Blooms and Burnout: A long introduction.

How I became a thru-hiker

It’s spring break.I’m sitting on the bus, coming from treating my overuse injuries at physiotherapy.
I’m driving to the school where I worked for the past 10 years, apart from my time on the PCT in 2023.
I’ll hold no lessons today since it’s spring break, but I’m starting to clear out my classroom already.
I can’t leave anything for the end of the school year. The schedule for hiking the CDT SOBO is already too tight for me.
I’ll be on a plane as soon as possible, hoping to push through the highest peaks of Colorado before the early snowstorms set in. Maybe I’ll be lucky and they’ll come late this year.

After all, I already had the full-on historically high snowpack in the Sierra Nevada on the PCT 2023. I hiked in full snow for 1.5 months, so I consider myself a bit experienced with thru-hiking on compact, frozen early spring snowpack as well as melting conditions. But I am not experienced with risk evaluation in fresh snow. So, fast hiking it is.

Time for an introduction

By the way: Hi, I go by «Mamacita Whiskeylegs», Mamacita for short.

I grew up in Switzerland’s untouristy midlands.
Half of my family is Albanian, and from them I inherited my love for music, dancing, and Balkan food. The other half is Swiss and shaped me in the most stereotypical Heidi-style: In a stroller or carrier, I started exploring the majestic Swiss Alps even before I could walk.

It runs in the family

Now I drive through a landscape of green, lush rolling hills, speckled with blossoming cherry trees and yellow dandelions. 

«She would have loved it», I murmur to myself. «She» is my late Grandma.
To whom I owe my over-the-top love for everything nature: From the mighty alpine peak to the little herbs and wildflowers, the birds and insects, the sunset, and the morning dew.

My Grandma taught me traditional Swiss folk songs, praising this landscapes, while sitting on a rustic bench, both our feet dangling in the air (she was very short), a piece of cheese in one hand, a dried apple slice in the other. We were very close and her loss still pains me so much.

I inherited her ability to harvest the maximum amount of joy and motivation out of the smallest convenience or moment of beauty. I considered this my superpower on trail.
One long, long day in NorCal I saw pale yellow lupines for the first time. The joy of this unexpected discovery carried me through the heat, thirst and loneliness of not only that day but the following two days as well.

What it looks like in the Swiss midlands right now. My Grandma always loved the fruit trees’ blossom season.

My “why”? Just being out there!

In the thruhiking community, everyone urges you to «know your why!». Your reason for hiking, for pushing through, for not giving up on hard days.
Some people even write their «why» down and carry it with them for moments when they feel like quitting.
I didn’t have a «why» for the PCT.
I just wanted to be out there, hiking and camping, totally immersed in nature, in wilderness areas and National Parks, wilder and remoter than anything I’ve experienced on my trips in Europe.

I’ve wanted to hike one of the triple crown trails since I was eleven, so I had a lot of time to get my expectations up. They were huge, but still, the real thing was more beautiful, epic and fun than I ever could have imagned.

When things got rough (and they definitely got rough a lot!) the trail provided: A magical sunset after a day of slushy snow traverses in freezing rain, meeting a new tramily when taking a break because my Achilles tendons were so inflamed or, after rationing your last sip of water for miles and miles: a trickle, finally!

Another magical sunset: Marvelling at the color spectacle created by wildfire smoke in Oregon. A first for the Swiss girl. Pic by “Bugs Bunny”

Embracing my superpower on the PCT

When Coffee Machine and I embarked for the Sierra Section of the PCT, I asked him: «Tell me, why again are you doing this with me? Why not with some of these super strong hiker dudes we met in Kennedy Meadows?».

Our year was 2023, and California had a historically high snowpack.
Our strategy was to get into the Sierra as early as possible, to avoid the melting and the resulting high river crossings as long as possible. We’ve known each other for 4 days when we decided to go into the High Sierra together and push the 140 miles from KM to Bishop Pass in one go.

Under the special circumstances, it was a scary undertaking, sure, but it seemed to be the right decision to beat the rising temperatures.  At that point, we only knew about one group in front of us that attempted to do this, and they hadn’t made it out yet.
The FarOut comments were scarce and hard to contextualize in the comfort of Kennedy Meadows.
And apart from that, we knew that the conditions were changing fast.

Nothing could have prepared us for what we found out there (here on Mather Pass, Mai 2023). But I really started to embrace my superpower: Joy!

Coffee Machine’s answer to my question above consisted of two parts.

The first one being that I was half the size of most of those guys and carried my 50 pound backpack without complaining once (we had to carry a lot of additional gear for those extreme conditions).

But the second part was really eye-opening for me: «You will keep our moral up: You will see the beautiful things, point them out to me, and I will see them too.» 

It took me a little longer to realize that I had not only inherited my Grandma’s love for the mountains. She also gave me a tool to endure the hardships of being on trail: Joy as a superpower.

Neurodivergent on trail: Our moment to shine

A trail brother explained once on a video call: «On trail, I was so close to myself. So close with my core, soul, essence of my being, like I’ve never been before.» I didn’t need any explanation, I knew exactly what he meant by that because I felt the same.

When we come together from different cultural backgrounds and all walks of life- but all equally unwashed, hungry, and happy hikertrash- rigid social norms don’t apply anymore anyways.

Add to that the sheer beauty of the landscapes around us, the constant hormonal high from extreme exercise, and the many sketchy situations we find ourselves in. All of that makes the thruhiker community emotionally unfiltered and open-hearted.

But you know, I’ve always gone through life slightly more emotional than most people around me. It had it’s benefits and it’s downsides, but on trail it felt like a strength at last. Even more so, it felt normal.
For many neurodivergent people, life on trail is their moment to shine.

Unfiltered and open-hearted: Very happy Mamacita on the Bridge of the Gods.

«You have only one task»

My personal thesis is that the meditative nature of hiking, combined with the gentle stimulation of amazing views, really fun company, and maybe some music or a podcast in your ears, is amazing for people with ADHD.

«You only have one task: Hike the trail. It’s a long trail, sure, but it’s your only task for months», explained one of my trail sisters.

Dr. Anne Baker identified this structure and simplicity as something thru-hikers miss most when off trail in her article about Post-Trail Depression. If all of this resonated with you, check out Megan Hantz’ article about neurodivergent people thriving on trail as well.

You have only one task: Hike the trail! (here in the Sierra Section of the PCT 2023, picture by “Rabbit”)

Having struggled with overstimulation and masking my whole life, it was astonishing how much I thrived on trail: This was the pace and the lifestyle I was made for. So much so, that I could take on the immense physical pain and hardship that came with it without a second thought.

It still surprises me, but I honestly never thought about quitting the PCT. I just wanted to stay out there.

Facing life off-trail

I tried to paint a picture of how much I felt at home and ease with myself on trail. Leaving the trail was hard. So hard. I came back a different version of myself, physically and mentally. The prospect of leaving «Mamacita» behind and settling back into what normality used to be felt unbearable.

Back in Switzerland, my close friends supported my development, my family slowly understood the impact this trail had had on me, but my relationship fell apart.

I’ve started the PCT as a solo hiker and I hiked in different setups, with three different tramilies, also hiking for 21 consecutive days alone.
I was determined to transfer the unapologetic independence I’ve experienced into my life at home. 
Not only had I changed too much to stay in my relationship, but I also already felt that I would want to leave for a long trail again and again and again. Therefore, I ended it.

How I hope to become a thru-hiker again

At first, I needed to stay put and work a lot since I was pretty broke. After the PCT, I was now striving for the triple crown, and my next trail would be the CDT. Being a really passionate teacher, I wanted to finish the school year, which meant that I was going to become a SOBO hiker.

Until this next thruhike, I tried to keep myself as occupied as possible. I went hiking weekly and tackled  shorter trails like the GR20 or ViaValtellina during schoolbreaks. During the last year I was visited by eight friends from trail, which I loved so much. School break or not, I would make sure they got the real Swiss experience: Alps, cheese fondue, and all.

Reunited! With my trail-sisters Snake Charmer (middle) and Happy Hour (right) on the ViaValtellina in Switzerland

You can run, but you can’t hide… from Post-Trail-Depression

While I kept myself busy and moving, hiking and tourguiding with my international hikerbuddies, I’ve also come back to a network of amazing close friends with whom I wanted to spend as much time as possible.
Together with loving my job and working long hours, this was already a lot.
Additionally, it felt like the world was falling apart. I’ve always been a political person, but now I have close friends from all over the world.
Now, what I saw in the news affected tramily members directly.
It became personal and hard to deal with.

On my weekend hikes, I found peace in the familiarity of being on a trail in the mountains. But during the week, I tried to manage the restlessness and worries by exercising: Apart from hiking, I took up running and Muay Thai, and somewhere along the way, I even stopped taking rest days.

Whenever I felt the sickening unease of anxiety creep up inside, I would go on a fast run, turning the panicky fluttering in my stomach into adrenaline. It calmed my racing, overstimulated mind, but wore my body down.

I knew this lifestyle wasn’t sustainable, but I told myself and my worried friends: «If I slow down now, I’ll break down completely. I only need to push through until I’m on the CDT. Then I can work through my stuff.»

Only finding peace in the mountains (here on the GR20 on Corsica). An exhausting strategy.

A hard landing

Well, I didn’t push through.

After 16 months of running away from it, Post-Trail-Depression caught up to me while I found myself on the brink of a real burnout.
The grief, the heartbreak, and the worries were still here, but somehow I was now way more exhausted than I had been fresh off trail.
I was still functioning at my job, but I found myself drained, unable to feel joy or relax. My coping strategy had robbed me of my superpower and left me with stubborn overuse injuries to tend to.
And all of that just six months before my next trail.

Suddenly it dawned on me:
If I don’t slow down now, the breakdown will be unpredictably serious.
If I don’t take care of my body now, I won’t be able to hike the CDT at all.
If I don’t let go of constantly distrating myself, I won’t be able to enjoy the time that I have left here in Switzerland with my friends and family.

Thanks to a really strong support system of amazing people, I seem to be slowly recovering.
Now I have the capacity to plan my next long trail. I can finally feel some joyful anticipation again. It’s about time, because in less than two months I’ll start my SOBO journey on the CDT.

Finally looking forward again! (here on a training hike in the Swiss Alps)

And you know what? My superpower is returning, timid and slowly, but fortunately steady. I’m going to need it on my next trail.

Thank you

This was my first post, and honestly I was and still am super nervous about it. Thank you for reading it! I tried to put my complex, personal, and confusing experience of getting off trail into words, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. My goal was to keep it real so you would get a taste of how following my CDT adventure might be like. For my part, I am looking forward to share my journey here with you.

Happy trails,
Mamacita