You know what they say.
Some things in life are bad,
They can really make you mad.
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle,
Don't grumble, give a whistle!
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

That's a lie, Mr. Idle. A damn damn dirty lie.

Bad days happen on the trail, there is no way around it. And, it is incredible how just one slip in judgment or a seemingly minuscule event can cause an otherwise normal day to tailspin into a fantastically wretched day. I was extremely lucky in that my first four weeks on the trail I only had one bad day. Too much sun, an unsettled stomach, and a poor night's sleep sapped my energy so that I felt thrashed from the moment I woke up. The entire day consisted in nothing but forcing myself to take steps and wishing for it to be over.

This last week had three bad days in quick succession. It all started after Agua Dulce. Epsom salt foot baths were available at Hiker Heaven and since my heel calluses seemed a bit overgrown, I indulged in one to soften them up a bit (such a horrible idea in retrospect). Foolishly, I never washed my feet off afterward to clear off the salt. The next day, after a poor night of sleep, I started off at 5 a.m. to beat the heat as the trail started with about five miles of road walking. By the time I got back on a proper trail, my feet had lost a couple layers of skin in key places. That was just the beginning.

Even with clean socks, blister pads, and duct tape the hot spots got worse, especially on my heels. There was little shade once the sun rose and my whole body slowly roasted until I stumbled into the fire station just up from the Anderson's (trail angels at Casa de Luna). I was definitely not the only hiker who was suffering from foot problems either, thanks to the heat baking both the ground and our bodies. Five of the six hikers I met while resting at the fire station reported that their feet had become messed up over the course of the day.

Still, after resting for three or four hours and cleaning all feet and socks, I continued on to the next water cache. That was a bit of foolish of me. I did not need to continue on and my feet could have used a longer recovery period. But it was early still. I wanted to stick with and camp with people I knew. So, I kept on going. ::sigh::

By the time I camped my feet had graduated from possibly problematic to a complete mess. I had also lost my brand new book (left behind during a break), cut my hand while getting off trail for a bathroom break, and was all around miserable from mile dehydration and miles of constant descent. If a genie had appeared and offered to whisk me back to my old, lovely apartment in Port Townsend with a fresh episode of Doctor Who waiting...doubt I would have said no.

To make a long story short, despite trying to baby my feet and not push too hard, I had a limited supply of food and a desert to cross until my next resupply. The next few days of hiking were not pleasant at all, especially since I forgot my second pair of socks drying on a fence and my backup socks were given to a desperate friend a few days before. Feeling the searing hot pain of a blister popping? One of the most demoralizing experiences a hiker can feel. Combine it with the usual trail trials and every additional minor problem just compounded my mental and physical fatigue. Only will power kept me from just collapsing in a heap yesterday.

All of which reinforces the fact that thru-hikers are a stubborn lot. It takes a special combination of foolishness, insanity, and mental resiliency to willfully subject your body and mind to a thru-hike. Yet, hikers do have ways of responding to the stress and handling those really bad days.

I have seen an older gentleman on a rather steep bit of remote trail with hardly a rock to sit on calling his wife just to hear a kind voice during a particularly difficult stretch. A hiker couple just barely leaning into each other during a snack break to feel that small bit of support. Hiker camaraderie and bitching sessions are quite common at the end of the day and during long breaks. Vacant stares into the distance and crying happen too. During the Mojave desert crossing at one point three of just dead dropped our packs, flopped on the ground, and did not say anything for two or three minutes while we ate food and collected ourselves.

My primary way of dealing with the grind is sharing my experiences and photos on Twitter and Facebook almost daily. The desert is photogenic and heart-stopping beautiful at times, despite the heat. And a Don Quixote reference while crossing a wind turbine farm in the early morning has most definitely not gone unused. That bit of humor and sharing with friends around the world is what kept me going during those bad days. And remembering the fact that I genuinely enjoy sharing the outdoors with other people is not a bad thought either.