Who knew the last 100 miles of the AT would become the most challenging section of the entire AT? Clearly, not me.

When I left Monson, I saved half of the vegetarian sandwich, Cinnamon rolls, and potato egg salad for the next morning breakfast. It wasn’t a good choice from the food safety perspective – it was over 85 degrees, creating a perfect situation for the food to get spoiled without refrigeration.

By that first evening, I was very sick. I had mild fever, no appetite, and couldn’t keep any fluid in my body. This is not good- I thought. It happened in the most remote section of the AT, and there wasn’t a town where I could get off the trail for help. Which would be better? Slowing down and taking a few zero days to heal in the wilderness when I don’t have extra electrolytes and bland soft food that may help me recover, or keep hiking and finish the trail ASAP so I can get the real rest? I chose the latter option: finish the trail and recover afterwards.

So, I hiked. I was moving much slower than usual, especially on the uphills. It was exhausting. I couldn’t wait to finish my day for the last 6 days, which I never felt on the entire trail. I woke up, feeling excited to hike. I finished my day, looking forward to hiking more the next day. That’s me. I was disappointed, knowing that I would finish the trail not being at the best version of myself. But wait, there had to be something that the universe was teaching me here.

On the second day, my worst day, I called the day early because I couldn’t go anymore. I lay down and went inward with fever and discomfort, searching for the learnings.

The first thing that surfaced was to keep integrity with my body and consume food that nourishes my body and spirit, rather than eating for the calories. I now know my pattern: around mile 2,000, I start making unwise food choices and how I handle them. It happened on the PCT, too. I’m too hungry. I start eating food that I wouldn’t normally consume, and I save it without refrigeration for the trail. On the PCT, I was more sick and stayed weak for two weeks. I didn’t think to get electrolytes until my friend who came to meet me at Sonora Pass told me the importance of electrolytes during and after food poisoning. At least, I had the knowledge this time. If I were to thru-hike any trail longer than 2,000 miles in the future, I would take a couple of zero days around mile 2,000, and reset my body with nourishing food and rest, so that I could finish the trail with a healthy body and mind.

This is all privilege talk- I thought. While lying down like a zombie in my $500 superlight X-Mid Pro 1-person tent protected from bugs and rain, holding a water bottle with electrolytes in it, I started to see images of people who have no choice but to move for their lives and basic human rights in my delirious mind.

A mother carrying her baby, already died a few days ago, on her back in Okinawa during WWII, walking in the jungle with no food and water, searching for a village where she could hide from American soldiers

A father who walked the Sonoran Desert in the heat with nothing but the hope to have a decent life

Tibetan refugees climbing over the Himalayas with a robe, frostbite on their toes and hands, and still, moving silently through the nights to blend into the darkness

Harriet Tubman and enslaved people walked and swam across the water, many barefoot, for freedom

Oh, the Trail of Tears, 5,043 miles of forced Cherokee march through hunger and cold under the Indian Removal Act of 1830 – how can I forget?

My grandmother, holding hands with her children, walking back to her home in northern Japan after the bombing of Tokyo in 1945, seeing her home turned into ash overnight and didn’t know where else to go

How far have I walked with a 2-oz Garmin satellite device that comes with an SOS button? Not that far

If I wanted, press the button, and help would be on the way. I don’t have to walk if I can’t go anymore. And here I am, privileged, exhausted and drained, and I chose to walk

How far have they gone without a Garmin? Too far

Nobody has to walk that far, and I dream of a world without such tragic walks

I prayed. I prayed for people who are walking to seek refuge. I prayed for a better world.

I woke up the next morning, feeling slightly better. I kept moving. It all made sense why I was still able to hike without food and fluid in my body. People are resilient. Our ancestors survived through famines, wars, severe weather, and tragedies. We have strength and tollerance to difficult situations. It’s all mental at the end- so I moved. I kept going even though I knew what I was doing wasn’t the best for my body.

Strangely, my footing was solid. I felt the flow in my body even though I didn’t feel strong. It felt like almost floating on the water, effortless motion as the terrain became easier and easier. I also received some help from other hikers and a person who came to resupply the thru-hikers from Appalachian Trail Hostel & Outfitters, offering me 2 bottles of Gatorade, electrolytes, apple sauce, honey, and candies. I was very grateful for their support. Just having sugary liquid was enough for me to feel energy back in my body and helped me move. I texted my friend whose wife is a PA and received her advice. I thought it may help if I took Doxycycline, an antibiotic medication for Lyme disease, to alleviate the intestinal bacterial infection. She said no, and just hydrate, hydrate, hydrate with electrolytes and rest when I can. No Doxy, no Imodium, and let the body flush out all the bad stuff. I was glad that I reached out and so grateful that I have a friend in the medical field who can help me in this kind of situation.

Despite the fact that I was suffering for the first three days, I had a few moments of joy. Since I was moving slowly, I happened to be on top of the Chairback Third Mountain on the first evening I became ill and saw the most stunning sunset on the entire AT. I sat on top of the mountain, feeling tired and yet had spirit and energy to appreciate the beauty. If I weren’t sick, I wouldn’t have had a chance to be on the mountain at such late hours enough to watch the sunset. Maybe the universe wants me to slow down for the last 100 miles?

The next two days, I took it easy- later start, at least. Still, without food in my body, I struggled to go uphills. Luckily, the terrain became easier and easier to the point that it was almost flat by the third day on the trail. Even though it was almost flat, the trail was full of obstacles in Maine. Tree roots, boulders, and mud kept me at a slower pace. Since I was not eating, my pack was heavy with all the resupply food that I carried from Monson. The trail remained challenging, but the weather held and kept me very comfortable despite the forecast of rain and thunderstorms.

By the evening of day 4, I was able to keep all the fluid and some light solid food. I made it to a lovely little camp at the shore on Pemadumcook Lake where I saw Mount Katahdin for the first time. As I bathed in the lake water, listening to loon’s songs and looked at her, I thought she was so close. I was 46 miles away from her, and I felt energy to make it through the last days, still feeling fatigue but excited to reach her.

The northern Maine forest had an ancient vibe and some familiar sounds: cicadas. They remind me of the summer in Japan. I felt nostalgic and missed my family, going to fireworks and cooking udon noodles at my grandparents’ home in the western island of Japan. Otherwise, the forest was mostly silent. I heard a bird or two sing, but nothing like the majority of the AT where I was surrounded by the all-day chorus of song birds.

The silence reminded me of the story Sarah James, a Gwich’in elder from Arctic Village, told me when I stayed with her. One day we were walking in the tundra, and I said, “It is so quiet and peaceful.” She said it used to be so loud with birds in the Arctic tundra until French trappers came. They used poison to kill animals, and since then, the tundra hasn’t recovered and remains silent. I wondered if French trappers came to Maine as well and used poison to catch beavers. When I heard a wood thrush sing, I was so happy to hear it, even though it was just a few seconds. The angelic sound was soothing to my suffering body.

When I reached the Birches Camp, a designated thru-hiker campsite in Baxter State Park, I was honestly relieved. It was an anticlimactic camp where we were allowed to only camp on the tent pads filled with sand, right next to each other, and smelling the pit toilet nearby. There were seven other thru/section hikers camping at the 12-person capacity camp. Luckily, nobody was smoking, and everyone was respectful of each other’s space. I was the last person to show up. Among many questions they had, one of my least favorite questions, of course, was asked: “When did you start?” The guy did math in his head and told me, “wicked fast.” I said, “It’s not a race and who cares?” Surely, someone cared. There was a young woman sitting in the distance, overheard him, and said out loud, “I am finishing in 115 days as well.”

Nobody asked her. It doesn’t have to be competitive, and I dislike the culture of conquer, compete, and control in thru-hiking culture. I was annoyed to be part of the conversation on my last night on the AT, and at the same time, it kept it real- how prevalent AT culture really is, and I want to use it as my internal fire to inspire change for the future generations who hike the trail.

The next morning, I woke up, feeling fatigued but enough to get going for Mount Karahdin. At the trailhead, I read an exhibit sign and was glad to see the mention of indigenous people and their relationship to the mountain. It read:

K’taadn is a name which means “Greatest Mountain.” The mountain is central to the beliefs and stories of the Wabanaki people, which are represented in Maine by the Penobscot Nation, Passamaquoddy Tribe, Houlton Band of Maliseet Indians, and Mi’kmaq Nation. The Wabanaki people have called this land home for millennia and continue to observe ceremonies around the mountain. The park exhibit encouraged people to treat the mountain with the same respect you would wish others to show in places you hold sacred.

I thought it was an honor and privilege to finish the AT at such a sacred mountain. I was grateful to haven access to the summit. With that feeling, I began climbing the mountain. About 1/4 of the way, the trail became very steep, and I smiled. It reminded me of White Mountain and southern Maine. It is such a characteristic of the AT: steep and rugged. Katahdin is an icon of the AT: 4,000 feet climb in 5 miles! My fatigue went away and was replaced with excitement and joy once I saw steep rocks and boulders. I haven’t climbed for a long time, and yet, I know I’m a climber. When I face the rock, I am energized and excited. I moved the steep section quickly and popped up on the ridgeline. From there, it was an easy walk up to the summit. When I reached the summit, I didn’t even know I made it. A group of young adults and an instructor told me I finished.

I was happy. But more so, relieved. I struggled the last 100 miles, but otherwise, I was living my dream. Or I would say, I was living the real world, connected to nature and my body, faced real things like rain and sun, and seeing, feeling the changes every single day, adapting to the change as best as I could, and found so much joy and freedom in doing and living so. What a privilege!

Two more thru-hikers came shortly after, and another one who was finishing her triple crown. She was prepared with a hat with three trail sign badges. She said, “My mom made it for me.” Meanwhile, I had nothing to commemorate my triple crown. I didn’t think it was such a big deal or didn’t want it to be a big deal. She was kind. After taking her photos, she let me wear the hat and asked me to stand on the “Katahdin” sign.

I climbed up the sign and looked around. What a gorgeous summit day we had! Blue sky, familiar endless green belts, ponds and lakes spread out to the horizon. I put up my hands towards the sky and inhaled deeply, exploding with joy, and said, “This is A-M-A-Z-ING!”

On the way down, I stopped and bathed in Katahdin Stream, with an intention to wash away any egos, things that already happened in the past, and things that don’t serve me anymore. The water was so cold, shocking my system to reset and preparing me for nothing but healing and resting.

I took my time to walk down, knowing that I was very fragile. I hitched a ride to Millinocket, and there, I met my friend who lives on the coast of Maine and came to pick me up. When I saw her and her big smile, my body relaxed for the first time since I left Monson. I was truly relieved to be held in her arms, and she took me home.

Who knew the last 100 miles of the AT would become the most challenging section of the entire AT? Clearly, not me. At the end, it all worked out, walking away with more awareness of the privilege and lessons. Some lessons are difficult and harsh, and this one hit me hard.

It is the new moon and total solar eclipse. The universe is pausing, in the dark, telling me, “Reset, rest, and regain the strength before the new beginning.” So that’s what I will do. Rest. Eat when I am ready. Once I recover, I’ll be on my bike trip, and I hope you come along with me then.

Until then, I hope you pause, rest, and reset as well.

Cheers!