"Halfway" on the AT is defined in a few different ways, as the length of the trail changes every year due to re-routing; this year's official mileage is 2185.3. There is a nice big sign in the middle of the woods that signifies the "halfway" point, but it's from a few years ago and is actually a couple of miles north of this year's halfway point.
- I met two northbound hikers in Maine who were literally running through the woods during a rainshower, and they looked like they were having a blast. They flew into the shelter, yanked their shoes off, shoveled food into their faces, yanked their shoes back on, and were gone again before Molly (Smiley) and I had even begun to make our lunch. As they were eating, they grilled us on our hike so far. One of them asked, "When do you want to finish? And dear god don't tell me Thanksgiving. There's a limit to how long this will be fun, and you want to finish well before you get to that point." While his tone was somewhat abrasive, in retrospect I appreciate the concept, and am glad he put it so simply. I want to be sipping cocoa on a couch somewhere planning my next adventure when it starts to get cold, not freezing my rear off on some peak in North Carolina.
- Another northbound hiker was far gentler in his approach. He was in southern Maine, carrying a tiny pack and wearing no shirt, but expected to finish both the AT and PCT in a single year. He told me, "Pick a date you want to finish by, and stick to it. Hike until midnight if you have to; do a forty mile day. Spend yourself. Spend all of yourself. There's nobility in that." I like this thought.
- Sometimes moving quickly in the woods is special. Really special. As in, the trail is gently downhill, and without thinking about it, you start moving faster, picking your steps intentionally, and as you move faster and faster, you achieve a kind of "zen" state in which your brain and body are both fully focused on the task at hand, and the trail slips past under your feet as your mind opens up to child-like creativity. It's almost as though you're a waterfall on the face of the mountain. Absolute bliss.
So, to Mr. It's-About-The-Journey, I say, "My journey is different than yours," and keep right on running!