I Spent $50 on Socks, No Wonder I'm Broke.

How snazzy

I can hike for hours on end, but when I run my body wants to implode after a mile. I've been able to build up my endurance and speed over the last 5ish months, but I'm constantly battling the typical runner woes of cramps and fatigue. My biggest cramping issue, aside from the dreaded side stitch, has been my calves and feet. It seems no matter how much I stretch I end up with "dead legs" after a mile or so. My calves feel like they seize up; not necessarily tighten but just cease to work, like something stopping and stretching it out wouldn't necessarily help. The same happens to my feet; it feels like I don't have any control over their actions and they flop around hitting the pavement like two bricks. I noticed a lot of the Boston Marathon runners this past year had colorful sleeves over their calves, so I did some research and started debating if I should get myself some compression gear. It seemed they were mostly for high-performance, like racing or distance running, so it made sense that so many Marathoners were wearing them. I kept thinking it was probably a fad, especially since most compression sleeves/socks look more like a fashion statement than anything. Compression socks/wraps are not new, and the science behind them seemed logical, but I'm not a marathon runner so why would I need them?

2XU Women's Compression Socks, $50

...Well, two months after doing the initial research I was still not able to figure out an at-home cure. No matter how much I was stretching beforehand I was still getting my "dead legs". Then I saw a picture of my cousin/self-proclaimed-Godfather wearing the compression sleeves during a race, and he told me that he absolutely swore by them and they were the best investment he made when it came to running. Alright, I'm convinced. I figured if someone with as many joint/muscle issues as me (I mean we are related) was swearing by them, then I could definitely benefit, too. I debated ordering some offline, but instead I went to Marathon Sports in Copley Sq. The store was pretty much right at the epicenter of one of the bombs  during the Marathon bombing, and had to shut down for the entirety of the investigation along with most of Boylston St. The store has been really busy every time I've passed it since the re-opening, but I figured I would keep my money local and shop there. I was trying to decide between the sleeves ($40ish) and socks ($60ish). Honestly, the cheaper of the two, the sleeves, had an awesome colors which made me want to go with those over the socks. The salesperson told me the sleeves were mainly for performance (racing, which I haven't done since track in high school), but the socks would help more with overall muscles recovery. After trying on, like, ten different pairs and staring at price tags I found a $50 pair that were unfortunately did not come in fun, neon colors. I had to remind myself that it's not a fashion show, and that me running is about the least attractive thing in the world so who cares what I'm wearing anyway. Regardless, I had high hopes.

Then I got my first student loan bill. OHFUCKNOHOLYSHIT. I eyed the box and thought "I just spent $50 on fucking socks, good thing I kept the receipt". I figured I would test them out before I hastily returned them to the store in hopes I could make my first of many torturous student loan payments. This morning I called Federal Loan Servicing to set up a more reasonable payment plan, and based on my income the government decided I could afford a payment of $0 a month. I felt relieved for a millisecond - "OH THANK THE LORD I don't have to send a check today" - then I felt overwhelmingly depressed - "I have a Bachelor's Degree, I was on the Honor's list for almost my entire college career, I have been actively looking for full time work since graduation, and I am so broke that the government just told me I can't even manage to pay them ONE PENNY a month". After walking around my house shouting things like "OH, MY LIFE" and laughing out loud like a truly insane person, I decided I should take out my frustrations in a run.

Admire my highly professional photography

It was so humid out that pulling the skin tight socks over my large calves was like stuffing a sausage into its casing. I did my usual leg stretches before setting off, but I was feeling off and started to think how miserable it would be. I made it about a half mile before my "dead legs" came on very strong. I made it just over a mile before I had to stop for fear that my feet had actually turned into two blocks of cement. The pain in my calves, specifically on the front-right side of my leg, seemed to be more pronounced. I tried briefly stretching, but nothing helped. I pushed through another mile, stopping every couple hundred yards from the pain, but it was not pretty and I cut my usual route short by almost a mile.



So do these things really suck that badly? Well, I'm not giving up hope yet. The fact that it was 80 degrees and disgustingly humid certainly didn't help (I felt like I was running through hot clam chowder). I also realized that I was probably nursing a minor, delayed hangover from yesterday's day-drinking. I didn't feel hungover, but I certainly wasn't properly hydrated enough to go running in 80 degree mugginess. I think my big problem is a combination of not stretching enough and not warming up my muscles enough. Next time I go out with the socks on I'll do at least a 5-minute walking warm-up and see if that helps. One positive thing I did notice was really fast recovery time. Usually my dead legs have me limping around the house for an hour or two after a run, but with the socks my legs felt okay within minutes. So, I'm holding out hope that maybe the perfect storm of dehydration, shitty weather, and lack of a proper warmup were the reasons I was so miserable today. I spent $50 on socks AND THEY BETTER DO THEIR JOB NEXT TIME.

Introducing: No-Name!

Hurrah!

I got a bike -insert cheering here-! I have been wanting a bike for several years, and the year my parents were going to finally get me one for my birthday I busted my knee. They thought it would be a cruel joke to get me a bike I couldn't use, but in reality biking was a big part of my recovery. Their logic didn't hold up a year later when my sister totaled her car right before Christmas, and then a few days later received a car GPS as a gift. Luckily she had a good sense of humor about it.

I love naming things, which I believe stems from my moms habit of giving everyone and everything a nickname. Here is a brief list:

• Remote control - remotus apperandi (who the hell even knows)
• Molly - Moll-a-roo, Moll-a-rooski, Moll-a-rooskified(?????????)
• Dictionary - Dick-Tie-On-Ar-Eee
• Emma, my niece - Emma-Loo, Lu-Lu, Lu-Lu-Faces, Loo (may give her gender confusion)
• Adding "Louise" to the end of people's names for no reason, like to my friend Christina's name making her Christina-Louise
• Our cat Shuffles (RIP) - Shuffie, Shuffle-Puff, Shuffles-Louise, Shuffle-Off-To-Buffalo, etc.
• Our car, a Ford Explorer Eddie Bauer edition - The Ford Exploder, Eddie Bowel Edition

The list goes on and on. Basically, if she gives you a nickname it means that she likes you. I want to name my bike, I am my mother's daughter, after all, but I've been struggling to come up with a name. The best I have come up with so far is "Dirty", so I can say I'm "riding Dirty". 

Boston is nicknamed "The Walking City", not because it is so safe to be a pedestrian here but because you can walk almost anywhere within an hour. The same goes for cycling; you can get across the city pretty quickly, and sometimes, as I found out yesterday, much faster than the Green Line. But first you must know how to navigate an infrastructure system designed for horse and buggy, not logical travel (I know I haven't lived in a city with a grid system, but I'm so used to Boston's jumbled mess of road systems that the grid systems I have encountered actually confuse me more). Next, you must be prepared to share the road with Massholes, city buses, cab drivers that apparently enjoy risking life and limb while driving, other bikers, confused tourists about to be struck by cars, and an abundance of construction vehicles. Boston was rated one of the worst cities for cycling for many years, but has made it to #26 on Bicycling Magazine's list of the top 50 Bike-Friendly Cities. A former Olympic cyclist now serves as the bike coordinator in Boston, and in the past few years many bike lanes, bike racks, educational programs, and a bike sharing program called Hubway have been added.

I took No-Name out on our maiden voyage in the middle of rush hour traffic on Monday afternoon. I think my 5 years of experience of being a pedestrian/public transit user, but also an occasional driver, in Boston helped me not die. Sadly, the phrase "not die" is actually relevant, as several people have been hit and killed on their bikes by MBTA buses and other vehicles in the past few years. I swerved through hoards of traffic and tourists like a pro, but I was glad to get off the road and ride along the Esplanade for a few miles. The 5.26 mile ride took only 35 minutes, which is equivalent (if not faster) than the T at that hour. Not only that, but being on a bike was much better than being packed into the Green Line like a sweaty sardine.

Boylston Street

I biked to work that morning, and again it was faster than taking the train. Being caught in the afternoon traffic on a road without a bike lane was a little scary, but it's been a fun experience to see my city in a different way. It was about 95 degrees and disgustingly humid, and I had almost been hit by a cab, but getting stopped at a light and seeing this view was pretty cool. I tend to get tunnel vision when I'm going to/from work, or using public transit at all, so it was a refreshing change. 

Thankfully there are some bike-friendly areas, and there is a nice path at Belle Isle Marsh near my house. I wish I could replace my T rides with bike rides for the summer, but unfortunately I cannot get through the tunnel on a bike. By the way, the Callahan Tunnel is closing for three months so I'm really thrilled to see what the traffic will be like in the 8th circle of hell. I suppose I prefer that over my worst fear becoming a reality - the walls failing and water from the harbor filling the tunnel as I slowly drown to death. That fear was intensified when a panel broke off the wall during rush hour. It was removed along with a few more faulty panels. A full inspection resulted in ALL of the panels being removed. How encouraging!

In other news, I convinced my roommate Jaime to do her first obstacle race with me in September. I found this deal on Living Social, which is probably the main reason we were okay with signing up. It will be my second obstacle race, my first is going to the Spartan Sprint at the end of August. Rugged Maniac, the race in Sept., is just one of many options of the obstacle race fad. I'm hoping to be well prepared for this race, as I believe the Spartan Sprint will be more challenging than the Rugged Maniac. I don't doubt the Rugged Maniac will be tough, with obstacles like Suicide Slide and Rugged Rope Ascent, but the Spartan Sprint will be my first time doing something like that. It may even be my first actual race if I don't get my ass in gear and sign up for a 5k before then. Spartan Sprint requires you to do 30 burpees (HELL) if you can't do an obstacle, whereas all other obstacle races I've seen allow you to go around any obstacle you can't/don't want to do. Thankfully I am tackling that course with several male friends who are buff and were in the military, so if I can't get over a wall they will throw me over it. The Rugged Maniac may be a different story... I'm already getting visions of Jaime and I, face down, dead in the mud. Our team name is Biggest Losers, that way if things go well we will look like successful Biggest Loser contestants, and if things go poorly we will just be big losers. Win-win.

My strict(er) training and eating habits start July 1st. I've been slacking off, especially since this past weekend was my 23rd birthday and I sat on the beach drinking and eating for four days. My running pace is getting better, and on my last run I averaged 9:48 min/mile on a hilly course. Not that fast, but really great for me! I plan on getting my pace faster, doing longer distance runs, and building my upper body strength. Summer is here, but it's going fast! 

Mt. Monadnock Revisited

First dance with Monadnock in March

The Monadnock's are like old friends to me. Pack Monadnock and North Pack Monadnock are quite literally the little siblings of Mt. Monadnock ("pack" is the Native American word for "little"). Pack Monadnock is the first mountain I hiked that renewed my love of the outdoors. North Pack Monadnock was  my first winter hike after my big "real hiker" purchase of micro-crampons. These two mountains were the last of my Wapack Trail traverse. They hold a special place in my heart. Their older sibling... well, we haven't had the best relationship.   Mt. Monadnock is the biggest of the three, and therefore inherently more challenging. I could always see Mt. Monadnock from the summits of the smaller two, and I had made it my goal to get up it. After getting a few good hikes under my belt and feeling my endurance increasing I decided I was ready. My homework turned up mixed reviews. Some people raved about hike, some bitched and moaned about how difficult it was. I realized I was in for a more serious climb when I read that a man had to be rescued from the mountain after breaking his leg about two weeks before I went. In short, it was miserable. It was a warm, clear day in late March. Most of the snow had melted in the surrounding area, but the trail still had a considerable amount of snow-oh wait-I mean slush. I was hiking through an Icee. Even worse, I realized when I got to there that I did not have my micro-crampons... or my hiking poles. Even worse, I didn't realize I was on day 1 of a respiratory infection... well, I did realize that I was getting sick but I refused to accept it. My descent was skiing without skis. Kurt the Hottie would have been horrified. Not only was I skiing without skis, but no boot is truly waterproof. I was walking on two slushie sponges.

Mt. Monadnock is one of the most hiked mountains in the world. I've seen some sites say most hiked, second most hiked, third most hiked.... so I'll just say it's in the top 5. To put it simply, it can be a zoo on a nice day. There's a mix of serious hikers, day-trippers, families, and idiots (more on that later). I have only been on the White Dot and White Cross trails (the two most popular and direct routes), but there are easily over 20 trails to the summit, as well as campsites and a park store. The trails I have been up are very rocky, which can make for a precarious trip. Any athletic person or hiker could get up no problem, but not without breaking a sweat. The mountain is the highest peak for 30 miles; "Monadnock" loosely translates to "mountain that stands alone". On a clear day you can see the Green Mountains in Vermont, Mount Washington, and the Boston skyline.

White Cross Trail

I felt great starting the trail. I could feel my workouts paying off, because my endurance was much better. The lack of a respiratory infection and 6 inches of slush helped, too. I was passing groups left and right. Go you! I thought.. then I realized many of these groups were families. Not that impressive. Then I passed a group of young men that didn't look like hikers but weren't necessarily out of shape. I was patting myself on the back for losing the group when one of the guys popped back into sight. He seemed to be trying to keep pace with me, but it wasn't long that I heard him huffing, puffing, and groaning. I don't think he was happy that he was being smoked by a girl.

My speed came to a slamming halt when I hit the rockier parts of the trail. The picture to the left is an example of what I mean. There is usually traffic on the steep, rocky areas, because people who didn't do their homework are tripped up by how strenuous it gets. I passed a lot of groups sitting down trying to catch their breath. Don't get me wrong, I was sweating. A couple that had been behind me up one particularly steep rock scramble kept saying "we must be getting close, it's not that far away." I didn't have the heart to tell them they weren't even halfway yet. This is where a lot of people turn around.

The trail levels out after several big, rocky, climbs and leads into a few false summits. The first half of this mountain is the most physically challenging, but the second half is more mentally challenging. The first time I hiked it I would round a corner thinking "okay, that has to be the summit" (it wasn't). It can be daunting to finally see the sizable summit, which is entirely above the tree line and all bare rock.

Summit of Mt. Monadnock

I had been leapfrogging a pack of pre-teen boys almost the entire way, and I got unreasonably frustrated when they disappeared from my sight. I passed them just as I was about to start the final push to the summit. They were all sitting there on their phones. It was immensely depressing. I wanted to shake them, and their dad, and say "LOOK AROUND YOU! IT IS AMAZING! PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY!" I made it my goal to reach the summit before them. They started off right after I passed by, so I was trying to tap into my "lightning pace" from earlier. All was going well until my body reminded me that I had barely stopped to rest and rehydrate on the way up, and it was about 75 degrees out. My need for water won out, and on my 30 second stop I realized it was a foolish goal. It wasn't a race. BUT - in my defense, they only beat me by about 30-60 seconds... and preteen boys have an inhuman amount of energy.

Conquered. 

There were good views at the summit, but the last time I was there it was much clearer. The wind chill made it feel about 10-20 degrees cooler, so I started looking for a sheltered area to enjoy my snack. The top was a little bit of a zoo. I greatly appreciate families being active together, but sometimes crazy, screaming kids take away from the serenity of a mountaintop. I gravitated towards two men that looked like "real hikers", and they invited me into their little alcove. I can be socially awkward at times, so I sat there silently envying their talks about hiking out west in preparation for Mt. Kilimanjaro. The older man said "I feel like I need to do it within the next few years or else I will never do it". A little smile crept across my face, because it's exactly how I feel about the AT. I took out my knee brace to prepare for my descent, which immediately sparked the interest of the older man. It turns out he was my kindred-knee-spirit, though probably 30 years my senior. We swapped injury stories; he had a brace on his left knee as well because he injured it walking down an aisle in Home Depot. "It's not the sexiest story to tell, so I just started making up lies." I breathed a sigh of relief. I was not the only one in the world that had messed up their knee in some stupidly mundane way, made up random, untrue stories as to how it happened, and continued to hike after the injury! Hurrah! I desperately wanted to keep talking to them, but they were heading back down the mountain and I still had a Gatorade to finish.

Descending the White Cross Trail

After about a half hour at the summit I began my descent with horrible flashbacks of me sliding on my ass through slush a few months earlier. The White Cross Trail promises to be less steep than the White Dot, so it's been my go-to trail. It may have be less steep, but it was still steep, rocky, muddy, and wet in many places. Although my muscles were slightly fatigued, I was able to keep a great pace and passed several groups on the way down. I caught up to kindred-knee-spirit man and his buddy, and for some reason it was ridiculously rewarding. They were planning a Kilimanjaro traverse and I was able to catch up to them!.... going down the mountain, but whatever. Right after passing them I felt a huge weight bear down on me. I realized I had to go back to Boston, back to work, back to life, that night. I had always thought an office life would be fine, but I'm realizing how much I don't want that. The thought of sitting inside at the computer for a good portion of my day was just so depressing.

I promised an explanation of the "idiots" on the trail, and I met two groups of them on my way down the mountain. Maybe "idiot" is a strong word. They were overly ambitious and definitely uninformed. The first group was an older couple struggling up a seemingly easy portion of the trail. It seems they had severely underestimated the difficulty of the hike, because the woman looked at me like she hated the fact I was in my 20s. I'm all for getting outside and exercising, but not doing your homework and getting so fatigued at the halfway point (really only 25% of the way) makes for a very dangerous descent. The second gang of uninformed people were wearing jeans, cotton shirts and sweatshirts (have fun swimming in your sweat), and what may have been running shoes at one point. Through their wheezing they asked me how far they had to go. I had to inform them they were not yet halfway. "Oh....." the guy said "....... okay", and then sullenly looked at his feet. You could make it up in running shoes, I wouldn't want to, but coming down would be miserable. Someone I will classify as a true idiot was the girl I saw in Converse back in March. My hiking boots didn't help much, I don't even want to know how she faired getting down. 

High-tech "hiking" poles I found at the dump. 

I'm glad I revisited this mountain. It may not be as grandiose or difficult as the 4,000 footers in the Presidential Range of the White Mountains, and it's certainly no Mt. Washington, but it's been a great stepping stone for me. It was a reminder that I still have a ways to go if I want to have any hope of the bigger mountains up north this summer. My total time was around 3 hours, including a half hour at the summit. Several websites say that the average hiking time is 3-4 hours, so I thought, "look at me! An average, dare I say even ABOVE AVERAGE, hiker!" I finished on a good note, unlike last time when I was exhausted and miserable, waved goodbye to kindred-knee-spirit man, and drove home with a smile on my face.

BRACE YOURSELVES.. or Maybe Not.

Before I even start this I have to say that I am not a licensed medical professional. Do not take my words as such. I have got to the point where I'm calling my doctors by numbers because there's too many of them for me to remember, though (I'm meeting # 10 tomorrow, an otolaryngoloist).

To brace or not to brace? That is the question. The jury seems to be out on whether or not braces help or hurt during physical activity, especially knee braces. But first, let me take you back to why my knees need bracing in the first place.

I was blessed with hideous bone structure in my knees (back and hips, too, thanks mom). Doing a lot of high-impact sports during my youth was not great for the 'ol joints. I have pretty prominent Osgood-Schlatter disease lumps under my knees that have been painful my entire life. I had to brace my knees on and off for years, especially during track, but overall I had no major problems...

How I feel anytime I recall this story

...until one fateful night at a club that I hated with all of my might. Okay, to be fair I didn't really hate this place at the time, but it's an after-hours club that is open until 6am. I often spent at least one weekend night there at a party my friends and boyfriend-at-the-time were running, meaning I was often there until some ungodly hour of the night (or morning, I suppose). I don't remember why, but I was asked to go get one of my friends who was DJing. I was about to open the the swinging door to the DJ booth when the owner of the club came bursting through. I tried to twist and get out of the way of the door quick enough for him to pass by without running me over. The next thing I knew I was on the floor literally seeing stars and trying not to pass out again. As I tried to piece together why exactly I was on the floor I realized I remember feeling a huge pop in my left knee, and the pain was coming back with a vengeance. Thankfully this took place in the lounge, so I was able to haul myself up onto a couch. I sat there writhing in pain for a few minutes, unable to get up and get help. I could already see my knee swelling through my pants. After a few minutes one of my friends passed by... I have no idea what I said but it was something along the lines that my knee was broken (it was not). I had always wondered why the bouncers had ignored me while I sat there grasping my knee, rocking back and forth, on the verge of passing out. It turns out they thought I was having a bad drug trip and I was trying to ride it out. A+ service, dudes.

Look at my insides. 

I went to the Massachusetts General Hospital ER. MGH is rated # 1 overall best hospital in the country, and # 4 best orthopedic hospital in the country, but somehow didn't have a knee brace or any pain killers to give me (NOT EVEN AN ADVIL). They said I dislocated my knee cap, gave me crutches, and sent me on my way. An orthopedist ordered a MRI thinking I had torn my ACL. The results came back, and his exact words were "Molly, you see the white stuff? That's not good." I had a small tear my in my mensicus, a partial dislocation of my kneecap, a strained MCL, and a sizable bone bruise. ALL FROM MOVING OUT OF THE WAY OF A DOOR. I hated the story so much that I started compulsively lying when people asked me what I had done. People that ask about your injury are typically doing so because they want to tell you their own story. "Are you a dancer? Because I had a knee injury when I danced." Why yes, I was a dancer. "Are you a runner? Looks like you did the same thing as I did!" Ah, yes, Molly the cross country runner. Whatever, all of it sounded better than "I got out of the way of a door a club."

I had weird tan lines for a while.

I spent that summer home in New Hampshire, which was great timing since getting around the city on Vicodin and crutches was not the most fun I've ever had. Thankfully surgery was not part of my recovery plan. My orthopedist thought I was young and healthy enough that the tear would mend on its own. I started my recovery with "Kurt The Hottie", a local physical therapist that my mom had seen for her own knee injury. Kurt The Hottie was a man shrouded in mystery. My mom always spoke affectionally about him, his "Hottie"-ness, and his kind disposition, yet no one ever met or even seen Kurt The Hottie. I almost fell out of my chair when I found out he was going to be my physical therapist. To clarify, he was a handsome and kind man who often brought me homemade popcorn to eat while he tortured me, but I wouldn't put him in the "hottie" category. My biggest hurdle in PT was simply getting my leg straight. My knee had been so swollen that I hadn't been able to straighten it for weeks, and my hamstring completely locked up. Getting a leg message for an hour sounds nice, but I promise you that I was pouring sweat and fighting the urge to punch Kurt The Hottie the entire time. Once my leg could straighten, he introduced me to Kinesiology Tape, or KT tape, and taped my knees (shown above) in ridiculous ways all summer. Despite looking like an idiot, KT tape did wonders for me. More on that later.

Once I was recovered enough he suggested a specialized brace for patellar subluxation and patellar tracking, my two biggest problems. I'm prone to knee injuries because the structure of my knee joint forces my kneecaps to track to the sides, not straight like a normal human being, which makes it very easy to dislocate, sprain, or tear something in my knee. Well, the brace cost me $80. Kurt The Hottie suggested buying another one for my right knee, since the same problem was just as likely to happen to that one. I decided to take my chances. In our next session he told me to leave my $80 knee brace off for my exercises that day, because "the jury's out on bracing, it can actually make your knee weaker." Kurt The Hottie, I thought, if you just had me spend $80 on a knee brace I don't need I will slap you.

Fast forward to today and I still have a significant amount of knee troubles. I can't fully straighten and lock my left leg without my kneecap popping, and that knee cracks about 25 times a day. My right knee is okay for now, but occasionally it riots against me and reminds me that I have the joints of a 90 year old. I'm terrified of injuring my right knee or re-injuring my left, so you can imagine my terror in skidding down rocky mountain trails.

It seems that there's two schools of thoughts on bracing. One is that it keeps everything where it should be, can prevent injury, and, in a case like mine, forces you to strengthen the appropriate muscles. The other is that braces limit your mobility and cause the muscles, tendons, and ligaments to essentially go to sleep since they don't have to work, eventually weakening the area. So what to do?

No one looks this good using this machine. She is a lie.

I've found what's best for me is to only use braces when I feel I really need it. I've worked a lot on strengthening my leg muscles, and I think it's really helped. I had my kneecap pop out of place while I was running recently and thankfully it immediately corrected itself. I attribute that to what I call the prostitute machine (pictured left). Why call it the prostitute machine, you ask? Because you spread your legs as far apart as possible and squeeze them together. Your goods are really out there on display unless you're wearing XL sweatpants. But the real point is that the inner thigh muscles are what hold my kneecap in place and prevent it from popping out to the side, and I think it's what saved me from another dislocation. I do almost all of my exercise without braces, but occasionally I do use them if I'm in pain. I have two full knee braces, the expensive one, and a knee strap that helps alleviate Osgood-Schlatter's pain.

Go, bionic knees, go!

The problem with braces and hiking is that they can get really uncomfortable really fast, especially if it's hot out. This is where KT Tape has come in really handy for me. I don't know KT Tape works, but it's been great for me, especially when I don't want to have a big bulky brace on in 80 degree heat. That being said, I never go out on the trail without at least one brace in my bag. I usually end up putting one or two on before the end of the trip. My rule of thumb is to put them on if I'm getting tired or descending. A huge number of injuries occur on the descent; you're often tired, going much faster, and sliding around more. One misstep can end in disaster. So, I strap on my "bionic knees" and hope for the best!

Bracing versus not bracing versus KT Tape versus a combination of all three is really up to the individual and their needs. I will always need some sort of extra support, but I've found that training without the braces has really helped. Brace or no brace, I'm ready for someone to just give me their knee joints and call it a day. Happy bracing, everyone!

Book Review - Hiking Through

I have been on a Appalachian Trail book kick lately (BUM BUM BUMMMMMMM). I suppose it's not surprise that someone with a love of hiking is infatuated with the AT and the stories of it. The AT is the Holy Grail, the ultimate pilgrimage, a life changer, or sometimes a life ruiner. I read Wild by Cheryl Strayed (she hiked the PCT) last year and was absolutely obsessed with it, but I found that I didn't appreciate the struggles until I did a long-distance hike myself. Hiking 28.39 miles over two days is absolutely nothing, I mean really nothing, compared to an AT or PCT thruhike, but it did help me appreciate AT stories a little more.

Hiking Through was written by Paul Stutzman, a man who gives up his life to hike the AT after losing his wife to cancer. His story of losing his wife, quitting his job, and deciding to pursue his dream is so incredibly touching... but that's only half the story, really. The bigger story is the people he meets on the trail, the wonders of "trail magic", his spiritual journey, and coming to terms with what's important in life. Those things seem to be a recurring theme throughout AT hiking stories. One of my favorite quotes came from his experience in Dalton, Massachusetts. The largest employer in Dalton is Crane & Company, which makes all the paper money used in the U.S. It wasn't the money in Dalton that mattered. He "...saw and felt what life is truly about: families, togetherness, unity, acceptance, respect, and love for God. Those ingredients build strong spines and foster the courage to do what's right in any situation. That's something all the money in Dalton can never buy."

Now, let me get back to the "God" thing. This is just as much about Stutzman's relationship with God as it is about a hike. I would have realized that if I had actually read the entire description (I just got excited and put it in my Amazon shopping). I do not consider myself a religious person, so I found myself skimming over the "God-this-God-that" parts to get back to the hiking stuff. By the end, though, I started to appreciate his words more. I may not have the same views as him, but I can understand and appreciate the spiritual transformation he went through. I have said before that hiking is like therapy to me. It's hard not to feel connected to something larger than yourself when you're on top of a mountain.

Overall I enjoyed this book a lot. I laughed and cried along with him. No, I mean I actually cried. I started crying on the train when he reaches the summit of Katahdin and holds the sign sobbing. It was a weird commute home from the gym. Anyway, his story of losing his wife and literal/spiritual journey was inspiring and beautifully written. I would definitely recommend it to anyone, but to especially anyone who has lost a loved one and has had to navigate through that grief.

The Wapack Trail

I often get crazy ideas, like withdrawing all of my money (I say that like I have any) from the bank and moving to the Bahamas to sell seashell necklaces on the beach. I usually get these ideas when I'm bored, looking at my school loans, unsatisfied with life, or feeling overly ambitious. Unfortunately, I have yet to disappear to a remote island to sell jewelry. Sometimes these crazy ideas do pan out, though, and one of those ideas was to hike the Wapack Trail.

The Wapack Trail was developed in 1923 and is one of the oldest interstate trails in the Northeast. The trail starts in Ashburnham, MA, ends 21.4 miles later in Greenfield, NH, over seven mountains and through several state forests. There are about seven miles of side trails. A volunteer group called Friends of the Wapack maintains the trail, as well as organizes volunteer work days and various hikes (and much more!). Private property owners continue to allow hikers to trek through their land.

I concocted this plan almost immediately after the first time I hiked up Pack Monadnock last summer with two friends and saw the trail marker. My research on the trail quickly led to a moment of self-doubt, followed by bizarre justifications that did not apply to my life. It went something like this:

Ohhhh, 21 miles... that's a lot.
But I've hiked Pack Monadnock, and North Pack Monadnock (the last two of the trail), and I'm pretty confident over those mountains.
But seven mountains... damn.
But they're not that high.
BUT, 21 MILES.
People run marathons every day.
You do not run marathons. You do not run, period. Who the hell is going to do this with you?
Probably no one. I will do it alone.

21 miles is a lot. I don't know why I made the comparison to a marathon, because hiking 21 miles is a lot different than running 26.2. Just because people, freakishly fit people, can run 26.2 miles does not mean I am qualified to hike 21.4 miles over seven mountains, but I decided that I could. And after a few months of mulling over the idea, I also decided I was suited to hike it alone. In my defense, I did post a few general invitations via Facebook... apparently I'm not much of a saleswoman. With decent weather fast approaching, I made the decision that hiking alone was not a big deal. I'd done it plenty of times before, so what was the big difference? (Spoiler alert: it was a big difference).

I chose the second weekend in May, thinking that the temperatures would quickly start rising after that (though who knows with New England. It snowed in NH on Memorial Day). The week before was filled with giddy anticipation and mild dread. I had never been on a hike that required much thought or planning; I was used to just driving to the base, hiking up, snapping a few pictures, eating some trail mix, hiking back down, and going about my day. But, as any committed hiker knows, an all-day excursion warrants much more thought. How much water did I need? How much weight would I be carrying? What were the best foods to bring? What do I need to wear? How can I coordinate being dropped off and picked up? How much mileage can I actually cover in a day? Did I actually need that ridiculous pocket knife that my parents were insistent on me bringing? (Yes) Etc, etc, etc.

The night before the hike I read the hard copy of the trail guide, which luckily my parents had stashed away somewhere. One of the first lines was never "never hike alone". I said "oops", and then disregarded the suggestion with youthful, reckless abandon. Reading through the Flora and Fauna section brought up the topic of bears, and my youthful, reckless abandon was abruptly interrupted. In 18 years of living in southern NH, and 4 more spent back and forth between there and Boston, I had never seen a black bear. When my mom told me they had seen a black bear on Pack Monadnock, a mountain I frequently hike, my eyes bulged out of my head. I KNEW black bears were in our area but for some reason I never really thought about running into one in the woods.. which is absolutely foolish. I had watched video of black bears casually batting bird feeders around in people's yards in much more populated areas, why the hell did I never consider coming across a bear in its own habitat? Immediately, I flashed back to earlier in the day when I was buying a new rain jacket at Columbia. I asked a saleswoman for her opinion between three jackets I had picked out. She suggested the blue one I was holding "because it's so cute!". I did end up getting that one (not just for the color), and joked to several people that my hiking rain jacket was not a fashion statement, but maybe a bear would decide not to rip my face off if it saw I had fashionable rain gear. I had a discussion with my parents about what I would do if I saw a bear, and I concluded that I would die.

Beginning of the trail

I set out with my mom the morning of May 9th to Ashburnham, MA. I was feeling good from my favorite pre-strenuous day activity - carb loading. From my research and own experiences, I decided to load up on complex carbs (pasta) and protein the night before, which break down slowly and give you lasting energy. I brought a mix of food that would provide instant energy (simple carbs, PB & J, Snickers) and was easily packable (beef jerky, trail mix, energy bars). I also carried my camera, sunscreen, bug spray, light sweatshirt, trail guide, another map, knife, emergency first aid kit, water/Gatorade/VitaCoco totaling about 5.5 pounds, cell phone, license, pedometer, and enough knee braces & KT tape to open up a physical therapy office along the trail. As we pulled into the parking lot I realized I forgot my "trekking" poles, which are actually just old ski poles I found at the dump. It wasn't a trip-ruiner, but someone with my joints really benefits from the extra support. My mom got out of the car, swatted away a swarm of black flies, looked around, and said "I'm leaving you HERE? Alone? Oh... boy...." I responded "yup", left her with a detailed map and estimations of where I would be and when, snapped a picture, and headed off confidently into the woods. My poor mother. I think watching me trek into the forest alone shaved a few months off of her life.

I headed for the summit of Mt. Watatic, a modest but decent ascent. I was plodding along, enjoying my surroundings, feeling good, but suddenly I was filled with dread. The internal conversation went something like this: "What do you think you're doing? Why do you think you're qualified for this? You tore your meniscus trying to get out of the way of an opening door, why do you think your body is fit for this? What are you going to do if a bear mauls you? You're out here alone..... what's that noise? ........... IS THAT A FUCKING BEAR?!"  Indeed it was. Just as I was contemplating my fate, a pretty sizable black bear went galloping through the woods about 100 yards away. Thankfully it was running the opposite direction. I knew I was supposed to stand my ground when facing a black bear; give it space and respect but also make myself look big and imposing. Instead what I think I did was freeze, stare blankly, and think "well, this is how I'm going to die". I say 'what I think I did' because it's all a blur, really. Ever seen someone get tased? Their body locks up and they fall to the ground. That's essentially what my brain did, and I'm surprised my body didn't follow suit. The rush of adrenaline had my heart beating out of my chest, so much so that as I continued walking I thought the bear could probably hear it. I was so consumed by my imminent death that I slowed enough for a woman to catch up to me, and thank heavens she did. She heard the bear, too, but thought it was my dog. I wish. Talking and hiking with her to the top calmed me enough to avoid cardiac arrest. As soon as I got to the summit I took out the ridiculous knife I didn't think I would need and clipped it to the waist strap for easy access. It was a foolish sense of protection, but a sense of comfort nonetheless.

Lost on some logging road.

I wish I had enjoyed Mt. Watatic more. The black flies were so constant that I couldn't stand in one place for very long. The views were great, but I had to keep moving north to stay on schedule. I consulted the trail guide, which said the trail continued north via an unmarked footpath to the right of a fire tower, crossed under an abandoned ski lift after about 100 yards, then linked back up to the woods after about 1/2 mile. Easy enough, I thought, but as I looked around I realized there were about 5 unmarked footpaths and the fire tower did not exist anymore. Every map I looked at seemed to have the trail continuing down another side of the mountain, not doubling back on itself. I picked a footpath, followed it, second guessed myself, doubled back... picked another one, wound up in overgrown brush, doubled back.... found what looked like an old logging road, crossed under what could have either been an old ski lift or a power line, couldn't find the trail, doubled back...... well, you get the idea. In all I probably hiked up and down that mountain three times. I consulted the trail guide about 50 times. I turned on my phone to look at the website and see if I had missed something. I had not. I added about an hour and a half of time and ~4 miles. It was exhausting. I was waiting for the bear to pop back up at any moment. I wished I had someone with me just to bounce my thoughts off of. It was hot, I was constantly second-guessing myself, my muscles were already tiring, and I forgot to keep hydrated. I finally sat down, took a long drink of water, and decided to go back down the way I came. I trudged angrily down the mountain, but came to the conclusion that maybe today was not my day and I had to be okay with it. Maybe I had not done my homework well enough. Maybe I wasn't meant to hike today. Just as I was ready to admit defeat I saw a sign indicating Wapack North. I think I actually laughed out loud. I'm not sure if the trail guide is outdated (though there's updates on the website, and nothing about Mt. Watatic), or if the trail was rerouted, but I was not off to a great start.

The trail continues into New Ipswich, NH, through an area that looks like it's being cleared for construction. I thought there was no way they would be building anything out there (there's no roads! Literally, no roads!), but I saw a building permit on a tree. My success at finding the trail again combined with being in an open area with good visibility had me feeling good, but as soon as I re-entered the woods dread creeped up on me again. The mind can play amazing tricks on itself. Every tiny movement I heard in the woods caused my body to seize into a fight-or-flight response (or in my case, apparently, just stand there dumbfounded). I never did see that bear again, but the thought of it haunted me all day. I coped by singing one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs out loud.

Binney Pond 

My next landmark was Binney Pond State Forest. Looking at Binney Pond felt like looking into the past. It was very secluded and I was the only one on the trail in the area. I got a sense that it had been unchanged for a long time. Unfortunately, I could not stop to enjoy it because I was behind schedule and being attacked by black flies. The climb up Pratt Mountain, the second of seven on the trail, was short but strenuous. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't hike up and down Mt. Watatic about three times, but it did give my legs a good burn. On the way up I was cursing myself: "This sucks. YOU did this to yourself. You can't even be mad. You're putting yourself through this on your own free will." The summit of Pratt Mt. is underwhelming. There is a viewpoint but I was too angry to take extra time for a viewpoint. I regret it.

Instead, I trudged on to New Ipswich Mt., a much less steep grade but essentially touching Pratt Mt.'s base. I descended Pratt Mt. and immediately ascended the next. New Ipswich Mt. had better views, so I stopped to let my legs rest for a few minutes. I recently saw a quote that said "summer is fun until every bug comes out of the 8th circle of hell", and it was quite fitting for this situation. I constantly had flies/mosquitos/who-knows-what buzzing in my ears, and staying still only made it worse. They persisted no matter how many times I coated myself in bug spray. Despite being eaten alive, I finally had a moment of peace that so often comes with getting to the top of a mountain. It was an absolutely beautiful, clear day, which made for great views. It was impossible not to appreciate. For a moment I forgot about how frustrating, and at times, scary, the morning had been up until that point. Then I looked at the surrounding area, realized I barely saw anything for miles and miles, and continued on before the thought of "I better not get injured out here" came back.

A few miles later came Barrett Mt., where I stopped and forced myself to eat my sandwich. I noticed I had zero appetite, which was the opposite of what I was expecting. Nevertheless, I knew with the constant movement, four mountains, and near 80 degree heat that I was burning a lot of calories (I burned about 3500 calories that day). After Barrett Mt. the trail crosses into the Windblown Cross Country Ski area, where several trails cross cross over the Wapack. Thankfully everything is extremely well marked, so it was easy to follow. I began to experience what I call balloon-brain. Balloon-brain is when I've been doing the same thing for a while and my brain seems to float out of my head and detach from the task, but my body continues to do it. I had been walking all day, and eventually I didn't even need to think about doing it anymore. My body took over and my brain was off somewhere else. I hadn't seen another soul for hours. I've read several books about long-distance hiking, and it seems I'm not the only one who experiences balloon-brain. It is oddly peaceful.

Blissfully horizontal

Popping out into civilization is always a weird phenomena when you've secluded in the woods all day. I knew I was getting close to the crossing of Rt. 123/124 because I began criss-crossing powerlines. I started to debate whether I should call it a day and have my mom pick me up there. I had done about 12 miles of hiking, more than I had ever done in a day. I turned on my cell phone, plopped down next to a powerline (ahh, nature), and called my mom. During our conversation I decided to push on to the next major road crossing. It didn't look that far... and it wasn't that far. But, damn, it felt far. I believe the trail was re-routed here, because the blazes disappeared for about a mile. Thankfully they popped up again and I was able to get back on the trail. It was ~4 miles of walking through wide, wet, and leafy trail. I reached the road I was meeting my mom on and to my dismay it was a hill. Not a particularly big hill, but after 16.81 miles of hiking it looked like Everest to me. My mom doesn't have a cell phone (hold your gasp), so I couldn't tell if she was already waiting for me at the parking lot. I agonized over the two options: I either walk up this stupid, annoying hill and hope she's already there, or wait where I know she has to drive past and avoid this stupid, annoying hill. I walked up the stupid, annoying hill. Thankfully she pulled in the moment I reached our meeting spot.

I spent a good portion of the day frustrated. I spent all of the day sweating bullets, aching, being attacked by bugs, and cursing my decision. I had no appetite. But the second I got into that car and ripped off my boots I joyfully recounted my day and ate an entire bag of beef jerky without realizing it (there's that balloon brain again). I've never experienced being sore BEFORE finishing a workout. 'Ol Faithful, my recurring blister-within-a-blister, was out in full force and accompanied by a few friends. I was happy, accomplished, and thinking "how the hell am I going to wake up and hike again tomorrow?". Thankfully for my muscles and 'Ol Faithful there was severe thunderstorms in the forecast the next day and I couldn't get out on the mountains. I was thankful for the rest but also incredibly frustrated. Going back to Boston without finishing the last section ate at me. My mom tried to reason with me ("you can finish soon, don't worry"), and I was only able to respond with disapproving grunt.

Summit of Pack Monadnock

The next weekend brought another bout of bad thunderstorms, and the next was my graduation. I was itching to get back and finally got to 18 days after I started. I decided to skip a small section (Burton Peak and Temple Mt.) and start at Miller State Park in Peterborough, NH. The mileage I hiked would have put me further than Miller State Park had I been going the right direction the entire time. Pack Monadnock and North Pack Monadnock are two mountains I have hiked many times, but I never hiked the two together. They are both easy mountains with moderately strenuous sections, which makes it very crowded in the warm weather. I was glad I got an early start so I was not overwhelmed by tons of families.

The end!.... almost. 

A pleasant, 6 mile hike on a warm, clear day was a great end to this experience. I didn't finish it within two consecutive days like I planned, but I was happy to accomplish my goal. I posed with the trail marker and gave myself a pat on the back... then promptly gave myself a punch in the face. My mom offered to drop be off and pick me up, but I thought "nahhhh, I'll just walk back to the car, no biggie." I had done a particularly strenuous workout earlier that week after about 2 weeks of being a couch potato (damn you, allergies), so I started the day on sore legs. 5.5 hilly miles after hiking 6 miles over two mountains was not the best idea I've ever had. I did not reach my blissful, balloon-brain state, but instead was quite bored and annoyed with myself. I jogged sections of the road, much to the dismay of 'Ol Faithful, out of pure boredom. Finally making the loop back to Miller State Park was a beautiful thing. I actually gave myself a few fist pumps.

The Wapack Trail was my first true long distance hike. It was at times frustrating and intimidating, and at times beautiful and rewarding. Most of all, it was a learning experience. I had a moment when I was hot, dehydrated, sweaty, sore, and being eaten by bugs, and I said to myself "if you ever want to do this shit again, remember how you feel in this moment". I've already disregarded that and am looking forward to hiking this trail again in its proper form.... maybe this time with a friend.

A Useless Hobby

Hiking a useless hobby, really.

There's no tangible outcome with no audience. If you knit, you make a nice sweater. If you paint, you create a beautiful piece of art. If you sing, you entertain the crowd. If you hike, you walk around and spend hours climbing mountains. Maybe you get a nice picture and a story to tell every once in a while.

It's not that useful of a skill. Anyone can walk. Anyone can walk up a mountain, given enough time. It does not require a natural ability. Some people will say that you can become a great dancer with enough practice, but I promise you there is a natural talent and ability that makes someone a graceful dancer and some people will never have that (me included).

Hiking is often hard, sometimes dangerous, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes boring. It leaves you sore, tired, blistered, and chaffed. A nice day can turn into a storm in an instant at higher elevations and can leave you drenched from head to toe. A huge range of plants and animals can, at the very least, give you a scare, and at the very worst, kill you. You often have to pee in the woods.

So why the hell do it?

I grew in up Southern New Hampshire, so naturally I was surrounded by the woods. I loved the outdoors as a kid, but in high school I was too consumed by teenage angst to care much about anything else. My ailing body is a running joke among my friends and family. I tore my meniscus and partially dislocated my kneecap two years ago by simply getting out of the way of an opening door. A month on crutches and 6 weeks of physical therapy was only the beginning. It took a year before I was fully healed.

After weeks of discomfort in my lower back I had another MRI and found out I had a bulging disc pressing up against my spine. I had a epidural cortisone injection in my spine and went back to physical therapy. In this round of physical therapy I found out I have mild scoliosis and a bone deformity in my hip that makes my left leg longer than my right; basically, I have been off balance for 22 years.

"I'm back!"

I didn't get back into hiking until last summer when I went out with two friends of mine. It was a small mountain, but getting to the top of it was extremely rewarding. I felt like I was finally back to normalcy (though I will forever need braces and PT), like I was strong and able. Anyone who has had an injury that takes a long time to heal knows what I mean. I saw the much larger Mount Monadnock from the summit of Pack Monadnock and set my sights there. It didn't take long to reach that goal, and my love for the outdoors has been reignited ever since.

So, why hike? Well, for me it provides a chance to detach from life while appreciating it at the same time. How often do you appreciate a really pretty tree? A nice view? A giant boulder in the middle of the woods? I've lived in Boston for the past 5 years, and as much as I love the city part of my heart is still in the woods of New Hampshire. Life in a city can get pretty monotonous, hectic, and suffocating at times. Getting out on a mountain is quite literally a breath of fresh air. It's a chance to sign offline, even if just for a few hours, and be blissfully detached. The miles of blood, sweat, and (figurative) tears are worth the view at the top. A lot of people do their best thinking in the shower, I do some of my best thinking trekking through the woods. Though I am no super-hiker, my experiences hiking in the past year have pushed my limits and showed me that I am capable of being a little tough. In a time when my life is up in the air, student loans are looming over my head, the pressure to get a job and make money is more significant than ever, my personal life isn't always steady, etc., climbing a mountain is something I CAN accomplish.

Welcome to my misadventures on mountains.