Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [132]
I didn’t go straight back to the AT; that took several years. Instead, I saved up every penny I earned at work and took long breaks to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail and the Long Trail in Vermont. I traveled internationally to explore Machu Picchu in Peru, climb Kilimanjaro in Africa, and hike the Bibbulmun track in Australia. And every time I went into the woods, I came out different, better, more complete. As if instead of being Jen or Odyssa, I was finally melding together into one identity, on and off the trails.
Through all my travels and hiking, I felt certain that someday I would return to the Appalachian Trail. I knew I would come back, because for me there were more lessons embedded in that ancient mountain chain than anywhere else.
I always assumed that I would return alone. I was wrong.
My love life was pretty uneventful after finishing my first Appalachian Trail thru-hike. I stayed with Nightwalker for a while, but then we decided to become friends, and after that I became more interested in hiking than dating.
In August of 2007, I went for a short car ride with my brother’s friend Brew. Brew was six feet tall, with icy blue eyes and dirty blond hair. He was funny, sweet, and attractive, but he was my brother’s friend, so I thought our relationship would remain as platonic as they come. During our twenty-minute drive across town, I informed Brew that I would be hiking the Appalachian Trail the next summer. Neither one of us could have guessed that we’d be married before then.
Falling in love, and doing it so quickly, changed my life and my hiking plans. By January, Brew and I were engaged, and while I still wanted to go back to the Appalachian Trail, I didn’t want to do it without Brew. As a schoolteacher, he had the summer free, so we decided that I would attempt a supported hike, with Brew providing a 2,175-mile slackpack, so that I could try to set the women’s speed record for the Appalachian Trail.
When I first met David Horton and Trail Dog, I never thought that I would one day try to join their ranks as a record-holder. But the thought of flowing down the trail as quickly as possible first intrigued me, and then captivated me. I thought about it every day and dreamed about it at night. It was never really about being a record-holder or hiking the trail in a specific number of days; it was about doing something amazing with my body that in the past had only been attempted by men. It was as simple as doing what I loved, in a place I loved, with the man I loved.
On June 8th, Brew and I were married. We honeymooned for twelve days in New England, then we set out from Katahdin on June 20th to try to set the women’s record on the Appalachian Trail.
I averaged thirty-eight miles a day that summer, which still surprises me, especially since I never felt rushed. I just let my body loose. For me, hiking quickly down the trail was like a free-form dance. It hurt and it was hard, but it never felt oppressive; it felt liberating and full of grace.
I also learned a lot from traveling down the trail so efficiently. Hiking for a record refined my understanding of simplicity and focus, and taught me lessons in communication and trust. There was no way that I could have traveled 2,175 miles in record time without Brew, and after finishing the adventure it felt like we had been married for two years instead of two months—in a good way.
On August 16th, after hiking for fifty-seven days and after seeing thirty bears, I arrived at Springer Mountain. I walked the short one-mile climb from the parking lot, holding hands with my husband and followed closely by my friends Warren Doyle, David Horton, and my family. I touched the rock on top of Springer Mountain amid cheers and the sound of cameras clicking.
“You’re probably gonna cry, or yell, or laugh when you get to Springer,” David Horton had said.
“It is going to be a profoundly meaningful and deeply moving moment,” countered Warren.
But now that I was there, it was Horton who was cheering and yelling and tearing up, and Warren who was reflecting