In 2006, I was performing at a theater that was near the Appalachian Trail, and on my days off I would often hike.
One Monday I needed some alone time and decided that I would spend most of my day on the trail. I had packed some food and water and I just kept walking and walking.
I had walked for about 3 hours and reached the bottom of a large mountain, so I decided to stop there. I sat for a while, ate lunch, and looked at the mile marker. I can’t remember what the number was, but I compared it to the map I had, and realized I had walked 10 miles.
“Oh my” I said, as I realized that I would have to walk 10 more miles to get back to the theater. I thought, “Twenty miles is no big deal. You can get this.”
After 18 miles, my body just quit. I was limping from pain and I was out of water. I had not trained for a 20-mile excursion.
As I hobbled through the woods, I started in on an apple, trying to suck out all the liquid to quench my thirst. I wasn’t sure I would make it back in one piece; I was a hot mess.
I finished the last two miles slowly and sat on the couch for the rest of the evening. I was sore for the rest of the run.
Perhaps I should have planned my hike a bit better.