Stubbornness is one of my defining characteristics. There is a voice in my head at all times that is a cheeky and rather brutally honest critic. I do not always listen to him because, let's be fair, such personalities are exhausting and particularly frustrating when you just want to ignore work/responsibilities/life. But, he's there and without that voice constantly pushing me I would have never gotten back to a state that would allow me to attempt hiking the entirety of the Pacific Crest Trail.

So. Here I am four weeks away from starting that journey and the excitement is starting to build. Amelia has been fiddling and testing and researching with glee and determination for most of the past three months; while I have been rather more leisurely about my preparations. Steps were mapped out in my mind, of course. I perused gear reviews and blog entries in my off hours, bookmarked webpages, created a spreadsheet for gear costs and weights, and set money aside for purchases. Yet, it was not until the beginning of March that my relative languid behavior disappeared and I started seriously concentrating on the task before me.

All the gear except a few middling items have now been purchased. I am still waiting for a shirt and a stove to appear on my doorstep from the USPS fairy (I have yet to actually see our mailman), but all other incidental items can likely be procured in a single afternoon. A significant pile of dried meals has been ordered from Outdoor Herbivore and will be allocated to specific resupply boxes later this week. Plane tickets are purchased and sleeping quarters arranged in San Diego for the night before the hike starts.

Yup. All coming together.

The planning and preparations never really concerned me as much as they did Amelia. Much of my formative years were spent exploring forests and I have extensive backpacking experience from previous trips. Ultralight backpacking is reasonably new to me, but I have always been careful to choose the best gear for my outdoor activities, which has helped me have a pack weight that is significantly less than people who are still using packs purchased in the 80s. As a man whose metabolism still burns fiercely, food intake to me is as much about fuel as taste so I will eat almost anything put in front of me. While my concern for all these things is not exactly lighthearted, it borders a bit on laissez-faire. We shall just see how the gear and food goes, no?

What is on my mind is the reliability of my body. Last year at this time is when Amelia visited me in Portland after her stint in Antarctica and trip around New Zealand. She told me the other day that what she remembers of that visit is me still limping and becoming tired after walking just a mile. 10 months ago I was still scared of uneven ground for fear my knee would collapse on me. 6 months ago is when I went for my first 2 minute jog. 3 months ago, I snowshoed up solo to a remote fire lookout. A month ago I finally did a trail run that lasted over an hour (full disclosure: very sore afterwards). And, right now I am rotating between days of walking 6-8 miles or spending two hours in the gym doing weights, rowing, and stationary biking.

My knee will never be 100% again, I understand that. As my physical therapist joked, I no longer have original factory parts. I tore it up pretty bad and it will never be completely reliable. Rubbing the scar tissue in my tendon has become somewhat habit forming. But, in the past year I have worked desperately to restore as much strength and functionality as possible. Strong enough to attempt a 2,600 mile backpacking trip. Not strong enough to feel remotely certain of finishing.

In all fairness, I am giving myself even odds of making it through the first month. Even disregarding the knee, I have not treated my body gently these past three decades. Years of soccer, running, backpacking, mountaineering, and shenanigans have taken a toll. It has been a well lived life, in my opinion, but I am now starting to deal with the complications of that hard playing. Lots of muscles, tendons, and ligaments are infused with scar tissue. Backpacking 2,600 miles is not going to treat them kindly.

And yet, why the hell not try.

"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat."