I cried on the trail for the first time today. Not because of the blisters on my feet, the broken water bottle, the dehydration, the hot sun, the endless uphill mountain, the allergens in the air trying to kill me, the wobbling knees that didn't want to continue. Hell, it wasn't even because of the swollen ankles or the broken trekking pole.
Today, I screamed at the ocean and cried into the clouds because for the first time since beginning this hike I finally asked myself one question:
What the fuck am I doing here?
I'm trying to accomplish something in my own heart and mind but why did I choose such an intense way of doing it? Every muscle aches and every emotion has been tested. I can barely handle my pack let alone my whole physical being as I wind up roads and fall down hills.
This walk has taken so much out of me already, but isn't that what I wanted? Something more challenging than the shit I'd already been accustom to? Maybe the roads aren't so bad when people wave from their cars. Maybe the steep, uphill battles aren't a lost cause when the view appears at the top. Maybe the ocean walks aren't the worst when the waves sing and the sand sparkles. Maybe the country sides aren't as stressful when the horses run freely, staring at you with curious eyes.
Every pain I feel is for the moments where, though I swear and my hips beg me to stop, I find the good from the bad. I'm going to cry and bleed and scream at the world, but this is what I wanted. I wanted something harder than that night in August over a year ago. Something more mentally challenging and emotionally painful.
And finally - I think I've found it.