Sunrise last Monday found me summiting Holt’s Ledge, drenched from a predawn rainstorm, shivering and about 37 miles into the Dartmouth Fifty — a 57-mile, 31 hour nonstop hike from Moosilauke Ravine Lodge to Hanover. A few minutes later, I sat on the side of the trail and closed my eyes, wishing fervently that when I opened them again I would find myself wrapped in a blanket in my bed, instead of sleep-deprived and with fifteen miles left to trudge.
It’s now been a little over a week since I stumbled onto the Green and touched the DOC sign, marking the official end of the hike. Despite the time that’s elapsed, I’ve struggled to coherently convey the day-and-a-half that I spent trekking through the woods. The Fifty left me exasperated and elated and tearful — sometimes all within a single hour. The joy that I felt seeing the summit of Moosilauke, ringed in wispy clouds, was balanced by the countless blisters on my feet and the pit in my stomach as I walked toward the last support station, when I felt like my mind and body were completely spent, even though there were still eight-and-a-half miles until Hanover.
In an ideal world, maybe I would have found enlightenment on that stretch of the Appalachian Trail. In reality, many of the experiences I had during the Fifty aren’t ones I would wish to repeat, and they probably won’t change me for the better. My pinky toes started ramming into my hiking boots with every step after mile 35, one of my teammates hallucinated a bear walking toward us and I cried at two support stations because I wanted to be done hiking. I’m not really sure what life lessons these instances have to teach me — except to switch to running shoes earlier and consume more caffeine.
So while I can’t say the Fifty was truly life-altering, so far it’s served one purpose in my life: to remind me of the importance of Type 2 fun — that which is difficult in the moment but ultimately proves rewarding. Descending Smarts Mountain at 1:30 a.m. in dense fog and what at least felt like sleet will never be my idea of a good time. Then again, if I had never done the Fifty, I would have always regretted missing out.
Unfortunately, my willingness to embrace this type of fun has so far only been limited to the Fifty. I’ve wanted to do this hike since freshman year, while also being fully aware of how much grit it would require to complete. At the same time, I’ve been on the triathlon team for almost three years now, and I still haven’t really learned how to ride my road bike. Rationally, I know that learning how to road bike will give me the same kind of feeling as the Fifty: it will be challenging and frustrating at times, but I will be better off for having done it. And yet, term after term, I refuse to take on this challenge, even though at this point, I’m running out of excuses, and out of terms.
So if the Fifty can teach me anything, it should be this: if I can commit to hiking 57 miles, conquering sleet and rain and blisters bigger than I ever thought possible, I should be able to tackle other challenges that I’ve been avoiding. If I can put one foot in front of the other for over 126,000 steps, surely I can strap on a helmet and go for a bike ride.
This week in Mirror, one writer investigates students’ awareness of the Irving Institute’s funding sources, while another explores the assistance that research librarians can provide to the Dartmouth community.
Happy week 5, Mirror. Here’s to hoping you can take a break from the endless cycle of midterms to skim through our pages. And if there’s a challenge you’ve been waiting to conquer, take it from me — a 57-mile journey starts with one single step. See you next week.
