From Office Chair to Appalachian Trail

wander4soul
Apr 5
3 min read

The Day Security Died

On April 15th, the world told me I was "displaced" by a layoff. But after a divorce and years spent fighting back from life-threatening illnesses, I realized I wasn’t losing my life—I was finally becoming unencumbered. I wasn't empty; I was finally open. I was ready for a way of being that didn't require me to fight against the current. Ready to receive what the trail would provide. The trail always provides, as you will soon discover from my trek, if you haven't yet yourself. Twenty-six days later, I stood at the Route 522 trail head in my hometown of Front Royal. There was no grand visitor center to mark the start of my flip-flop thru-hike attempt of the AT, just a simple kiosk and a white blaze pointing toward a life I was finally ready to choose.

The Whirlwind: 26 Days of Chaos

To say I was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted is an understatement. We had twenty-six days to transform a life of "stuff" into a life of "miles." We organized, packed, and shoved our existence into a storage unit; found a teardrop trailer from a cool couple on Facebook Marketplace; installed a hitch and brake controller on my Subaru; scrambled for "trailer essentials" we didn't yet understand; squeezed in final hugs with my Trail Tribe "sistas"; met with several of my thru-hiker friends to receive encouragement, advice and an AT necklace; persuaded a friend to take over my duties as Chair of the AT Community Committee; navigated my military benefits, most importantly, the TriCare health insurance enrollment; updated legal documents; set up a mail-support team; filed an unemployment claim that wouldn’t even be processed until I was four days deep into the woods; and tried to soak up every last second with my furry friends.

The learning curve wasn't a curve; it was a cliff. We called our trailer "The Lovebug," but we were strangers to her. Aside from a single nap, we hadn’t even slept in her until that first night. We knew how to plug in the shore power and the water hose, but the shower, the AC, the hot water heater, and the furnace? Those were mysteries for several more months. (Spoiler: I only used that trailer shower twice in five months— I became a connoisseur of campground bathhouses, truck stop shower stalls and cold streams.)

The Launch: The Longest Eight Miles

On the morning of May 11th—Mother’s Day—we took our final "real" showers, hitched the Lovebug to the Subaru, and carefully maneuvered her out of the backyard and down the alleyway toward N. Royal Avenue. It is only an eight-mile drive to the trailhead at Manassas Gap. It’s a twenty-minute trip I’ve made a thousand times to shuttle other hikers, yet it felt very weird because this time I was being shuttled. My mind was a kaleidoscope of excitement, fear, joy, anxiety, anticipation, worry, and a strange, heavy guilt. Mostly, I just wanted to stop preparing and start moving.

We arrived at the Route 522 Trailhead at 11:40 am. I reached out and touched the white blaze on that oh-so-familiar post where I waited for many hikers to arrive for their shuttle. I was standing in my own backyard, looking at a path I’d seen a hundred times, but for the first time, I wasn't just visiting or picking up a thru-hiker. I was leaving. I was the thru-hiker. We faced north, crossed the road, and officially began our AT Flip-Flop Thru-Hike.

The Lesson: Magic in the Familiar

At mile two, reality set in. My body wasn't at its peak; I was still recovering from eighteen months of post-surgical complications following breast cancer. But the trail provides. Bill—who quickly earned the title "Trail Angel Master"—met me at the Fiery Run Road crossing with my first bit of trail magic: local barbecue chicken wrapped in foil. Sitting on the dirt, smelling that smoky saltiness, I realized Bill knew I was hungry before I did.

I ended that first day on an ecstatic high. Back at camp, I soaked my feet in the stream, the cold water numbing the ache of the first few miles. We toasted with sparkling cider and a meal cooked in the Lovebug while friends dropped by for a surprise visit.

They say it's "crazy" to sell it all and walk into the woods, especially when you’re still healing. But as I drifted off to sleep at 10:00 pm, the sound of the woods replacing the hum of the office, I wasn't thinking about that or the miles left to go. I was just smiling.