This morning, when I opened my eyes, my first thought was that my mind felt normal and clear again! I have struggled in a fog like state since Thursday when I was brought in from the sun on the edge of a heat stroke. I have struggled to pay attention in conversations, and spent much of my time laying down and drifting in and out of sleep.
July 22, 2013
It 6:45 am on Monday morning, July 22. On the trail I would be packed up and ready to move north bound. My eyes would be quickly looking over my campsite area for any items left unpacked or any traces of trash. Once satisfied that I had left no visible trace, I would be reaching for my treking poles and moving into the day. Others might enjoy coffee and conversation to greet the morning, but I enjoyed silently slipping away up the trail and into the day, listening to the forest as it woke up with me to begin another cycle. After walking and waking, I would look for a nice spot, perhaps with a view, and make breakfast my first rest stop of the day. I would mix Carnation French Vanilla breakfast mix with water for a thin milkshake. (I have to thank Johnny Walker for that tip.) Then I would pull out my map and review the day, setting a few goals and planning ahead for water. Before starting again I would always check my phone for a chance signal to send a message home or attempt an early morning call. The signal was seldom there. That done, my pack was thrown on once again, and with a prayer of thanks, my journey resumed.
This morning I woke in a comfortable bed in the middle of Virginia. Instead of birds singing and mosquitos buzzing, I hear the gentle hum of the central air conditioning. It is all so strange and saddens me in ways I cannot express with words. At the same time, my thoughts are mixed with gratitude for the safety I enjoy and my rescue from the heat.
This morning, when I opened my eyes, my first thought was that my mind felt normal and clear again! I have struggled in a fog like state since Thursday when I was brought in from the sun on the edge of a heat stroke. I have struggled to pay attention in conversations, and spent much of my time laying down and drifting in and out of sleep. Today is my first sense of waking up ready to do something. With that energy is also the hurt and disappointment that I am not on the trail. I wonder how many days will pass before that ache passes?
What are my plans? I haven't been in a state of mind to be making any for these past few days. I believe that today will be one more day of recovery before going anywhere. My friend Roger is talking about getting me home in his car rather than putting me on a bus or public transportation. I know that even this morning I would not trust myself to focus and drive any distance. With the heat index still over 100 outside, I'm not going anywhere on foot for the next few days. So I continue one day at a time, thankful that I have this day to enjoy.
It 6:45 am on Monday morning, July 22. On the trail I would be packed up and ready to move north bound. My eyes would be quickly looking over my campsite area for any items left unpacked or any traces of trash. Once satisfied that I had left no visible trace, I would be reaching for my treking poles and moving into the day. Others might enjoy coffee and conversation to greet the morning, but I enjoyed silently slipping away up the trail and into the day, listening to the forest as it woke up with me to begin another cycle. After walking and waking, I would look for a nice spot, perhaps with a view, and make breakfast my first rest stop of the day. I would mix Carnation French Vanilla breakfast mix with water for a thin milkshake. (I have to thank Johnny Walker for that tip.) Then I would pull out my map and review the day, setting a few goals and planning ahead for water. Before starting again I would always check my phone for a chance signal to send a message home or attempt an early morning call. The signal was seldom there. That done, my pack was thrown on once again, and with a prayer of thanks, my journey resumed.
This morning I woke in a comfortable bed in the middle of Virginia. Instead of birds singing and mosquitos buzzing, I hear the gentle hum of the central air conditioning. It is all so strange and saddens me in ways I cannot express with words. At the same time, my thoughts are mixed with gratitude for the safety I enjoy and my rescue from the heat.
This morning, when I opened my eyes, my first thought was that my mind felt normal and clear again! I have struggled in a fog like state since Thursday when I was brought in from the sun on the edge of a heat stroke. I have struggled to pay attention in conversations, and spent much of my time laying down and drifting in and out of sleep. Today is my first sense of waking up ready to do something. With that energy is also the hurt and disappointment that I am not on the trail. I wonder how many days will pass before that ache passes?
What are my plans? I haven't been in a state of mind to be making any for these past few days. I believe that today will be one more day of recovery before going anywhere. My friend Roger is talking about getting me home in his car rather than putting me on a bus or public transportation. I know that even this morning I would not trust myself to focus and drive any distance. With the heat index still over 100 outside, I'm not going anywhere on foot for the next few days. So I continue one day at a time, thankful that I have this day to enjoy.
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