An Open Letter to My Family and Friends

Dear Loved Ones,
     Right now, it is technically February 28, 2015, which means that in quite literally a matter of hours, I'll be taking the first steps of an almost 2200 mile journey across an entire country. Don't think for a second that the incredible magnitude of this undertaking escapes me. I hope it doesn't escape you either.

We would do well to remember this fact as well: This will not be 2200 miles of pure fun.

     Now, that's not to say that there is no fun to look forward to. Getting my trail name, tagging Mt. Washington, petting ponies in Grayson Highlands, and dangling off of McAfee Knob are all moments that I'm giddily awaiting, along with countless others. I certainly don't mean to say that this is going to be terrible the entire way. In fact, I like to think that most days will be wonderful in their own right. I am expecting a phenomenal trip.

     However, there will be bad days. There will be rainy days. There will be achey days. There will be blister days, bruise days, chafing days, and yes, there will be dislocation days. There will be wet days, and cold days, and steep days, and days where the magic seems to be sucked out of the trail more and more with each step I take.

There will be days when I want to stop.

     It's on days like these that I will need you the most. If I call you up one day, in tears and ready to come home, it may be tempting to tell me that it's okay, that I tried my best, and that there will be a warm bed and a fire waiting for me when I get home. This is exactly what I will want.
But it's not what I will need. What I will need is for you to help me keep walking. Remind me of the 18 months I spent planning this trip. Talk to me about how it will feel to kiss the sign on top of Katahdin. Ask me what it felt like to reach the top of Cloudbelly Pass in Colorado. Hold me accountable to myself. Whatever you do, in lieu of an emergency, please do not enable my quitting.

     Family members, do you remember when I was born?  I don't, but I imagine it must have been pretty cool. I was thrust into this weird world where everything was too bright and noises were too loud and everything just freaking felt different. It may sound horribly uncomfortable, but it was in this strange new world that I was able to grow and discover myself, a process that I'm still continuing today. I don't know if I would go so far as to say I'm hoping to recreate my birth- that would be weird- but I certainly do plan to come out on the other end of this trip a different person. It is outside of our comfort zones that we grow best, and I look forward to a great deal of growth over the coming months. This is why I'm hiking.

     Old friends, do you remember when I was diagnosed with EDS? Amid the hormonal throes of puberty and the social hurricane of middle school, I learned that I was "disabled." For the rest of my life, my joints would dislocate, my skin would tear, and I would have to worry about another hernia. It was shortly after that I was diagnosed with KC, and told that without surgery, I ran a risk of going blind. I felt as though life had been wrenched from my fingers and spent spiraling out of control.
Fast forward 5 years, and I think I'm still caught up in that spiral, though I'm no longer convinced that it's downward. I avoid the "d-word." Not only have I learned to respect the limits that my body has set for me, I've learned to love teasing those limits, pushing myself to see what those limits really are. This is why I'm hiking.

     Newer friends, do you remember when I discovered rock climbing? Do you remember how scared I was? Not of the height of the cliff, but of the world below me. I was alone at boarding school for the first time, my body was screwed up, and it was around that time that a good friend of mine was killed in a car crash. The world was terrifying.
The moment I tied into that rope and grabbed the rock though, everything changed. I was able to pull myself up, by myself. I had a friend on belay for support, but everything was largely on my terms. This freedom was exhilarating and eye-opening. I began to see these challenges not as walls to stop at and glare in spite from the bottom, but mountains to climb over and relish at the top. This is why I'm hiking.

     Friends and family, I'm stepping into another new world, and I can't think of anyone I would rather have at my back than you.

I love you. Thank you.

Let's take a walk.

-Alden