The Eerie Shake: What 821 Steps Taught me About My Own Strength

The Eerie Shake: What 821 Steps Taught me About My Own Strength

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I have been devouring hiking memoirs lately. I am completely hooked. I have the hiking bug, bad! And at this point, I either want to be outside physically on the trail, or sitting in a camp chair reading about someone else on one. 

Because RV space is limited (and I go through books so fast), that I’ve been doing all this reading directly on my Kindle App. But if you’ve ever tried to read an iPad or phone screen outside in the blazing summer sun, you know the frustrations. Either a brutal glare, or your iPad shuts off due to low battery or heat! ugh!

Because of that I officially have a Kindle Paperwhite sitting in my Amazon cart right now, it is my very next investment so I can read seamlessly outdoors without the digital distractions or screen glare. 

(Bonus tip: Since Amazon Prime Day is running next week from June 23-26 and early tech drops are already happening, it is the absolute best window to snag one on a major discount). 

To support my sudden obsession, I also subscribed to Kindle Unlimited, which puts dozens of these raw and grueling thru-hiking stories right at my fingertips. There is something wildly humbling, but also incredibly inspiring, about reading someone else’s 2,000-mile struggle through mud and blisters while you sit comfortably outside. 

But the trail stories aren’t just for the books. Inspired by the memoirs I’ve been flying through, I wanted to share a micro-story from one of our own recent treks through the New River Gorge National Park & Preserve in West Virginia. It wasn’t a 2000-mile thru-hike, but it tested my mental grit in a way I didn’t see coming. 

The Cost of the Spur: 821 Steps Up

Looking down at the wooden stairs, it is steep! And if I’m being complete honest, I am not even really that interested in the historic mine at the bottom. 

BUT, I am interested in pushing myself. 

We are tired, already at mile 7 of our hike for the day, and already at over 1,200 feet of elevation gain. We don’t need to go down the stairs… AND going down, means we have to come up. There is no other way out. 

“should we?”

“or not?”

We go back and forth. Finally agreeing to give it a try. How bad can it be? 

Going down, my legs get a little shaky. I pass people coming up and feel their collective “misery”. We all, knowingly, did this to ourselves. When we got to the bottom,  we note that it “wasn’t that bad.” We wandered around and checked out the remnants and old buildings from the mining site.  

I sit for a minute on the bottom steps, already wishing I hadn’t looked up, and drink some water  while eating some dried fruit and applesauce. 

But now … it is time for the climb. 

The Only Way Out is Up

Looking up at the long expanse of wooden stairs, so many stairs, stretching far beyond what I can see; my mind races: Oh shit, what have I done? The only way out is up. The only way out is through. I’ve gotta do this.

John starts first, climbing ahead of me. He decides he will count the steps to see if there are actually 821. As he goes up, he announces the numbers at various milestones.

At steps 106, I reply to his step count, “whoa! we are already an eighth of the way done! It feels easier than I thought.”

By step 400, the reality sets in. Eek my legs are shaking. Every single time I stop to rest, they vibrate – uncontrollably! I don’t want to stop because the shaking feels eerie, off putting, and a genuinely disturbing. But my body needs a little rest. I take my time, one step at a time, movement because stopping for too long breaks my momentum.

Around step 700, the stairs emerge from the shade of the tall trees and break into direct sun. The top is in view; I can hear people talking. The psychological struggle peaks right here: why did I choose this?!

Counting Down the Final Stretch

My husband, stands at the top looking down at me, I have 10 steps to go, my legs are so heavy and the sweat is pouring down my face, leaving little dark drops on the wooden stairs. I can hear conversations of people around us, but I can’t make out what they are saying.

I think to myself, are they contemplating doing this? what will I tell them? Will I say, ‘it isn’t that bad?’ or ‘it’s a total doozy.’ Do I think it is worth it? The reviews said it is, but is it?

Counting down… 

• 9 steps to go. “I’m doing it!” I think.
• 8 steps. “The mine wasn’t that worth it, but the confidence builder is!”
• 7 steps.
• 6 steps. John, smiling down at me, “you are almost here!”
• 5 steps.
• 4 steps.

I take the last few with an excitable momentum that honestly comes out of nowhere. I can still feel the shaking in my legs if I pause too long, but I did it!!

The elevation gain from the bottom was almost 600′ feet straight up those wooden steps, and I conquered it! As I cross the final step off of the landing, John informs me that counting the steps at the bottom and top, it is in fact, 821 steps. 

Shifts in Perspective

I collapse onto a concrete block in the shade, the light wind blowing my wispy hair around my face and drying the sweat that had gathered. I grab my water from John’s pack (he is my happy, little pack mule) and drink. I breath. I pause!

Dude, I just did it! After 7 miles of hiking, we added this spur that we didn’t even need to do and we crushed it!

Looking at John, I say, “This is such a confidence builder. I needed this! We are way more ready for the summits in Vermont and New Hampshire that I have been giving myself credit for. I love being out here and hiking. Let’s keep it up so we keep this momentum going. Now, let’s finish this trail and get some pizza!”

 

And off we walk. John leading a quick pace on a cruisy, wide trail along the mountainous gorge in. We still have 3 miles to go. 

About a half mile from the truck, we come to an overlook that tops all the overlooks we’d seen so far. Maybe it was because we’d hiked 10 miles at that point, or maybe it truly was the best view. Maybe it was the rhododendrons are in bloom. Either way, we snap a quick selfie and continued on. 

About tenth of a mile from the truck, we came upon Wolf Creek Falls. A beautiful waterfall flowing down the side of the gorge. You can easily reach this from the parking area in only a tenth of a mile. We, however, had hiked 10.4 miles to see it. 

It’s all about perspective. Each step, each view, each mile, it’s different for each of us. Much like life. 

But in both, you just keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

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I’d love to hear from you. Have you ever pushed yourself past a physical or mental boundary that completely shifted your perspective? Or are you currently devouring any great trail memoirs I need to add to my Kindle cart? 

Until next time, stay aligned & VegInspired!