September 3, 2025

Well, well, well. It’s done. 274 miles done and dusted. 10 days, 2 hours, 49 minutes. It was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done. When I first set my goal of completing the Long Trail in 10 days, I had no clue just how insane of a task that was. In this blog I’ll outline my process of completing the Long Trail, my experience doing it, and some reflections on my time on the trail. I’ll share my motivaion, my planning process, my gear, my nutrition/food plan

For some background, the Long Trail spans about 271 miles through Vermont from the Canadian border South to the Massachusetts border. It is the oldest long-distance thru-hiking trail in the US, and is said to be the inspiration for the Appalachian Trail. The southern 105 miles overlap with the Appalachian trail, which goes over 2100 miles from Georgia to Maine. The northern ~165 are considered to be more rugged, with rougher trail and more elevation gain. Most thru-hikers complete the whole LT in 20-28 days, starting in the South to get their trail legs before tackling the gnarly stuff further north (going NOBO). Most people trying to go fast go southbound (SOBO), so they can get the tough stuff out of the way and cruise through the AT section, saving the less insanely difficult stuff for when they’re depleted and drained. Included in this company is Tara Dower, arguable the current GOAT of trail running, who, just weeks ago, set the Fastest Known Time (FKT) of the Long Trail at 3 days 19 hours. Jaw. Drop.

The Motivation

I decided to do the Long Trail when I was walking across Ireland (see blog #134). It was an incredible and fulfilling experience, and it really reminded me of how much I love being so devoted to a single pursuit and… well, you can just go read that blog. It was surely grueling and long, but it didn’t quite scratch the itch of really getting pushed to my absolute limits. I’ve spent a lot of time in Vermont and had heard that the Long Trail was a hefty undertaking, and I just sort of pulled 10 days out of thin air. For most of the long walks I’d done in the past (Camino, Kumano Kodo, Ireland E8), I aimed for about half of the suggested time and had great experiences in attempting that.

Zooming out a bit further, I’ve been doing endurance athletics for a few years now. The first time I really felt the joy of pushing beyond my perceived limits was when I did the Portuguese Cammino in 2023, about 180 miles in 6 days. It was brutal, and I had never done anything like it before. But I loved it. That fall, I started running, and did my first marathon 6 months after, and another 7 months after that. The basic motivation for all of these has been the same: to push my limits and to make the most of an ability I wasn’t supposed to have. I was born with severe bilateral club feet. The doctors said it was unlikely I would ever be able to walk unassisted. My family and I worked incredibly hard for years, especially my mom, and I received some world-class medical care, and eventually I was fully able-bodied. I feel grateful so often for this gift and this chance to move my body in ways that I wasn’t supposed to, and I want to take advantage of it as much as I can. This is where the Long Trail comes in: pushing myself as far as I possibly can.

Planning and Training

My planning was… lacking. I had a little fun in a spreadsheet marking out waypoints at each tenth of the route’s distance and cumulative elevation gain, as well as a combined metric weighing both distance and vertical gain equally. Experience had taught me that, while it’s important to have metrics of success for each day, as well as a goal to push for, the real only plan of attack is to just go as far and fast as I can each day, and plan each next day from where I ended up.

My physical training was a little more serious. I did a couple massive day hikes (Pemi Loop and Desolation Loop, 31m+10k and 36m+7k), lots of running on hills (there’s not much flats around Vermont), and a handful of leg days (thanks Britny for the Planet Fitness guest passes!).

Gear

This was my first time really going for the Ultralight thing. I did end up sawing my toothbrush in half, but mostly for the bit. Everything else I did was pretty genuine. I estimate my base weight was around 11lbs.

Granite Gear Crown 38L

Altra Olympus 6, plus gaiters

Leki Hiking Poles

Garmin Forerunner 55

Nemo Salsa 15 degree bag

Big Agnes Rapide SL

Durston X-mid 1 trekking-pole tent + 5 stakes

3 compressing dry bags for clothes, 1 smal backpack for goods

Clothes: 1 pair running shorts, 1 t-shirt, 1 pair flowy pants, 3 pairs undies

9x pairs toe socks

FroggToggs UL rain jacket

REI puffy jacket

Running cap and sunglasses

2 portable batteries, cords for phone and watch

TP + ziploc baggies

Cold soak jar (teddy PB plastic jar)

2x 1L water bottles

Spork

1/2 toothbrush and toothpaste tablets

Neosporin and ibuprofen

Sawyer Squeeze filter and 16oz pouch

Gregory pack cover

16×12’’ sit pad

REI Storm headlamp

1 contractor bag

1 fanny pack

Nutrition

Nutrition was the aspect of my planning that recieved the most attention, and was the area that I learned the most about. Pretty much all of my “research” was just watching Gear Skeptic’s Hiker Food YouTube playlist, which was information enough! My biggest takeaways/strategies to planning my own meals were as follows. More fat is better fuel and lighter. Protein and glycogen (sugar/dextrose) are essential for recovery, and best taken right after finishing for the day. There are optimal ratios of macros, mostly around 4:2:1:1, fat:complex carbs:simple carbs:protein, for on-trail snacks, with maybe a little more simple carbs at breakfast. Water is king, and electrolytes are necessary for effective water absorption. Different kinds of proteins absorb at different speeds, and you can really only absorb about 25-30g of protein per meal. Butter powder is king (that is more of a personal take). My food each day was pretty much identical, with a few flavor variations. Here’s the menu, with their calorie totals. For a bigger nutrition breakdown, here’s a spreadsheet with my dinners and granola bars, with other pages as copies of GearSkeptic’s original spreadsheet (check him out!!!)

Breakfast: Gasoline Burrito

Small snickers Bar, slathered in PB, with 3-4 prunes, sprinkled with Flax Seed, wrapped in a tortillia (~700kCal)

Trail Snacks

1 packet of Justin’s nut butter, either Hazelnut/Chocolate or Almond/Maple (200kCal)

2x packets of 6 PB-crackers or cheese-crackers (2x 200kCal)

1 pack of Blue diamond Smokehouse almonds (250kCal)

1 designed granola bar with optimal ratios (~550 kCal)

1 sweet granola blob, willy nilly (~600 kCal)

Dinner: one cold soak pasta with sauce powder (1050 kCal)

Recovery drink: ~25g dextrose powder, 1x nuun evervescent tablet, 3-5g brown sugar, 1 Frog Fuel (15g protein that digests fully in 15 mins) (150 kCal)

Electrolytes

1 Packet of Liquid IV

3-6 servings of Salt Lick chews

In total, I estimate I ate around 3600 calories per day, with about 70g of protein. I often eschewed my sweet, willy-nilly granola blobs, both because they gave me a little acid reflux and because I worried that a big sugar burst would burn out my energy. However, I also stopped for a hot breakfast at Bolton Valley Inn, a bowl of stew at Long Trail Inn, got about a half dozen granola bars from generous day-hikers, two slizes of trail magic pizza from a mysterious man named Ronna, and a can of coke from another trail angel named Scooby, so I’d say it balanced out a bit. I estimated that I would burn 4500-6000 calories a day, and wanted to not be in much more than a 2000kCal defeicit per day.

I packed 12 days of food and dropped off 4 days worth of food at the Inn at Long Trail and Bolton Valley Inn, carrying 4 days of food in my back at the beginning. Each 4 day bundle weighed around 7lbs. I carried between 1.5-3.5 L of water at a time, depending on the distance to my next refill (as often reported by kind LT NOBO hikers), about 3-8lbs. In total, I my pack weight was between 28 and 15lbs, averaging around 20-22lbs.

How It Went

For each day I’ll share the distance, elevation, the total elapsed time between when I left camp and got to camp, and a calculation of the percent of time I spent moving.

Day 1: 11.3 miles, 4460ft. 5:50 elapsed, 79.3% spent moving

My loving and generous brother picked me up at the parking lot in North Adams. Huuuuge shoutout to him for making this whole thing possible. We dropped two boxes of food at the Long Trail Inn and Bolton Valley Inn. As part of his own heroic drive, Cooper dropped me off at Journey’s End Road, and I began walking. Immediately, I was flummoxed. The terrain was unrelentingly intense, rugged, and steep. There were no flat sections, no nice easy dirt paths. I felt screwed. Also, I somehow managed to get a blister on the back of my right hell after about 30 minutes, something I’ve never experienced and in shoes that are well broken in. I was 1.5 miles in and gassed when I reached the Northern Terminus on the Canadian Border. At 2:35pm, I headed South. (2:35 became my benchmark for when I was a full day deep. At 2:35 on Day 2, I was a full day in. I needed to finish by 2:35 on day 11 if I was going to make it in under 10 days.) I caught the sunset from the first real summit, Jay Peak, and camped on a ski trail a little off the trail, wondering if this was really possible at all.

Day 2: 22.5mi, 6908ft, 12:28 elapsed, 79.4% spent moving

Day 2 was learning the ropes. The trail continued to be relentless, rough, and punishing. I was still very much getting my trail legs. The trail was gorgeous, and I as treated to a few amazing views. The main themes of the day were breathing hard, blood pumping, and dripping sweat. I pitched my tent a few feet off trail on a spooky ridge, most of an hour before the sun even set. I was cold, lonely, and exhausted, and I needed the day to be over. But I was learning the ropes. On the bottom of my right hand, I developed a pernicious zit, situated right underneath where my trekking pole strap laid.

Day 3: 24.56m, 7350ft, 12:57 elapsed, 79.2% moving.

Another long, grueling day unfolded, climbing and descending with a few breaks of nice flats where I could pick up a couple quicker miles. This day contained the first major major peak: Whiteface, a brutally steep climb. I ended camping at Chilicoot Pass, a flat enough area where I pitched my tent. This day really took me into the belly of the beast— I was on the doorstep of Mount Mansfield, the highest elevation of the trail and probably one of the most formidable climbs, and it was only getting started. To my horror, as I got to camp, I realized that I had lost both my rain coat and bag cover!! I’d strapped them to the outside of my bag, but a stray branch must have snagged them from me… I felt very guilty for littering my gear somewhere along the trail, but I knew that they could have gone missing miles ago, and my chances of finding them in the dark or by the next day were low, and that it would totally comprimise my goal, so I let them go. Besides, I had packed a contractor bag, just for extra water proofing, and I fashioned it into a poncho by poking arm and neck holes.

Day 4: 20.21mi, 6908ft, 13:01 elapsed, 77.9% spent moving

My losing streak continued on the morning of day 4, when I realized that my water filter had gone missing (!!!!). Just the day before I had though to myself as I filtered water, man, this is probably my most mission critical piece of equipment, huh? Whelp! I spent a frantic morning looking at same-day shipping and texting friends (shoutout Kaley!) to see if they could rescue me. I pulled up to a (thankfully populated) shelter a couple hours later and, head hung, asked if I could borrow someone’s filter. A group of friendly young backpackers gave me some of their bleach, which lifted my spirits, and also gave me the solution! I would be passing through Stowe Valley later that day, so I could just ask for a few tablespoons of bleach from the hotel there and switch to chemical purification from filtration! Another stab of guilt for littering on the trail, and a bit (or lot) of feeling like a complete idiot, but the problem was solved. I was able to get a few tablespoons of bleach from a friendly dishwasher (dishwashers Unite!!) at a coffee shop at the resort after a few unsuccessful asks at different businesses, and I was on my way. Now, instead of spending 15 minutes squeezing my water through a slow filter, I could just fill them up, add two drops per liter, walk for 30 minutes, and they’re ready to go! It took a little adjustment and some practice not overdoing it with the bleach (hand pouring and eyeballing 2 drops from the mouth of a poland springs bottle is… tricky. I had more than a few sips that gave me a scratchy throat… but I lived! It felt weird to google “how much bleach can you drink safely”, but weird situations call for weird googles).

The climb up Mansfield was steep and technical, but really fun and not too long, and it felt like a triumph to hit the high point of the whole trip! The top was exposed, rocky, misty, and cold, which felt like an appropriate environment for the most hostile peak of the trip. And that was just 1:30pm! A huge descent led to the foot of Bolton Mountain, which I got over just before sunset. I camped soutside an unoccupied rentable cabin on the grounds of Bolton Valley, almost completely out of food, but less than a mile from my first re-supply! Throughout the day, the zit on my hand hand had… escalated. It now hurt bad enough that I couldn’t use my right trekking pole strap.

Day 5: 22.85mi, 5551ft, 12:10 elapsed, 76.0% moving

Filling up my bag with my first resupply was bittersweet. On the one hand, I wasn’t going to starve, and I had dry, clean socks. But on the other hand, my pack was heavier than ever. I comforted with a hot breakfast, a chocolate milk, and some very kind encouragement from Claire at the front desk, who remembered my name! I spent a few cold and rainy hours,cloaked in contractor-bag-poncho, heading to the base of Camel’s Hump, the last of a series of massive climbs: about 3.6k over 6 miles. On the climb, I met Frank/Early, an amazingly kind and curious Australian thru-hiker. This hike was some of the most fun trail I’ve ever done, with a super technical peak and a stellar view. (Later I would hear about the Man-Hump challenge, where you do Mansfield and Camel’s Hump in a single day… we’ll be coming back for that). I descended into some of the most poorly-maintained and signed trail yet, and ended up spending my first night at a shelter with an older gentleman named Rob.

Day 6: 16.34mi, 4221ft, 9:11 elapsed, 75.7% moving

This day was spent on the amazingly fun Lincoln ridge, which was really fun hiking, with some major climbs and even more major views. At one point I could see Mansfield, Bolton, and Camel’s Hump all lined up. Water was a little sparse, and my hand was hurting worse than ever, and was swelling all over the outside of my right hand. I made it to a road at Lincoln Gap and decided that it was time to do something about it. I was devestated— how sucky that my hand of all things was going to be the thing that foiled my awesome hiking plans! I cried at the parking lot, thinking that it was all over, or at least that the 10 day goal was out the window. I pulled myself together and was able to hitch a ride to an ER in Middlebury with two amazingly friendly and generous people. I spent a few hours there getting checked out. Somewhat ironically, I had to walk to the drug store and to the hotel I was staying at, but I got a prescription for antibiotics and a refreshing night in a real bed, despite losing a handful of hours of hiking.

Day 7: 29.93mi, 8167ft, 13:46 elapsed, 84.9% spent moving

With some absolutely insane luck, I was able to land an uber with a great guy named Robbie, who dropped me off right back at Lincoln Gap at 7am. The morning was rainy, which is when I’ move the fastest— taking a break is less comfortable than keeping moving. I was able to absolutely crank through the Breadloaf wilderness, getting over a few big peaks, and setting my eyes on a shelter I’d heard good things about for the night. A little miscalculation on my part led to a later and longer night than planned, but I rocked with it, as did the very kind couple already occupying the shelter when I arrived at almost 9pm! I was now on the doorstep of the junction of the AT, where everyone said that the trail got way easier, and I couldn’t be more excited for it.

Day 8: 28.11mi, 4935ft, 12:46 elapsed, 84.4% moving

I woke up at 5, wanting to get to the AT junction as soon as possible. This was also where my next food resupply was, and I was excited to get my last logistical considerations out of the way. I made it to the Inn at Long trail around noon, and I got a quick bowl of stew at the Irish Pub (I had to make the devestating decision to not get a lunch Guiness), re-packed my bag (all time new heavy weight), and began climbing Mt. Killington, this time on the Appalachian Trail as well as the Long Trail. It was a long climb, especially with a heavier pack. The whole trip, my bane had been downhills, whcih I’ve always been slow on, taking my time and being overly cautious, avoiding big impacts. I’d been practicing being more decisive and either taking bigger steps or more small steps, and even doing some light downhill jogging. This caught up with me, and the tendon on the outside of my right foot began to twinge worringly as I descended Killington. I took an early night around 6, bummed some ibuprofen off a super nice older guy called Easy (I’d run out, dumb mistake in packing). I was really bummed. It felt like, for now the third or fourth time, my goal was falling out of reach. I now pivoted my goal to be 11 days, or even more. I wanted to still finish, and I could ask a friend in Southern VT to drop off a day or two of food for me. But it was a hard pill to swallow.

Day 9: 27.23mi, 5952ft, 12:46 elapsed, 83.5% moving

I slept in pretty well and ended up leaving camp around 8- my latest embarkment since day 1. I took it easy that morning, worrying that I might have to hitch to a nearby town in the morning, thinking that it might have been game over. But, to my surprise and delight, the more I walked, the better my ankle felt! By noon, I’d only done a handful of miles, but I felt totally fine. I tentatively stepped on the gas a bit, and ended up kinda flying through some really enjoyable terrain in the evening. By nightfall, I had the momentum of a freight train and was absolutely blasting and full of hope again. Not only was I going to finish, but, if I really really pushed it and didn’t spend too much time sleeping, I might still go sub-10 days! I felt electric. I ended up going until about 9pm, cowboy camped a couple feet off the trail, and set an alarm for 5am. I wanted to be able to look back and truly say that I left nothing on the table.

Day 10: 36.95mi, 7307ft, 15:17 elapsed, 83.8% moving

I woke up tired but excited. The longest day I’d ever done was 35.8. I woke up hungry for a 40. I remember saying to myself, I wanna see that FOUR, as soon as I woke up. I hopped on the trail creakily right before sunrise and spent the whole day just cranking. The last few real mountains were in my path— Peru Peak, Bromley, and Stratton, with some deliciously long and flat sections in between. Honestly, I was so tired that the day was mostly a blur. Thankfully, my system was pretty honed by this point, and I was just on auto-pilot. I spent a little while hanging out with Cloppy (more on him later), and ended up walking until about 9:15, again cowboy camping on the side of the trail. I didn’t hit my 40, but you can’t get everything. I was now just under 30 miles from the finish line, and if I could keep my same pace from today, I could finish before 2:35, sub-10 days, if I started hiking around 3:30am.

Walking up Stratton, I bumped into an older guy (trail)named “Ronna” with trekking poles and a bike helmet on. I was delirious. He asked about what I was doing, and he asked if I had a trail name. I said I didn’t yet. He offered me a slice of pizza, and I incredulously accepted. I had a few hours yet to go, was absolutely drained, way behind on calories for the day, and emotionally wrecked. He told me that there was a great view just ahead, and I said, “ooh, dinner and a show!” He chuckled and said, “there’s your trail name”, and walked off down the mountain. The moment was so unbelievable and unbelievably magical, I decided I had to go with it. That’s how I got my trail name: “Dinner and a show”, or just “Dinner”.

Day 11: 33.17mi, 6339ft , 15:11 elapsed, 80.4% moving

My headlamp was running out of batteries when I got to camp. I decided to get up at 4 instead of 3, for fear that I would run out of light an hour before sunrise and have to set my camp back up for an hour to stay warm in the dark. Right when the sun was illuminating the trail around 6:30a, my headlamp did die. To be honest, the whole day was a sleep-deprived blur. I passed loads of more stunning scenery, and the lack of sleep definitely took a huge toll on me. Halfway through the day there was a huge descent to Rt. 9 (go southern VT!), followed by a brutally steep climb. A few hikers told me that there was some trail magic in the parking lot and, in my fragile state, I spent the whole descent crying and totally crumbled when Scooby gave me a can of Coke. It was exactly what I needed, physically and emotionally. I finished the climb. It was truly a crawl to the finish line. For a couple days, I’d had a huge knot in my left foot that I thought was a stress fracture, and every step was agony. I told myself over and over again, “you can do this, you can do this. I can do this, I can do this”. When I got to the border, I broke down completely. I cried for probably 20 minutes straight, sobbing, full body shaking. I hopped on the phone with a friend to process a little (thanks Hoff<3). I put a little note in the notebook to immortalize the moment, and began the (surprisingly and undesirably brutal) 4-mile hike to my car in North Adams.

This was without a doubt the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Each day was shockingly grueling, each in its own special way. It was also one of the most rewarding, educational, and inspiring experiences I’ve ever had. As far as the trail goes, my favorite sections were the Camel’s Hump climb, the Lincoln Ridge, and the Breadloaf wilderness, particularly between Lincoln and Middlebury Gaps, as well as from Rt. 9 south to the MA border.

The Ballad of Cloppy

On the morning of Day 8, as I was waking up around 5am, a guy walks into the shelter, saying it’s time for a power nap! I was dumbfounded. He’d been walking all night, and he started Monday (two days after me). I told him I’d started Saturday. He told me that he’d heard about me from the other SOBOs (presumably people I’d met and passed), and told me that I was the only SOBO he hadn’t passed. His name was Cloppy, or Cyclops. Hard fucking core. I spent the next few days looking over my shoulder, expecting him to pass me, or else thinking that he’d already passed me in my sleep, and was probably already in MA. It bummed me out— I wanted to pick his brain and get some tips from someone so hardcore. It wasn’t until day 10 that we crossed paths again. He was doing some blister care on the side of the trail (five massive blisters, the smallest of which was bigger and meaner than the worse blister I’ve ever had. Seriously, there was more blister than foot). I stopped and we chatted for a good while before sharing a mile or so of trail, comparing notes about gear, mental game, fueling, and more. I was moving a little faster than him, so I took off after a while. I didn’t see him again until 3am the next day, where he passed by my sleeping bag curled up on the side of the trail. I’d been there for about 6 hours. We had one of the most surreal and amicable chats I’ve ever had, he told me he’d been going pretty much nonstop since we’d walked together, besides a “20 minute dirt nap”. He took off, and I passed him for the last time around 7:30 that morning. What is absolutely insane is that, while I might move a little quicker, he still (as far as he planned, and I last saw him about 20 miles from the MA border) finished two days faster than me!!! That’s how little he slept. What an absolute animal. Massive, massive respect, and hugely inspirational. Our paths crossing definitely moved me to push harder and to leave absolutely nothing on the table myself.

Data and Time in my Body

One choice I made when packing was to not bring any headphones. In the past, I’ve listened to music or podcasts when I’m walking or running, especially when I’m in the pain cave and need a little distraction. I opted not to bring any headphones this time mostly so that I could save my phone’s battery life and minimize the weight of portable batteries that I had to carry. I was also curious to see what it would feel like to have so much silent time alone with my thoughts, and a little nervous. I practiced some mindfulness techniques and got some good advice from Sam, who is very up on his spiritual journey and knowledge. It ended up being an amazing decision. The first couple days took some adjustment, and I had a few darker periods of mental time. But about two or three days in, I just became so absolutely focused on hiking as fast as possible. My only thought was where is my foot going next, and planning about how to be more effective in my mission. It was fantastic. I got so much data about hiking. For example, I realized that hiking downhill is about controlling my impact, and that I can choose to clomp down on my feet if I want to take some for the stress off my knees, or I can ease down each step, taking a toll on my quads and knees, but easing the impact on my feet. Each step that felt off, I thought about exactly what I had just done to cause a twinge of discomfort, and compared that with my mental library of other similar moments to decide what common factors in discomfort were. I payed close attention to my energy levels, and how they coincided with what I had recently eaten, how much water I’d drunk recently, and how my electrolyte intake. There was a moment when I felt so in tune with my body that I really felt the distribution of my total weight between my four points of contact (trekking poles and feet), almost seeing four bars filling and draining as I leaned more heavily on each point of contact. Overall, just spending so much time so thoroughly in my body was an amazing experience and I truly feel that I became a much stronger hiker over the course of the walk.

Nutrition/Planning/Execution- Rose, Bud, Thorns. Lessons Learned

As I described above, I spent a lot of time preparing my nutrition. Lots of it worked very well, and some of it worked poorly. The best part was the discovery that cold soaking (something that I’d always scoffed at and thought sounded absolutely disgusting) is really totally fine. Sure, the morale boost of a hot meal at camp was missing, but the cold noodles were super fine. And honestly, after days like these, anything would have felt delicious. I was also very pleased by my homemade granola bars, and I felt that they gave me a meaningfully longer energy boost than any of my other snacks, in addition to being among the tastiest, as well as by far the cheapest. I’ll definitely be pursuing more homemade granola bars going forward, as well as more cold soaked. My training mostly worked out. Toe socks are a godsend, and I only had one curious blister on the back of my right heel the whole time.

There were plenty of things I tried that I’m excited to do again. Using the contractor bag as a poncho was another (inadvertent) success— I actually preferred it to my original waterproofing setup, since it breathed better and kept my stuff dryer. My protein intake was relatively high, but I would definitely prefer more, especially more collagen. My dinners were filling and high calorie, but they had a lot of sheer volume of pasta, and several times I didn’t have room for all of it. In the future, I would lower the volume of carbs and increase the fat content, making thee overall volume of dinner lower while maintaining the cal count. I’m also excited to experiment with other kinds of carbs (couscous, orzo, pastina), and broader flavor profiles. I actually ended up preferring using bleach to do chemical purification. When I was using the ubiquitous squeeze filter, I was spending up to a full hour filtering my water each day, which shrunk dramatically when I switched to bleach. If I were to do a short-term trip like this where speed is the goal, I would definitely start with bleach. When I was leaving the shelter on day 8, I thought I saw Cloppy put a pillow under his feet. I tried this, and it was amazing! I felt the blood draining from my feet and their swelling decrease. When I chatted with him, I asked about this technique, and he said that I had mistaken his head for his feet, and that he was just using a pillow! So elevating the feet turned out to be a totally accidental innovation, but a good one nonetheless. Moving forward, I might bring an extra pillow, or use my shoes and pack to elevate the bottom of my sleeping pad.

My main thorns have to do with silly mistakes, like poor external storage that led to the loss of my raincoat, pack cover, and water filter. The hand infection and aggravated ankle were not ideal, but not really failures of planning or execution. The improvosed solutions to these losses went surprisingly well, but it would have been nice to not lost all my shit anyways. I ran out of ibuprofen on day 8 and headlamp batteries on day 10, both of which are highly important and could have been prevented by more planning. The biggest thorn in my nutrition was my breakfast burrito (the prunes were a big mistake GI-wise), and the sweet granola blob that I ended up avoiding more than I ate it since I didn’t want a huge sugar spike and crash, so they ended up being dead weight more often than they were useful fuel. In the future, I would happily have a breakfast of overnight oats or grits, which would be yummier, lighter, and probably more nutritious. My pack isn’t perfect, but my gear was totally fine. I also ran out of clean toe socks, and it would have been nice to have a couple more pairs. Lastly, I wore a pair of running shorts with a zipper pocket in the back, which chaffed my lower back a bit, and I ended up wearing a pair of flowy pants much more.

Mental Game

This was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I knew that it was going to be hard all summer. But there’s a difference between looking at the map and planning and training, and actually being out on the trail, grinding mountain after mountain, knowing that you’re not even halfway there. There were so many times when I wanted to quit, especially early on in the trip. Losing my water filter felt like a game-over moment, as did my hand infection, as did my ankle hurting coming down Killington. Coming up Mansfield and Camel’s hump, knowing that I’d gotten some of the big climbs out of the was, felt great. But I also was crushed to see that I wasn’t even 35% of the way through the total distance or 45% done with the total elevation gain. There were many times when I just asked myself what the fuck am I doing. Late night, solo-hiking in the dark, with just the light of my headlamp, strange thoughts creep in, and my mind split into two voices, one telling me to stop, one telling me to keep going. I wasn’t sure which was the angel and which was the devil, but I knew they were both there, whispering to me.

In the end, there was never a moment that I wanted to quit so bad that quitting would have felt less bad than keeping going. As I progressed, I decided that I would finish the trail at all costs, no matter what. Cloppy inspired me to really dig deep and push myself in the final few days, which I’m super grateful for. The goal of this trip was to push myself to my limits in all senses— gear, nutrition, planning, execution, fitness, and mental, and reminding myself of these ends was helpful. It’s supposed to be hard. Hard means hard. This is what I wanted. These are some of the things I said to myself. I came to like hiking in the dark and in the rain. The conditions are much less comfortable, but this makes stopping less enjoyable than keeping going, so I covered ground much faster with longer periods of uninterrupted flow. When I was in more pain, the relief of stopping was greatly eclipsed by the struggle of resuming activity from the pause.

My internal self talk changed a lot. For the majority of the trip, from the start, I had mostly negative self talk. Feeling dumb for losing my important gear didn’t help, but I would call myself lazy or slow when I took lots of breaks, didn’t get out of bed quickly, or didn’t hit my mini-goals (i.e. get up Mansfield by 2:30, or make it to Chilicoot pass by 5, etc.). It wasn’t until the very last day that I got sick of this and, in the most pain of the trip, I started telling myself You can do this. I can do this. You’ve done such a good job so far. I’ve done so well already. This shift brought a wave of re-invigoration when I most needed it and I also felt a wash of relief through my body when I made this change, as if some of the pain was just let go, washed away by the kindness I was giving myself.

Amazing Support, Culture, and Community

One of the most moving dimensions of this whole experience was the people I met and the kindness I received. Hikers I met freely offered information about water ahead, tricky terrain, and shelter quality. I met Early, an Australian thru-hiker whose story and curiosity warmed my heart when I needed a boost on the Camel’s Hump climb. Easy gave me some ibuprofen when I was out and my ankle hurt. Ronna gave me pizza and my trail name. Scooby gave me coke and Reece’s cups when I was at my lowest. Twiggy gave me some bandaids and neosporin. Freight Train and Day Tripper gave me some awesome ultrarunning tips. The general vibe of support, care, and just excitement for everyone else there was amazingly moving and honestly intoxicating. I felt the true magic of Trail Magic at every turn. The trail truly provides, as do the people on it. I look forward to giving back as much as I can!

What’s Next?

Who knows. This was incredibly hard, and I need some major rest time. But I also want to keep pushing it. With the knowledge and lessons I’ve learned from the Long Trail, I feel like a much stronger hiker. A 2026 AT attempt, sub-100 days has caught my eye… The Camino Frances has been on my heart for a few years. I’ll be section-hiking the AZT this winter. I would love to do an ultra, too. In short, we’ll see.