50 - Melissa

50

Melissa

The first day on the trail was straight uphill from the campsite, a harsh reintroduction to my life for the next few weeks. I won’t lie: it kicked my ass. I was huffing and puffing within minutes, and had to take frequent breaks. And the ironic part: this wasn’t even part of the Colorado Trail. This was the off-shoot trail connecting it to the campsite. So it felt like wasted miles.

But eventually, the incline flattened out and I reached a sign identifying my goal: The Colorado Trail . I sat down and ate a celebratory Clif Bar.

Now the real hiking began.

It was a long day, but I had gotten up early. I was refreshed thanks to Ash’s sleeping pad, and my ankle felt pretty good. I was still aware of it, a slight tugging of discomfort every time I stepped forward, but it was manageable.

I got into a groove. The trail followed the spine of the mountains most of the day, which gave me incredible views of the valleys within the San Juan Mountains. I could feel my mind clearing of all stress, forgetting all the worries that had troubled me not only for the past week, but the past few months.

And before the sun set for the day, I reached my planned campsite. I had hiked more than twenty miles, in line with my original aggressive plan.

I was in a daze while I set up my tent. After the climb to start the day, the hike wasn’t that hard. It was certainly easier than it had been a week ago. Maybe I had acclimated to the altitude while spending the week in Crested Butte.

The next day was even better. The trail had some ups and downs along the mountain ridges, but I moved forward with purposeful strides. I wasn’t just running away from my old life. Now I was hiking toward a new life, whatever that may be. It made all the difference in my attitude about the entire thing. Little annoyances that had bugged me during my first few days of hiking—bugs, muddy patches, sweat—no longer even registered to me.

I reached camp even earlier today, which gave me enough time to take a dip in a little mountain stream. The water was melted run-off from the snow, which meant it was freezing , but it was refreshing after a day of hiking.

The days went like that. I woke up, tore down camp, and started moving. My ankle discomfort went away completely. I stopped and savored the incredible views whenever there was a lookout point. Occasionally I saw other hikers, but I was usually alone. Just me and the trail.

My feet were purposeful, but my mind wandered.

I thought about my life in Ohio. All the bad things that had happened with my ex, but also all the good things. The parts that I liked.

I thought about Crested Butte. The town specifically; the coffee shops, the bars, the restaurants. The vibe of the people there. I tried not to think about my three recent lovers, because I wanted to analyze my feelings about the town without them being an influence.

But they kept crawling into my mind, no matter how hard I tried.

Jack sneakily feeding the cats and then getting angry when he got caught.

Noah insisting that I wasn’t technically his patient, so it was okay if we went on a date.

Ash teaching a little girl how to use a mountain bike, with a nod and a fist-bump.

By day four, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.

By day five, I missed them.

By day six, I was downright heartsick being away from them.

Fortunately, I was in an area of the San Juans with zero cell phone signal. That might have been the only thing that kept me from texting them.

I walked, and ate, and slept, and felt my mind reset itself like a computer that had been rebooted.

I passed mile 200. A few days later, I hit the official halfway point, which was marked with a special sign on the trail. I took a selfie with it, but didn’t pause for any longer—I had to keep moving.

In the blink of an eye, I hit mile 300. I noted it on my GPS watch with a smile, but that was it.

Occasionally, I reached an area with cell signal. I had dozens of texts from my mom, but none from Jack, Noah, or Ash. Part of me was disappointed. Sure, they were respecting my boundaries and giving me space. That’s what I had asked for.

But sometimes a woman didn’t want a man to do the nice thing.

I stopped for lunch some days, and other times I ate while walking. My meal of choice was what I called a Mexican PB&J, which was peanut butter and jelly smeared onto a tortilla. It rolled up like a crepe and was easy to eat on the move.

The sleeping pad was a game changer. Unlike the first seven days of hiking, back before I twisted my ankle, now I fell asleep every night without a problem, and woke up feeling refreshed. Or at least as refreshed as a woman could feel in a sleeping bag in the middle of the mountains.

Soon, my mind felt completely clear. A blank slate.

And on that blank slate, I finally allowed myself to begin thinking about the future.

What I wanted out of life.

What my values were.

Who I wanted to be as a person.

Everything I had hoped to get out of this trip came to me. Not in a flash of inspiration, but slowly, one step at a time. Like the pouring of a foundation of a house that was going to be built.

And once that foundation was complete, I knew what I wanted.

But it wasn’t one thing. It was three.

It was around mile 400, four days outside of the finish in Denver, when I crawled out of my tent in the morning and came face to face with one of those things I wanted.

I gave a start. “Noah?”