Woke up groggy, spent all morning fussing with my ‘stuff’ and finally marched proudly to the start point by mid-late morning.  AT Thru-hiking Headquarters!  I got a nice little briefing from the Appalachian Trail Conservancy orientation Guide, got registered for the hike, had my pack weighed (42-pounds [heavier than the average by about 9 pounds]), and then it was time for the iconic picture of me standing under the start point stone arch.  Yes!  This is it!  While the Guide was taking my picture, a small crowd was gathered and it surfaced, explained by the Guide, what I was about to do.   At the moment, there were no other Thru-Hikers kicking off, so I was the occasion.   Some astonished gasps.  What?  Right from here- all the way to Maine?!  And you’re starting right this second?   More hoots of encouragement, a fat happy round of polite golf applause, and then I strode off down the trail, giving a brave little salute to the crowd.   

Thirty yards later, something didn’t feel right and I realized I had left my trekking poles at the registration station.  Jesus H. Christ.  I spun around and started walking back and immediately found myself swimming against a current of people on this narrow trail.  I was, to my horror, fighting through the very crowd of people who had sent me off! (They had started their little individual day-hikes right after I left and were right behind me).   “Hey, where are you going?  Maine is that way!”  “Are you tired already?”  “Don’t give up yet!”        

Ahem.  Ummm…  Errr….     So, I got my trekking poles, walked back through the stone arch, and proceeded. Within a mile, I was walking up the stairs that zig-zag vertically to the top of Amicalola Falls, the highest waterfall east of the Mississippi. There are 604 of these steps. Did I mention the 42 pound pack? Did I mention that my training plan for the 6 weeks prior to this venture was to eat great meals, eat as much ice-cream as possible, not exercise, watch movies and sleep with a hot blonde every night? No? Well, when I got to the top, my quads were blasted and I was barely functioning as a human, let-alone a rugged Thru-Hiker. I believed I had a tear in my right quad, and for the next many miles I concocted ways to spin the story more eloquently to the folks at home about why I failed. I talked myself out of stopping at a tent site a mere 2.2 miles from the stone arch and limped on like a shopping cart with a bad wheel to Black Gap shelter, about 6 miles from the start. I was absolutely certain that after the night’s sleep I would not be able to proceed. I met a nice German couple at this shelter who informed me that I could have stayed in a shelter the night before instead of under that picnic bench; the shelter was near the picnic area, was fully enclosed, and was reserved specifically for Thru-Hikers who showed up the night before. They had themselves stayed there and said it was quite comfortable. I massaged my quads all night and kept getting up to piss, having pounded water for 7 straight hours. And it was cold.
    

So.
    

Here is a picture of me under the stone arch.  (Note that I’m not holding trekking poles.)