Before even leaving camp this morning, Jetpack passed us. She left an entire day after us, and there she went speeding ahead, mentioning that she did 24 miles the day previous...in the Sierras. Now don't get me wrong, I think Jetpack is incredible; she has the mind and ability for long distance hiking. However, watching her pass with such ease made me reflect on my own abilities. Still I find the hiking challenging, and still my attitude leaves much to be desired.
The Sierras have brought different agendas for slow magic as the crew hikes at different speeds to catch up with friends and family meeting them on the trail; not to mention everyone is calculating how many miles per day one must average to finish in time. Spoiler alert it's in the 20s already. Losing the crew means I'm left to find my own internal sense of motivation and I'm often coming up empty.
I find that the physical nature of what we are doing is extremely challenging for me. I don't live in my body well; I'd rather daydream. Feeling the muscles in my body fatigue while getting out of breath agitates my mind. While some find this embodied activity meditative, I've repeatedly failed to find zen, often focusing on the work I should be doing for Catalyst and generally feeling guilty for being absent in other parts of my life.
Watching Jetpack cruise by with ease makes me wonder more if I'm just way too out of my element, if I'm missing a certain mental resolve that comes with freely and independently electing to thru hike the PCT. Maybe being a sidekick isn't enough to finish.
But back to hiking, today I employed my strategy for being less sticky and itchy in the afternoon... Getting in the river fully clothed. Just after my dip, I walked out to find two guys on the shore. Guy 1: did you just get in the river? Guy 2: with all your clothes on? Me: yes. Guy 1: you aren't cold? Me: of course I'm cold. Silence. Me: it's like having an afternoon cup of coffee; it wakes you up. Skeptical looks. It helps me sleep better. Silence.
And it's true. A dip in an ice melt river is just the slap in the face you need to get out of your head and get on with your life. That night we joined Spear again, this time camping on rocks that happened to be home to a zillion skeeters. Never in my life have I felt so simultaneously repulsed and intrigued by mosquitoes. I dread them; they seriously are reducing my quality of life out here. But I also like watching them and learning their culture. I wonder aloud about their communication: does one tell the others they've located a tasty human? I wonder about their inner lives: why is it that sometimes they simply observe you lazily and other times they frantically swarm - are their babies hungry and they would do anything for their babies? I find their sizes and shapes interesting: some are big and others small. Some walk with a limp or are missing legs... And I feel bad for those ones. Oh the mental dissonance.
