miles to Katahdin before October 15? I didn't. It was devastating.
For as long as I can remember, my father would hoist me on his back and we'd meander along the ridge of mountains that appear blue outside of the Mecklenburg area. He introduced me to the trail that connected the aged hills of Georgia to the equally weathered hills of Maine at a very young age. By high school, I had decided that I wanted to walk the entire trail in one season: a thru hike. I purchased the maps and guides and started saving money. It had become a life goal.
In 2008, I failed at that life goal. I had suffered both physical and mental damage. My first "death of a vision" as my mom would later describe it. Retrospectively, it was determined that my over-sized socks were the root cause of the events leading to that roadside meltdown at Woody Gap. In addition, I lacked sufficient first aid supplies while I was on trail to mediate the damage. Lastly, and most importantly, I didn't listen to my body.
Time continued forward while I licked both my physical and mental wounds. I grew stronger with each passing day. I set out again the following year to complete one of my life goals. As my feet negotiated the snow-covered trail, I meandered along with a pack that contained an extensive first-aid kit and socks that fit. Above all, I listened to my body regardless of what my mind wanted to do. Two hundred and two days later, I successfully reached Katahdin. Thru-hiking the trail provided me with valuable lessons that I still adhere to some 9 years later.
For the past three seasons, I begin venturing up to the Green for conditioning in January. Traditionally, the guide season begins in April with the consumption of tasty mayflies that are blue-winged and olive. By arriving in January, I am not seeking preferential treatment within my company as some may argue. Instead, I am continuing to listen to my body: a lesson I learned while hiking the trail.
The role of a Green river guide is both mental and physically challenging. These fish are well educated. Presentation is key in order to fool a fish on the Green. If the perfect drift is not obtained, the chances of a fish head-shaking the end of the line is greatly reduced. My ability to row a drift is just as important as the individual managing the line from my boat. We basically work as a team in an effort to fool a fish. Let's add in some wind...oops..."w", a sprinkle of mass, and the ever present river current. Now, rowing the drift can become quite taxing on the body. In order to prevent body failure, I gradually ease my body back to the ways of the Green river starting in January.
The aches and pains still show themselves, but I quiet them with my best friend, naproxen, hot showers, and my foam roller. By using this approach, my body has been willing to cooperate by the time April arrives. No riverside meltdowns. No devastation.
