Bad Hiker: 2022 Trail Log
I hiked 202.2 miles in 2022, a goal I gently set out to achieve in January, pushed off until around May, and then spent the last six months of the year rushing myself to achieve.
Throughout those 12 months, one theme held consistent: hiking can come in many different forms–the terrain is as endless as the altitude–but listening to yourself is more critical to your success than the fanciest gear. My ideals were challenged in 2022–and I’m better for it.
Here are my top lessons learned as a shitty hiker.
Take the break.
One of my most challenging hikes of the year was an 8 miler at the Palos forest preserve southwest of Chicago. A few things to set the scene:
AllTrails marked this as a moderate 6 miler
The trail was classified as a hiking trail
I trekked this in mid June during a sunny, 88*, humid day
Before this hike, I was staunchly of the opinion that “real hikers” should be able to knock out 10 miles without a break. This hike was an unexpected exercise in reshaping my opinions with observations and shifting my view of what a “real hike” is.
I had packed trail snacks, but I wasn’t expecting to “need” to sit down to rest. Yet I did. Thrice.
The last mile and a half was excruciating, but against my now-better judgment, I pushed through because I was “only a mile away.”
The trail itself wasn’t a particularly difficult one, terrain-wise. But the heat, poorly maintained markers, and a constant stream of mountain bikers added extra layers of complexity that I wasn’t expecting.
Hiking is a full-body sport: your brain, muscles, all 5 senses, nervous system, and more are working in perfect concert to move you through nature while regulating your body temperature, pain, internal processes, and heightening your awareness. It’s exhausting. And you need consistent energy to keep moving, to stay focused, to let yourself find the joy on the trail. By not taking breaks, I was trading that joy for pain and frustration, ending that hike a wobbly mess of muscle tissue and sweat. What should have been a satisfying and semi-challenging trail day was rather unenjoyable and stressful–all self-imposed.
From one bad hiker to another: take the break. Even if you’re just stepping to the side and taking the pack off for ten minutes to feel the breeze blow through your sweaty shirt.
Hikes can be any mileage.
Similar to “real hikers don’t take breaks,” 2021 Laura was firmly of the opinion that a “real hike” should be at least 3 miles.
And while it’s true that there’s certainly a difference between an after-work stroll in the forest preserve and a planned hike, the differences don’t lie in the distance covered but rather the challenge put to your physical body.
This year, I’m embracing shorter hikes when my body needs them–like finding satisfaction in the 2 miles I made excellent time on during a humid 90* day in May–-and making plans (and training for) more significant hikes–like getting a 20-miler in on the I&M Canal or backpacking in a national forest for a few days.
2022 Laura, however, challenged herself to go no less than 3 miles or it “didn’t count.” And while that mindset certainly helped me achieve my mileage goal, it also boxed me into a restrictive mindset that often sapped the joy out of my adventures–and joy was the thing that drew me into hiking in the first place. Why was I stealing my own joy for the sake of an arbitrary number?
A hike is a hike if you think it’s a hike. Take a break, bring a snack, enjoy the ride.
AllTrails is a liar.
I said what I said.