June 25th 2006. Nine years ago, I sustainable a life-altering deliberate elbow to the temple while playing in a water-polo tournament. I was 15. Little did I know how much that single event would change the course of my entire life. I wound up in a coma. I had to attend intensive rehab for cognitive, occupational, speech, and physical therapies. Among MANY things I lost my ability to read, memorize, and my cognitive functions tumbled drastically downhill. Those would become the least of my worries. Since this day 9 years ago I’ve been in pain 24/7. There has not been a single moment where I’ve been pain-free since the blow to my head. I’ve been to every specialist in the US and I’ve tried every drug to try and alleviate my symptoms from my Traumatic Brain Injury all to no avail. After about 3 years immediately following the injury I was tired of merely existing. I had 1 of 2 choices. I could commit suicide in hopes of getting away from pain, or I could battle every day to “fake it till you make it.” With unsuccessful attempts at my first option I began reclaiming my life in hopes of actually LIVING. It’s been the absolute hardest thing I’ve ever had to face. Every day is a struggle but the fight is more than worth it. Living with Traumatic Brain Injury is incredibly difficult. The invisibility of this injury makes it unique in the respect that its “survivors” appear normal on the outside. It’s both a blessing and a curse to look “normal.” Sometimes it would be 110% easier if my outsides reflected the battle that’s constantly raging internally. My injury forced me from a very early age to constantly adapt. Living moment by moment I live the life I am currently blessed with. The gift of planning is something most TBI-ers learn to live without. Our bodies dictate our current abilities and those change drastically day by day and hour by hour. I taught myself, with the tools given to me by UCLA’s Chronic Pediatric Pain Clinic, to appreciate the little things in life. To focus on the small beauties of this world because sometimes that’s all we have. Over the past 9 years I’ve gotten tremendously good at hiding my ailments in hopes of simulating a semi-normal life. Sometimes I cannot hide my symptoms and others look at me with the utmost concern. I spent the first 3 years after my injury 100% reliant on another individual. I needed help eating, bathing, walking, etc. When I first embraced the mentality of “fake it till you make it” I vowed to myself that as long as I was able, I would be self-reliant. Losing your independence is perhaps the worst thing to endure as a teenager. Once I was able to function independently I took it and ran. Many of my friends will speak of my absurd stubbornness, but there’s a reason for it. As much as I hate to admit, my entire life is ruled by my TBI. From seizures and double vision, vertigo and headaches that make you want to shoot yourself, from sharp stabbing pains throughout your body and getting sick at the drop of a hat I’ve learned to fully LIVE my life while I have the ability to. I never thought my life would be the beautiful adventure it is today, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. I’ve met some of the most incredible individuals and I truly value this precious gift we’ve been given. I try my absolute hardest to fully LIVE and be present in the moment. I appreciate the little gifts nature so freely spreads. I hope with all my heart to show others that they can accomplish their wildest dreams despite their disabilities or hiccups. The only constant is change and if these past 9 years have taught me anything it’s that love is the most important gift we all possess. Within ourselves lies the ability to change and focus on positivity. Sometimes it’s easier to see than others but hope and faith will carry you through the hardest of times. Live the life of your dreams, for nothing is ever guaranteed. The happiness of your life is directly related to the quality of your thoughts. Live with purpose and meaning… and don’t ever let ANYTHING hold you back from your dreams. I owe so much to the people in my life that have stayed by my side and help to make this crazy journey better than I ever could have imagined. I’ve accomplished more than I (or anyone else for that matter) ever thought was possible… and that’s a trend I’m going to uphold until the very end. Traumatic Brain Injury is a life-long battle. Raising awareness is key to helping others successfully maneuver their way through their new world. Stay positive and cherish every moment as if it were your last… and above all else don’t ever let others tell YOU what YOU ARE capable of. Defy the odds kids… it’s much more fun
The first day of the CDT! We (Nugio, iPod, and myself) got picked up at the KOA in Lordsburg, NM at 7am. Despite being incredibly tired from the Pacific Crest Trail Kick-Off, my spirits were high and my energy levels were topping out. I couldn’t help but beam with excitement as we walked towards our CDTC shuttle, a dusty Volvo. Pounce, a fellow hiker, took our picture as we piled into the little car on our way to Hachita, NM.
The road into Hachita, where we would switch to a sturdier car, was as straight as could be. Only one long meandering left “turn” stood between us and our exit. We each paid the CDTC 70 dollars to drive us out to the Crazy Cook border, as well as cache water for the first 85 miles. It was a beautiful and welcome deal!
When we got into Hachita we switched to an incredibly dirty old blue truck. We piled our backpacks into the trunk and climbed into the cabin. I immediately noticed the heaping mound of fresh dirt that had accumulated on the floor board. As Nug eagerly jumped into the front seat he slapped the dingy old cloth and the inside of our vehicle was instantly engulfed in a thick cloud of golden dirt. I coughed as we waited for the engine to turn over.
Our driver was great! He gave us a local history lesson as we drove closer to our destination – Crazy Cook.
He taught us about the local copper mines and the saw mill industry that used to be in the area. I was shocked that this place used to be covered in trees. Looking out onto the barren landscape, I knew shortly I would be longing for the welcome shade of the once plentiful green leafed foliage.
We drove on dirt roads for almost 2 hours. It was brutal on the vehicle. Everywhere we looked we saw car parts. Everything from oil pans to fenders littered the graveyard like path. The closer we got to the border the worse the road became. I bounced up and down hitting my head on the roof several times. With each bump and notch we overcame more dirt happily danced into the cabin. I wasn’t sure if the air was getting thicker or I was just ingesting a massive amount of dust particles. Boogers immediately filed my nose making it impossible to breath in through my nostrils. Every time I opened my mouth the dirt infused air made its way into my body and settled on my teeth creating a nice gritty layer now calling my teeth home.
The wind was blowing vigorously and only increased the closer we got. Soon our visibility was only a few hundred feet in front of us.
After hours of jostling around inside our shuttle we made it to the Southern Terminus- Crazy Cook. For the last 20 or so miles we had been following tire tracks from an illegal immigrant. As we approached the flimsy barbed wire gate that separated New Mexico and Mexico the tracks disappeared onto the other side for what looked like a successful illegal crossing.
As we got out of the truck we opened the latch to discover our packs looked like they’d been rolling around in the dirt. Once bright and clean, they like us, now had a brown sheen to them… so much for that shower I had just taken.
Our driver dropped us off and took a few pictures of us before departing back to Hachita.
While we were soaking it all in the three of us were greeted by 4 border patrol agents. 1 in a truck and 3 on quads. They said they had been following the tracks as well. I tried getting a picture with them, but they objected. After a final picture, Nugio, iPod, and I took our first steps on the Continental Divide Trail at 10:40am April 30th, 2014.
The three of us at Crazy Cook
Our route on the monument.
The walking was easy, flat, and along washes for roughly the first 14 miles. Within the first mile I stepped on an Ocotillo and the thorns pierced through the bottom of my shoe sticking my foot. Despite the pain, I was still thrilled to finally be starting the journey North to Canada.
Ocotillo aka prickly sons a bi….cats.
We made it to the first water cache and ate dinner (cold instant mashed potatoes). We then hiked another ~2 miles before laying out our sleeping bags and falling asleep under the vast blanket of stars…. it feels great to be home.
For the wonderful Michael McWilliams!
Sunset aka where we plopped down to get some shut eye.
I’m speechless. A couple days ago I made the front page of my local newspaper. I’m incredibly honored and blessed. The reporter, Angel Moreno, did a fabulous job. Thank you, Fresno Bee, for printing the story. If you want to read the article on their site go to:
I hope my story inspires you to take hold of your life and live with meaning.
Front page… speechless… enjoy.
Sara Fry sees nothing as impossible, certainly not a 3,100-mile south-to-north trek across the country, especially after dealing with cancer and a traumatic brain injury.
Soreness and fatigue from the hike? She’ll happily deal with that as she travels the Continental Divide Trail from New Mexico to Canada, a journey she began Wednesday.
She has learned to live with pain far worse, the kind that at age 15 made her lock herself in her room and sleep for up to 23 hours, to attempt suicide four times.
A straight-A student and promising water polo player at Clovis High before the brain injury, Fry finally found an adequate treatment and returned to graduate, only to then be diagnosed with melanoma.
And so now she hikes, often alone, a welcome release from the residual pain of her original injury and the specter of what cancerous cells might remain despite 11 surgeries.
“It’s peace. It’s joy. It’s everything,” Fry says. “When you’re on the trail, it’s just you and Mother Nature. You don’t have people constantly worrying about how you’re feeling or if you’re OK. I’m able to be just another person.”
The fallen star
Her parents recall a young girl interested in sports at an early age, eventually gravitating toward water polo.
In the first grade, Fry told her mother that she’d get a college scholarship in athletics. And it was shaping up that way when as a Clovis High freshman Fry lettered on the girls’ varsity.
Then came summer 2005.
Playing in a club water polo tournament in Los Angeles, Fry took an elbow to the temple and was knocked unconscious.
Trainers and doctors diagnosed a mild concussion and prescribed rest.
But mom Michelle, a nurse at Kaiser Permanente, knew it was something more.
“I know my daughter. They didn’t see the symptoms.”
Fry, 15 at the time of the injury, would lock herself in her room nearly all day. She had trouble sleeping. She would lie there, trying her hardest to escape the pain.
A girl used to being active and outside now dreaded sunlight and any kind of physical activity.
“She was used to being physical and to lie there in pain, days on end, was horrendous,” Michelle Fry recalls. “You could watch the pain in her face and hear her moaning from her room upstairs.”
Sara tried to take her own life multiple times — seemingly the only way to escape the pain.
“That was the only reason,” she says. “When you are laying there and it feels like somebody is jabbing an ice pick into your skull 24/7 and there’s nothing the doctors can do about it and you’ve been to all the best TBI specialists in the state and there’s still nothing they can do, that’s why.
“The pain is all I can think about, and it was debilitating. I didn’t want to be in physical pain anymore.”
One afternoon, Fry emptied a bottle of sleeping pills into the palm of her hand and tossed them into her mouth.
Moments later, Toast, a Jack Russell terrier her mom had gotten her a month earlier as a 16th birthday present, bolted up the stairs and started licking Fry’s face.
“I was sitting on the ground crying and this puppy runs up, licking my face and is so happy to see me. I can’t leave this innocent dog here alone; I just got her.
“Right then I went to the bathroom and threw up everything. Toast saved my life.”
Getting a grip
The family went back on the medical circuit, looking for a solution. Following an acupressure session in early 2007, Fry was referred to the Centre for Neuro Skills in Bakersfield.
She underwent a range of therapies — cognitive, physical, speech and visual.
There were days when Fry wanted to go back to bed and say forget it, says Dr. Ellen Katomski, Fry’s case manager at the Bakersfield center. But together they stimulated and challenged Fry’s brain once a week for the next two months, trying to help her relearn and reconnect what was lost because of the injury.
As medical experts explain it, the injury has left her brain vulnerable to being overloaded by her senses. In a “normal” brain, the important stuff is processed and the rest — from people moving about on the street to birds chirping in the trees and strangers’ conversations in public settings — is filtered out to varying extents.
But that isn’t the case for Fry. Her brain doesn’t push anything aside. Everything is passed through.
And there is no cure. Not fully, anyway.
“It’s a lifelong change,” Katomski says, “and Sara’s trying to make the most of it.”
School no longer came easy and Fry fell behind as she struggled with her focus.
Algebra, which she once conquered with no trouble, was like a foreign language.
With the help of Elaine DeSilva, her home hospital teacher, and Rita Nitschke, her high school counselor, Fry tackled subjects one by one over the next three years.
She returned to campus for what was her senior year, taking classes there in addition to continuing her home schooling. She graduated with her Clovis High class of 2009.
“I was so far behind, but I knew I could do it. I wanted to go back to school and graduate with my friends. I was determined to not take no for an answer.”
After graduation, Fry drove to San Diego to stay with older sister Andrea for a few weeks.
It turned into months, as San Diego suited Fry. She enrolled in community college and life was returning to near normalcy, despite dealing with the daily residual effects of her brain injury.
“They’re all just a part of my regular life. There comes a point where you can’t let this hinder you.”
But in August 2009, Andrea was diagnosed with melanoma. Her doctor suspected it may be genetic, prompting the entire family to be tested. Among her mom, another sister and a brother, Fry was the only positive.
She had 11 surgeries over the next 13 months to remove cancerous cells.
“When Sara came down with that it was tough at first, but she did it her way. It’s heart-wrenching to see your beautiful daughter turn into a patch quilt from the cutting and cutting,” says her father, Michael.
Her brain injury made it all the worse. Fry didn’t numb for any of her surgeries, feeling each prick and prod.
Finally, she decided she’d had enough — the 11th surgery would be her last, regardless of how the cancer was responding.
“I’ve never been afraid of death. I had already thought I was going to die because of the TBI. I was just extremely unhappy with it, so I decided that I would be done.”
With that, Fry opened a new chapter on her life.
At the start of 2012, sparked by an interest in backpacking and the outdoors, Fry announced to her family that she would hike the Pacific Crest Trail — alone.
She started in April at the California-Mexico border and finished the 2,660-mile trek to Canada in October.
“When you do something like that, it’s a personal deal,” Michael Fry says. “It’s about how far you can go and what you can do. Did I expect her to go all the way? Probably not, but she did.”
Fry masked her pain, using her trademark goofiness and smile to keep hikers she came across from noticing.
“The pain is still there. Sometimes it hits me hard on the trail, but being outside and enjoying life when I once couldn’t is what drives me.”
Fry kept hiking, first around San Diego and then in the summer of 2013 in Alaska. Back home for visits, she jumped on trails around Millerton Lake, eventually taking on the San Joaquin River Trail.
In November, Fry and friend John McKinney, whom she met while hiking the Pacific Crest, became the first to thru-hike the entire SJRT.
Michael Fry says his daughter’s love of outdoors feeds her soul.
“Life deals you hands like that and only God knows why. The human soul is pretty resourceful to keep going and going like that. With all Sara’s been through, this is just another challenge and another day.”
Her next adventure
Symptoms from the brain injury remain constant. Even today, they are sometimes so painful she is forced to stay home.
Nausea and light-headedness are daily companions.
Her eyes go “completely bonkers.”
“The entire world shakes and moves, no matter how much I rub my eyes. This isn’t spinning; this is everything shaking and my eyes hurt really bad when this happens,” Fry says.
She lives with a constant headache, putting it at a 6 on a scale of 1 to 10.
Sharp, stabbing pains make her ears feel like they’re about to explode, the agony often forcing her to the ground. She at times suffers from “underwater” or muffled hearing, sometimes lasting all day. Her chest will tighten, making even breathing painful to the point where she has to take really short, quick breaths.
Her joints and muscles always hurt and extreme fatigue often overtakes her. Her immune system is weaker than average. She’ll easily catch a bug and take longer than most individuals to heal.
Fry’s body still doesn’t numb. She feels everything, from a slight touch to a cut.
She still has regular checkups for melanoma.
But on Wednesday, off Fry went, embarking on her next adventure.
Annually, only about two dozen hikers complete the entire Continental Divide Trail.
Fry will traverse four states, starting at the Crazy Cook Monument in New Mexico, about 150 yards from the U.S.-Mexico border. From there, the hike will carry her through Colorado, Wyoming and Montana, all the way to the Canadian border.
She plans to cover 20 to 30 miles per day, taking a day to rest every five or six days. Twenty wilderness areas and three national parks — Rocky Mountain, Yellowstone and Glacier — are along the way.
The route moves up and down in elevation, zig-zagging rugged mountains with summits ranging from 4,600 to 14,600 feet. Such heights and the cold temperatures could interfere with some of her medications.
Fry self-injects neurosteroids into her thigh or abdomen every day as a result of the brain injury. Resupply boxes will be shipped to her at 30 stops along the trail, each carrying medication, food and other necessities.
It’s all part of the new life she has made for herself.
“On the trail, I love every day of it and I wouldn’t change a thing. … As painful and crazy as my life has been since the TBI, it all really has been a blessing in disguise.”
The reporter can be reached at email@example.com or @anhelllll on twitter
After all the planning, researching, mapping, prep-work, resupply nightmares, and social media outreach I’ve been engulfed in for the past few months, I’m about to finally start making my way towards the Continental Divide Trail. I couldn’t be more thrilled. The planning aspect of this thru-hike is tedious and often times a chore, but once my feet hit the ground at Crazy Cook in New Mexico I know everything will fade away like the setting sun.
This past week has been hectic to say the least. All the last minuet tasks start jumping out of the wood work. There were 3 days where I only got 4.5 hours of sleep. It’s brutal, but I wouldn’t change a thing. This is all part of the experience and I’m incredibly lucky to be following my passion.
This past Easter Weekend my family threw a “CDT Send Off” party for me. It was incredible having so many of my loved ones and friends there to support me on yet another crazy adventure. You all mean so much to me and I’m truly blessed to be surrounded by such encouragment. Keep it coming! I’m going to need it while I’m out there walking 3,100 miles.
Mom and I … “And I will walk 500 miles…”
Grandpa and Me with my Aunt Suzi and Igor
Mom and myself (again)
I would like to thank everyone who has been there for me thus far. My experience wouldn’t be the same without you. A huge shout out to my buddy Michael McWilliams, co-founder of Digs Apparel, for helping set up and manage the visual aspect of my hike. He’s created an Instagram Account: @Sarabloodbank to tell a visual story of my adventure on the CDT. (More platforms are in the works in addition to IG so be on the look out). Mike is an awesome friend to have along on the journey and it just so happens that we both whole heartedly support Traumatic Brain Injury Survivors and raising awareness of this invisible injury. His campaign ‘”#amelonaday”is a movement dedicated to generating cause awareness for Traumatic Brain Injury by way of melons, people, and art.’ This lighthearted take on TBI is right up my alley with spreading positivity. If you follow along on Instagram/etc you’ll be seeing his handy work so be sure to spread the gratitude. Thank you Maz! You continue to impress me.
Photo on: @digsapparel – Some of his creative genius campaign “Hel-mutt” #amelonaday
I leave tomorrow (4/24) to head down to the Pacific Crest Trail Kick-Off and from there I’m driving over to Lordsburg, NM with my PCT hiking buddies Ipod and Nugio. I’ll update as I get closer to jumping on trail. There’s still so MANY people I need thank!
For tonight I leave you with….
Dancing with my pack. So thrilled to be sharing this experience with YOU!
In 22 days I’ll take my first steps on one of the most ruggedly beautiful and enticing backcountry trails in the United States: The Continental Divide Trail – a 3,100 mile backpacking trek. I’ve spent the past 2 years exploring and expanding my backcountry resume. In less than 24 months, I’ve logged over 3,500 miles exclusively on our nation’s extensive network of trails. Needless to say, I’m helplessly in love with nature and all things outdoors.
Many people think that to be able to backpack you must be young, strong, and healthy. This may be true, but not in the sense of the definitions you’ve been taught. A backpacker must possess these qualities, but on a different platform.
The ideal backpacker should be young… at heart. They should know how to let loose and gaze at nature with the wide-eyed wonder of a child. They should welcome the unknown and recapture the freedom that they once felt in their youth.
The ideal backpacker should be strong… with determination. They should know that self-encouragment and positivity are quintessential friends to have along on any journey. They must believe in themselves and have the strength to continue achieving progress.
The ideal backpacker should be healthy… mentally healthy. They should recognize the power that not only their words hold, but also their thoughts. Over 90% of hiking is entirely mental. The other 10% is physical. The mind is a beautiful thing; we have the power to achieve anything we set our sights on. Perhaps J.R.R. Tolkien said it best, “It is not the strength of the body that counts, but the strength of the spirit.”
I found my passion for backpacking after I had gotten diagnosed with cancer at the young age of 19. During that time, I had been through 11 surgeries in 13 months. It was sheer torture – in all sense of the word.
But my health issues go back further. Five years prior to my cancer diagnosis, I sustained a Traumatic Brain Injury. I was in a coma, I had to re-learn how to properly read, I was bedridden for years and was unable to attend my Sophomore, Junior, and Senior years of high school. To this day I have a grocery list of persistent symptoms long enough to make even a personal assistant do a double take. My physical health has never been my “strong suit.”
At 20 years of age, I was tired of having my life being dictated around what I should and shouldn’t do. I was tired of family constantly checking in on me. I was tired of being perpetually sick. I was tired of listening to doctors tell me how to live. This was, after all, MY life.
I decided to set out on my own path. For years I had wanted to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail. So I strapped on my backpack and tramped down the winding trail of exploration, imagination, and overall sheer happiness… and I haven’t looked back since.
Because of my ever prominent health symptoms, hiking does not come easy for me. On any given day I could have one or all of the following: blurry vision, vertigo, extreme fatigue, complete loss of hearing, numb mouth, and severe muscle spasms… just to name a few. But I’ve made a conscious decision not to let any of these things hold me back from doing what I truly love.
Backpacking is my passion. I refuse to fall back on the many legitimate reasons as to why some people say I “can’t.” I refuse to be defined by the suffocating constraints that people so readily want to place on me. I was given life so that I could LIVE – genuinely and wholeheartedly. Stephen Covey said, “Live life out of your imagination, not your history.” And as long as I’m living I intend to indefatigably follow his wisdom.
To me, nature is more than a wild, opulent wonderland. It is more than the dazzling alpine lakes and the rigidly enchanting peaks. To me, nature is my home. It’s a place where I can be myself without hiding my ailments. It’s a place where I can test my strength and endurance. It’s a place where despite the war sometimes raging inside me, I’m able to stand amidst such grand majesty and everything else simply fades away into the wind.
To me, nature isn’t strictly a place or location, but it exists inside each and everyone of us. Everybody possess the three backpacking traits: youth, strength, and health. But it is up to the individual to cultivate these valuable qualities.
I challenge you to dream big, despite what others may say. I encourage you to follow your passion, it’ll take you further than you’ve imagined. I urge you stop making excuses. We have the ability to not only overcome, but also thrive in our environment when we put our mind to it.
When situations seem daunting and you begin doubting yourself, remember the girl who’s walking across the length of the United States despite everything she’s been told she “can’t” do. Remember the girl who looks for the positive things in life, when often times it’s the harder route to take. But most importantly, remember that YOU are capable of anything you set your mind to… because just like hiking, life is also 90% mental and 10% physical. Now take my hand and we’ll roam with a freedom rarely seen.
Click “Follow” to join me on my journey of Continental Divide Trail… starting in 22 days.
In a little over 3 months I’ll begin my next thru-hike on the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). I’ve received an overwhelming amount of family, friends, and followers who ask the age old question: “Why?”
Everyone has their own reason why they chose to spend months on end exploring our rugged backcountry. In fact, there’s a saying among the thru-hiking community – “If you have to ask, you’re never going to understand.” But it’s my hope that you WILL understand and that you’ll be inspired to go out there and follow your dreams; no matter how crazy or difficult they may seem.
I hike for my health. Many of you know that I sustained Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) when I was 15. I was in a coma, I had to relearn basic functions, and I was bed ridden for almost 3 years of my life. I was unable to go outside because the light was “too bright” and I couldn’t listen to music because it was “too loud.” Many of my symptoms have gotten better since then, but my life has been drastically changed because of my TBI.
When you experience as much pain as I do on a daily basis, you realize that no matter where you are, the pain you’re in is going to be the same regardless of your location. I’ve been told by all of my doctors that I MUST work out daily. Physical activity then, is not a suggestion, but a prescription. For me, hiking has wholeheartedly become the only prescribed medical regime that has made my deficits more tolerable.
When I’m outside in nature backpacking I’m still experiencing all the physical ailments that I would if I were inside laying in bed. The only difference is that I’m in a place I love, as opposed to being confined to the tethers that sick people are supposed to be tied to. I would much rather be sick in a place I love, and hold dear to my heart, than to be sick inside a stuffy room, feeling claustrophobic. I try and look for the small things in life and let those keep me afloat on a daily basis. Things such as the sunshine, or how the wind rustles through my hair, or the birds singing. It is out in nature that I am able to find a certain peace. I let the little things in life bring me joy, despite the war raging inside my body. If I was trapped inside, I wouldn’t be able to experience these little joys and let them soothe my pain.
There is no doubt that I’m not the average backpacker. A few of my hiking partners that I’ve allowed to physically walk with me (I’m a solo hiker) have come to find out that backpacking is definitely not “easy” for me. In fact, it’s a grueling task, but I’d much rather be in pain out in nature, than in a town. I’m frequently stopped/brought to my knees because of sharp shooting pains. I often wobble and have to stop because my balance is off. Occasionally, my hiking poles become the same equivalent as crutches; they act like a friend’s shoulder, embracing me as I lean into them. Sometimes my hiking partners hear me let out a short gasp for air. They see the pain in my face as I keel over. I wait, and let the pain that has decided to make its appearance, pass.
My eyes frequently get blurry and I’ll get double vision, but when you’re out in nature it’s not that big of a problem. In the backcountry, I don’t have to stop and explain myself to the people who would see me if I were in town. In fact, I don’t have to explain myself to anyone when I hike, because I am a solo hiker. In town, when all my ailments and symptoms come on, I get weird looks and people are always asking me if I’m okay and what’s wrong with me. When I’m hiking I don’t have to reassure people or explain that these are daily occurrences because of the TBI. I have been living with these inconveniences for the past 7 years, and I’m not going to let them dictate how I live. Everyone has hiccups in life. It’s up to you to rise up and overcome these tribulations.
I hike to test myself both mentally and physically. I want to know exactly what I’m capable of, and then push myself further. I want to continue evolving as not only an athlete, but also as an individual. I want to experience life as it’s happening, instead of rushing by in a car or on a plane.
I want to stand on top of mountains knowing that I got myself there on my own two feet. There’s an incredible sense of accomplishment and belonging when you reach a summit. I get an overwhelming surge of happiness, because despite everything I’ve been through, I don’t let it hold me back.
I hike to live my own life, instead of one that has already been played out by countless others.
I hike to better understand my needs and wants. We live in a world that is constantly bombarding us to buy “stuff,” of which almost all of it is meaningless.
I hike to get a better understanding of the country I live in, and to see the raw, natural part of life that is so easily forgotten in our society.
I hike to experience freedom from technology. In today’s modern world we’re constantly plugged in. We have a multitude of media sources being streamed to us at all hours. We have Facebook, Twitter, the news, the radio, and countless other sources all feeding us an overbearing amount of information. It’s nice to be removed from all the “noise” and to focus strictly on the present.
I hike to be able to share my experiences with others who may not be able to get out there to see it themselves.
I hike to meet people from all over the world and to gain a better understanding of my fellow neighbors.
I hike to develop lifelong friendships with people who share the same enthusiasm for nature as me.
I hike to let my imagination soar and to be open to new thoughts and ideas.
I hike to show others that we are capable of anything we set our mind to. Our dreams can become reality, all we have to do is believe in ourselves and maintain a positive outlook on life.
It is my wish that everyone will take hold of their dreams. It doesn’t matter how big or small they may be. If it’s important to you, go for it! Don’t let anyone decide your life for you. If you believe it’s possible… it is.
Come May 1st I’ll start hiking North from Mexico to Canada. Follow your dreams and passions. I’ve had a lot of people ask how they can help, so I’ve set up this site…
I also handknit beanies and 100% of the profit goes towards my CDT Fund. You can find the hats under the “Shop” tab.