4 A.M.

I get these random urges to do some random around-the-house project.

And I get these urges late into the night.

So now I'm sitting here, waiting for the paint to dry in my kitchen so I can apply the second coat, and it is 3:58 a.m.

One would think I'd wait until the weekend, when I will actually have a bunch of free time. Or maybe just wait until tomorrow morning, when I could have at least a half a day to work on it.

But no, I decide to start painting an entire room at midnight, after purchasing the paint at 10 p.m.

But I find that when I make these random and impulsive decisions I am left with an awesome result! Here's hoping...

I've decided to go with really bright, springtime colors. Three of my living room walls were already a bright pink coral color. And so to accent it, I am painting the opposite wall a very light mint green.
But wait! That's not all! I'm also paint the wall which extends from my living room into my kitchen a very light blue.

Sooo my downstairs is now pink, green, blue, with accents of yellow and white. Sounds like a lot of colors eh? Well, it all seems to be working so far!! What a cute little apartment I live in :)

I keep thinking about someone else living here, and having all of my hard work go down the drain. It makes me somewhat sad, but I know that I will be able to enjoy it for another year. And so I will try and dwell on that.

I think I'm starting to mumble. Maybe it's because it's 3 a.m. Or maybe it's because I finally have some free time and so I'm trying to fit in all of the things I love to do: decorate the house, watch The Office, write a blog...

Come to think of it, I think that's exactly what this is. It makes perfect sense. I'm having all of these odd urges because I haven't had any time for just myself in weeks. And now that I have it, I feel the need to fill it!

I'm just a regular Sigmund Freud.

I guess it's time for that second coat...


xoxo
Elise

My Walk in the Woods

1,200 miles.

That’s approximately 2,586,000 steps.

That’s walking to my neighborhood Walmart about 324 times.

That’s about 20 hours of straight driving.

And that’s how far I plan to walk this summer.

           
You could say that fate intervened as I sat at my mundane desk job, clicking away at the keys. Or maybe it was just luck. But whatever it was, it changed my every plan for the summer and landed me an adventure worth the two and a half million steps it would take.

I was invited to embark on a three-month-long trek by a complete stranger. A journey through forest and across rock, stream and mud. A test of will, courage and strength.  A quarter of a year dedicated to eating trail mix, fighting away mosquitoes, beating back bears and carrying my life on my back. A time of tears, laughter, sorrow and realization. A heart-to-heart with nature. A heart-to-heart with my muscles as I convince them to not turn around, but to keep walking forward. A walk in the woods.

And I, being excitable and impulsive, said yes. 

The Appalachian Trail, in all of its glory, is approximately 2,184 miles long. It stretches from the northern-most tip of Georgia to the great Mount Katahdin in Maine.

Completed in 1937, the trail, also known as the AT, is visited by nearly three

million people a year, some of which are thru-hikers, those who hike the trail in its entirety,  some section hikers, those who hike a section at a time over a period of years,  and others merely visitors.

I am resigned to be a section hiker, as I only have three short summer months to walk, and the entire trail takes about six.            

I’ve hiked before, a part of the AT in fact. I’ve hiked in rain, cold weather, and even in wet clothes and uncomfortable shoes. But I’ve always had the delicious cold air-conditioner in my car to welcome me back into civilization. The taste of cold, crisp water to wet my dry, parched lips. And the feel of my soft, cotton bed to comfort me as I climb beneath the sheets after my long day’s walk.

I can now look forward to hot and sweaty days, lukewarm water, and my nylon sleeping bag with a half-deflated blow up mat underneath, accompanied by a lumpy camp pillow.                        

Call me crazy, but I welcome it.

Maybe it’s the thrill of the unknown and the unseen. Maybe it’s the thought of time not mattering and my fall semester classes a distant thought. Or maybe it’s being able to check one more thing off of my bucket list.

Before it was mine, it was my dad’s dream to hike the AT. He read all of the books, researched all of the websites, and even bought much of the gear. He’s a forest man by nature, and so it’s not hard to imagine him trekking through the woods and setting up camp.

I, on the other hand, love comfort. I am generally seen as somewhat of a girly-girl. I like to think I’m fashionable and rarely leave the house without makeup. I like long walks through the woods, but too like long bathes in the shower.

So I don’t blame people for the sideways squints they give me when I tell them I’ve decided to hike 1,200 miles this summer instead of reading a long romance novel on the beach or floating down the river with a cold beer in hand.           

And I’m sure they think I’ll give up, turn around and come home. Hell, I’ve even thought it. But I’m determined to stay the course, even as my muscles beg me not to.

But at this point, I’ve put in too much time, money and preparation to give turning back a second thought.

A few short weeks ago, my dad and I entered Bill Jackson’s, a large and rustic sports shop in Tampa, where the salesmen are experienced and ever helpful to point you toward the most expensive item.

I let my dad take the lead.

“She’s hiking the AT,” he said. “What kind of boots does she need?”

And it hit me. I’m really doing it. I’m hiking through the woods with a guy I barely know,
And with that, a big smile spread across my face.            

We went through the routine, tried on boot after boot, asked question after question, adjusted buckles and belts, and watched my money go down the drain.

My smile somewhat faded.
My breathable, wool, quick drying socks cost $20 a pair, and of course I need two.

My fancy, waterproof, olive-colored hiking boots were a pretty $135.

But I laid my foot down at the $200 rain jacket. That I just could not spend.

And so I ended my Saturday with my pockets $300 lighter, but my excitement ever heavier.   

My dad and I dug out his camping equipment and revisited stories of camping trips from long ago. We chatted about the trials of the trip and the tips I needed to know before leaving. He taught me how to tie a slipknot, showed me how to sling my food over a tree out of reach from the bears, and gave me what I needed most, support. However, he too isn’t sure if I can make the whole three months. But that gives me all the more incentive to keep going.

I was quite lucky in most regards, as my dad already had most of the equipment: a one-person tent, a pack which was a near perfect fit, a small cook stove, a nylon sleeping bag, trekking poles and more. A total bill that would have really put a dent in my pocket.

With all of the equipment laying at my feet, and the great outdoors spread out before me, how could I not go?

And so began the preparation.

I started to walk.  And I’ve dragged my trail partner, Trevar, no longer a total stranger, every step of the way.  He’s gracious enough to put up with my crazy ideas of what preparation is.

We’ve hiked to campus. We’ve camped in the rain. We’ve battled beetles and snakes, and huge spider webs too. We’ve hiked through dried up, flattened marshes filled with dead and broken trees. We’ve overflowed our cooking stoves and still eaten quite tasty meals, by camping standards. We’ve built fires and survived what goes bump in the night. We’ve realized our packs aren’t all that spacious and we’ve felt the just how solid the ground is as we try to get comfortable at night.

And we haven’t even left Gainesville.

Our trip is set for May 14. And the days are ever quickening. I still have rain gear to purchase, proper attire to find, food to pack and goodbyes to say.  And even though I feel I’m somewhat prepared for what’s to come, I don’t think it’s quite hit me just yet, that in less than a month I will be surrounded by nothing but trees and the sound of the crickets as they sing me to sleep.

Time won’t be of the essence and it won’t matter what day of the week it is or what time I go to sleep.            

And so my mantra of “GO, GO, GO” will soon be changing. I will be living for the moment and going wherever my feet take me.            

Sure, I’ll be bathing with wipes, drinking out of a water bladder, using a hole in the dirt as a toilet, and praying that I won’t find a spider in my tent. But that’s somehow all irrelevant.

Above all else, I’ll be walking.