It’s All Part of the Experience

My pre-trail thoughts of a nice morning cup of coffee, relaxing lunchtime break, and kicking back at the end of each day didn’t include this.

Heads up! There are a few photos in this post of my feet issues due to blisters on our thru-hike from last summer. If that stuff grosses you out, consider yourself warned!

In July and August of 2019, my husband Darren and I took on a thru-hike (a continuous journey end-to-end connecting our footsteps from start to finish in one trip) of the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT), a loop trail that goes the entire way around Lake Tahoe. It’s somewhere between 165-185 miles long, depending on the GPS unit you’re using, summiting mountain passes, winding through stunning valleys and meadows, and giving you breathtaking views of the lake and it’s surrounding area. It is adventure at its greatest.

When we decided to do this over the previous winter, I dove right into preparation and planning. We hadn’t ever done anything like this before (13 days of continuous backpacking with multiple resupply points) and figuring out our gear and logistics turned into a part-time job over the months leading up to the hike. I also began to prepare physically, hiking multiple times during the week and increasing mileage and weight as we got closer to July. Darren works full time and has very little free time, but he also tried to hike a few times before our departure. Almost every conversation and decision last spring had something to do with the TRT.

This is what a small part of the planning looked like for an endeavor like this- 13 days of food for 2 people.

When we hit the trail, I felt prepared, excited, and so ready. The planning was so extensive that the first few miles of trail felt surreal. We were DOING what we’d spent so long preparing for. All the hard work was being put Into action with each step we took down the trail. The first few days flew by. My body felt amazingly strong; of course I was sore and tired at the end of each day but not enough to distract from what we were doing out there. It was incredible. 

Feeling ready to take on the upcoming 18- mile day on day 2.

Enter day 4…our first resupply, the replenishing of our food and swapping out some gear. It was a fun morning, meeting our good friends in a beautiful spot on the trail, getting spoiled by them making us coffee and bringing us actual chairs to relax in for a few hours, then getting accompanied by them and their family hiking with us for a few miles of the next leg of the trail. Almost immediately after our goodbyes to them, we began a long, hot, rocky climb into the Desolation Wilderness. The excitement of the morning began to fade, and, suddenly, I could feel my feet, hot and sore, inside my trail running shoes. I thew some preventative blister care tape on them and attempted to ignore them, attributing their issues to this technical part of the trail and its softball-sized, sharp rocks. As the day went on and we entered into one of the most visually beautiful sections of the trail, my feet got worse and worse. I thought jumping into one of the lakes would make the pain all go away and, while it felt amazing, they were still screaming at me with each step. It took every ounce of will to hike the final mile of that 16-mile day.

Heading into the beautiful Desolation Wilderness and the beginning of the most difficult part of the journey for me.

Peeling off my socks at our camp that night, I discovered the beginning stages of several blisters on both feet, the worst being on the bottom of each foot. I was very angry, and, laying in my tent that night, I did some serious self-inquiry. How could this be happening? I prepared for this. I went into the trail with 300+ miles of hiking under my feet. These weren’t new shoes and they had never given me trouble before! Why were my feet failing me? WHY?!

I recall feeling very angry taking this photo.

And then it hit me- this wasn’t something I was doing to check off my list and just get through so I could say I did it. This was something to experience: every mile, every mosquito bite, every view, and yes, every single blister. I decided to turn my frustration into a mantra: It’s All Part of the Experience. I can’t tell you how many times I said that to myself and to Darren over the following days and miles. I knew that I had to accept what was happening as just another part of the adventure we were on. Was it ideal? Heck no! But it was happening, I couldn’t stop it, and I certainly was going to keep moving forward as long as I could. 9 blisters between both feet, 75ish miles of a very awkward gait walking on the outside of both feet (thank GOD for trekking poles!), a meltdown after one of the worst blisters popped while walking through a beautiful meadow, and a lot of time getting good at applying moleskin and tape (thank God even MORE for my ultra-prepared and patient husband who rocked the whole trail and only got one blister!), my feet finally gave me some relief. Either that or I became numb to the pain (or perhaps learned whatever lesson was attached to this!).

Fully surrendering to the trail and my expectations after my big on-the-trail meltdown.

It was truly all part of the experience. It was the biggest challenge of our thru-hike for me personally, but it gave me the opportunity to let go of the expectations I had about the trail and push through adversity, growing along the way. It was a chance to put my mental toughness and grit to the test, and it also showed me I had the ability to surrender my own ideas and live in the reality of the present. 

In the middle of our longest day (19.5 miles) on trail we ran into a few women who were blown away by what we were doing and wanted to take our picture. I’m smiling here, even though I was in an immense amount of discomfort. Now it’s one of my favorite photos of the trail.

Isn’t life just like that? We plan, prepare, expect…and then a curveball is thrown our way. We can react with anger, frustration, and bitterness (ALL of which are completely human, by the way) or we can recognize that it might just be an opportunity to strengthen our “let go and trust” muscle and learn something about ourselves along the way. This is generally something we cannot learn by reading about it or hearing someone else’s story. It must be experienced firsthand, no matter how painful it is. 

Earned through experience.

Looking back, I can honestly say that I am thankful for those blisters. Say what? I mean, yes, of course I wish that every step didn’t feel like fire for those miles of the trail, but I also know I’m stubborn and that most of my biggest life lessons have been accompanied by some challenge, pain, and adversity. So for that, I am grateful, because after all, it’s ALL part of the experience.