During my solo “flip-flop” through-hike of the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, I experienced excruciating foot pain, mind-blowing sunsets, freezing hail that pelted my skin until it was raw, and powerful conversations with fellow hikers who also felt that they didn’t quite fit into mainstream society. I learned not to compare myself to others who were hiking faster or slower than me, and to be gentle but steady in my self-discipline. I learned how to reason with fear in a way that those of us who are born female aren’t typically invited or socialized to. I learned to sleep alone in the middle of the forest without getting scared and how to keep my cool during wild animal encounters. I learned to trust and listen to my instincts in a way that I didn’t know was possible. I learned to let go when things didn’t go my way and to accept whatever the trail had in store for me. I learned to accept what my body looks like and to understand that how my body feels is what really matters.
Long-distance hiking is one of the last semblances of the great Hero’s Journeys, rites of passage and pilgrimages that have defined humans’ lives for thousands of years. We are not meant to be sedentary, trapped behind computers and inside of offices and cars day in and day out. We are a migratory species. We are meant to be part of our ecosystems and the wider human experience in ways that have been all but lost.
In my experience, long periods of time spent moving through nature—both alone and surrounded by a tribe of people also experiencing the same forward momentum—is one of the most healing activities that modern people, especially women, can do to reconnect to themselves and to the planet. That’s why I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail in 2018 to fundraise for women-run organizations that are empowering girls to feel comfortable and confident in nature and in themselves.
Janel Gazelle 