Welcome to the few weeks of the year that—at least in my corner of the Northern Hemisphere—are still technically summer, but start to feel deliciously like fall. Cool mornings, warm days. The ability to comfortably wear long and/or short sleeves, long and/or short pants, sandals and/or closed shoes. Layers season is coming, and I'm ready for it.

All the maps in this post are linked to the COTREX site, where you can see more detail of our daily routes if you're curious.

I'm back from a month away, which was spent in two VERY different modes, and it's the first one of those that I want to share with you here: my 8-day backpacking trip along the Colorado Trail.

I've never gone backpacking before, and I live at sea level, so the idea of hiking 75 miles in the Rocky Mountains (segments 6, 7, and 8, if you're curious) while carrying all necessary supplies on my back was daunting, to say the least. But when Jennifer Foley (another museum world friend who also resigned from her last institutional job) mentioned she wanted to do a section of it this summer and was looking for a buddy, I leaned into a) my general life intention to say yes to adventures and b) how much I miss the Colorado mountains.

An array of hiking gear laid out neatly on a rectangular rug.

I scrambled around to find gear that was used/borrowed/cheap enough to make this work, and I read a million websites about the Colorado Trail (which I had literally never heard of before this) and ultralight backpacking, and I said let's do it.

Jennifer is a regular hiker and backpacker who lives at altitude, which was simultaneously comforting (one of us knows how to pack/cook/plan/filter water/handle emergencies properly) and intimidating (one of us knows how to do this properly, and it is NOT me).

To get in shape for this trip, I upped my barre class attendance and started taking long walks around sea-level, hot-and-humid, July Massachusetts while carrying my backpack filled with books. I like imagining what was going through the minds of the other people at the gym the one day that was hot enough to send me indoors to do my daily miles on a treadmill. With the backpack. In hiking boots.

I made spreadsheets of the weight of everything I was carrying. I tried to ruthlessly pare down anything that wasn't the most essential of essentials. I headed out to Denver a few days early, to at least try and acclimate to a bit of the altitude.

I was nervous as hell in the couple days before we headed into the mountains.

And then we did it, and it was the literal definition of all kinds of words we tend to use symbolically. It was sublime and awesome and magnificent and spectacular. It was possibly the hardest physical thing I've done in my life. It was unlike any other trip I've taken. I learned valuable things about myself by doing it.

To give you a sense of what was involved without writing an entire book about this trip (I read one of those, too, by a woman who took her family of 5 along the entire length of the Colorado Trail over one summer), I'm going to share a snippet of what I wrote in my (very lightweight) journal each day with an accompanying daily takeaway.

Welcome to my Colorado Trail travel(bl)og.

Day 1 (“Elevation Hurts Me”)

"I'm immediately huffing and puffing and just reminding myself to keep going. I am slow. I am in pain. I am out of breath. It starts to feel like a world unto itself out here."

Daily takeaway: Give up control and trust the process.

This one might sound cliche, I know, but it was one of the most helpful things Jennifer said to me to keep me going today. I was so full anticipatory anxiety that I tried to create a sense of control ahead of time by envisioning how fast I'd be able to go, how much distance I'd be able to cover each day, how easily I'd adapt to this new activity.

All of which meant nothing, of course, when I actually started, and it was hard and slow and the elevation took its toll on me. Had a good cry today that let out a lot of all of that emotional wrought-up-ness, and then realized—with Jennifer's reminder—that there's no way to know how the trip will go until we do it.

We adjusted our end point for today (and proceeded to make all kinds of adjustments to our route and plans throughout the rest of the week), and crawled into our snug and cozy little tents just in time for rain and hail and thunder to roll through.

It's not just the weather that's outside of my control. Trying to force an unknown to fit into a familiar box is a coping mechanism that doesn't actually help me cope all that much. Today was a good reminder to let go.

Day 2 (“Trail Life is Fun”)

"I love walking through such changing ecosystems. Yesterday we had wildflower meadows and aspen groves and then pine and spruce. Today we head above the treeline for the first time, over Georgia Pass and connect to the Continental Divide. It's windy and cold and high, but even though I have to go slow, I can do it."

Daily takeaway: Break big goals into bite-size pieces for approachable manageability.

I've been giving myself a daily mantra as I go along on this trip. Something I can repeat to myself to focus in one something specific and immediate.

I've been variously spurring myself on with repetitions of "One step at a time, I can do it" and "You will walk how you walk, and you don't have to keep up" and "You don't have to be perfect at this" and even "I love you, and I am proud of you". One that kept resurfacing—to the tune of Chappell Roan's "Hot to Go" chorus—was "[distance] down, [distance] to go, you are strong and capable".

This works physically, too. When Jennifer hikes faster than me, it helps me to set an agreed-upon meeting point and just focus on that as my next distance to cover. If I know I have 2 miles to our next meeting point, then I don't feel nearly as overwhelmed by the big picture challenge of this trip, or even of an entire day's distance.

Day 3 (“Change of Plans”)

"The loveliest part of the day is the middle third. Gorgeous meadows full of sage and wildflowers with mountain views all around. Then it gets hellishly hot in the glaring sun for the last third which is a dusty slog. My feet hurt, I'm sun-fuzzy, and I just want to make camp."

Daily takeaway: Appreciate comfort where you find it.

Parts of today felt manageable and flowing. Cool breezes, great views, my first moments above tree line, paths that were sloped gently enough that I could keep walking without having to stop for breath every 30 seconds.

And then parts of the day were all heat and headache and taxingly hard. My ankle tendonitis flaring up, running low on water, struggling through the direct sun exposure, only to find there was no shaded camping spot available.

When we came to a spot for filtering and refilling our water (although it was only a trickling stream), we made the decision to spend all day tomorrow in Breckenridge. As of this morning, we weren't planning to go to Breck at all. Then we recalculated our pace (I'm definitely slow) and planned to get into town tomorrow afternoon and sleep there one night. Instead, we get our sun-struck selves to where we'd planned to camp and instead decide to hitch a ride into town tonight with plans for a "zero day" tomorrow (aka a day where we don't spend any miles on the trail).

As soon as we decide that, I'm dreaming fondly of the bed and the shower and the toilet and the laundromat and the food that we don't have to re-hydrate. I was fine without those comforts when they weren't on the menu. Throughout this trip, the trail comforts are very much appreciated. Taking off my boots at the end of a day and soaking my feet in frigid mountain streams. A bit of fancy chocolate after dinner. Cuddling into my sleeping bag inside my cozy tent. The crisp coolness of drinking mountain stream water that I've filtered myself.

I'm glad that I can see both the comforts of both trail life and civilization as appealing in their own ways.

Day 4 (“Zero Day”)

"The Colorado friendliness is something I miss. The woman who sells me a t-shirt chats with me about female hiking camaraderie. Mountain bikers yesterday drove us—three strangers—from the trail head into town. The man at The Mountain Angler who doesn't have camping bowls to sell us offers to sell us his personal set if we'll give him 20 minutes to go home and get them… I'm working on belief in myself for tomorrow (our longest distance and highest elevation day)—I will take the day in stages of short chunks and know that I am strong and determined."

Daily takeaway: Basic human kindness is alive and well in the world.

Throughout this trip I'm reminded of the general basic goodness of others. Hikers all along our route want to chat and are happy to share info about what's coming up on the trail and where good camping and/or water sources can be found. People in town want to hear about our adventures. When we can't find camping bowls after tromping up and down just about all of Breckenridge, the very stand-up dude at The Mountain Angler comes through (and then decides he'll start selling them to others, since the only outfitter shop in town apparently closed last year).

A series of kind strangers offer us rides, from Mary who shuttles us to the start of our hike, to Sam who drives us into Breckenridge when we're sunstruck and make a last-minute decision to come off the trail that night, to Cindy who drives us to Leadville in all our ripe and unwashed glory at the end of our hiking, to Carol who drives me from Leadville to Frisco to catch a bus to Denver when she just happens to be sitting next to me as I discover that the bus I'd been waiting for wouldn't be coming that day.

I can always use the reminder that if I ask for help, someone will quite likely be able to provide it, and that was abundantly clear on this trip.

Day 5 (“The Hard Day”)

"I'm on an emotional and physical roller coaster today: scared when I'm alone and think I've gone off trail [I hadn't], elated at the spectacular things I'm seeing that my body is getting me to. I am deeply awed and grateful for what my body is allowing me to accomplish today. The top is breathtaking. We walk along the ridge-line of mountains with views down to valleys on both sides. This is what I've come here for, and if I never do this kind of trip again, I'll always be glad I got to see this under my own steam… I am exhausted and so proud of myself for pushing through this day."

Daily takeaway: The highs and the lows can go together, and I don't need to draw neat conclusions.

This day was definitely the hardest of them all. It was the most mileage we covered, which I inadvertently added to by taking a wrong turning for about half a mile before I corrected and returned to the trail.

This was the day of the highest elevation we climbed to (about 12,500 ft), and it had some punishingly steep switchbacks that I only got through by looking at the ground directly in front of my feet and singing this little song to myself in my head (I had no spare breath to sing it out loud).

And once we were past the high point, the trail down to the campsite seemed to keep going on and on and on infinitely (when you climb to the top of the mountains, you've also got to get down the other side of them).

I went through so much physical struggle today, combined with anxiety and mental struggle, too, and it was also a day that included some seriously gorgeous vistas and some a tangible sense of accomplishment. I can't say I loved this day, and nor can I say I hated this day. There were parts of it I loved and parts of it I hated, and sometimes—like getting to the top of some really tall mountains—they were the same parts. Those things went hand in hand.

Day 6 (“The Closest I’ve Come to Giving Up”)

"I'm doubting myself most today. I'm tired and sore, and I could get off the trail at Copper Mountain right now. I'd be proud of myself if I did it and satisfied with what I've done, not stuck in what-if'ing. That right there feels like a win, to be able to let go of my goal for this trip. Jennifer and I talk about motivation, and I decide to keep going… The combination of solitude and civilization is interesting. I love having wilderness to myself/ourselves, but I'm also finding more fear than usual in solitude, and I'm comforted by sounds of airplanes and motorcycles in a way I didn't expect—reminders that civilization is still out there."

Daily takeaway: My psychological state is as important as my physical one.

Throughout this hike, I've tried very intentionally to not motivate myself through scolding and inner-dialogue harshness. Should-erella (my inner critic) isn't the one I want directing this trip. The mantras I talked about up above are part of it.

Today's insight about being all right if I got off the trail right now felt like a major win to me, someone who is usually easily swayed by FOMO feelings. To know that I could feel good about myself whether I decided to stop or to keep going is part of what helped me make the decision to go on without feeling unduly pressured about it.

Aside from the physical aspects of this trip, the mental fortitude required was a bit of a surprise to me, and I'm pleased to know I've got it in me.

Day 7 (“My Favorite”)

"Holy shit this is the most magnificent day! We crest Searle Pass above treeline and walk mostly flat through more wildflowers and grass and absolutely majestic spreads of mountain views. Valleys in moving cloud shadow that Albert Bierstadt couldn't have improved on. There are marmots and pikas and streams flowing down from melting bowls of snow. This is alpine lushness, and I'm so glad I'm here. Today was like walking at the top of the world."

Daily takeaway: When I'm willing to push outside my comfort zone is when I find the magic.

This incredible day was really only possible with my own body making it happen, by going above and beyond anything I've done before. I trained and prepared and stuck with this trip through its challenges, and this day alone would have made that all worth it.

After hiking up out of the beautiful wildflower-strewn meadow valley where we camped last night, I cleared the tree-line and then found myself surrounded by alpine flora and fauna and general breath-taking scenery. And my breath was available to be taken by the views, because several hours of today were walking through largely flat areas of alpine landscape, and I wasn't huffing and puffing my way uphill.

There was something truly magical about being largely alone in such a vast and beautiful place that I had worked so intensely to get to under my own steam. I talk a lot about creating experiences that are specific to one particular audience, and thereby not appealing to a wider group. This day was that for me. My huffing and puffing and aches and pains and anxiety and uncertainty all helped create this day of being able to revel in how amazing the world is, and I'm grateful for all of it.

Day 8 (“We Made It”)

"Some lovely pastureland and aspens to walk through, but today doesn't hold a candle to what we've seen. It's a grind… I love what my body has been capable of, and I love how totally present in that body I've been for the last week. I feel cleared out somehow, like the reality of the world has not been paused exactly but that its din has been turned down a few notches."

Daily takeaway: Moving meditation helps me feel centered.

I've been keeping up a near-daily meditation practice for going on four years now, which is almost always accomplished by sitting or lying still while I listen to some guidance words from a meditation teacher. The intensity of the physical activity on this trip has helped me achieve a similar centeredness. I suppose it has, in effect, been an extended time of walking meditation. I've been so intensely in my body this week that there's been no time to let my thoughts wander or take over. I've focused on my breathing and on putting one foot and one hiking pole in front of another. I've listened to my body need food and water and rest, and it's dialed my attention in to just being present where I am in any particular moment.

If that's not a way to describe meditation, then I've been doing it wrong for years now.

It's like Thích Nhất Hạnh’s quote about washing the dishes:

“If while washing dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nuisance, then we are not ‘washing the dishes to wash the dishes.’ What’s more, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes. In fact we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life while standing at the sink.”

When I'm filtering water, I'm just filtering the water (by far my favorite and most meditative of the routine camp tasks). When I'm hiking along the trail, and it requires all of my focus and attention, there's no room for anything else apart from just hiking along the trail.

Day 9 (“Leadville is Awesome”)

"Tomorrow is for laundry and resting. Tonight is for showering and enjoying all my toiletries and clean clothes. I am so tired and my ankles and feet are so swollen. I'm immensely proud of myself, and happy to have proof my body can do such accomplishments. Life has felt simplified to basic routines and intense physical presence. I've had very little room for cognitive processes. I haven't felt completely cut off from the world, but like I've been given a breather and new perspective to not let it overwhelm me."

Daily takeaway: It's worth doing things that make me proud of myself and taking the time to acknowledge that pride.

I've dedicated a lot of time and effort to this trip, and it's rewarded me with a peak experience (hiking pun only sort of intended). I'm proud of what I was able to accomplish, and admitting that I'm proud of myself for something isn't actually very easy for me. Should-erella likes to pipe up when I do something hard or brave or new and say that I should be able to take that deed in stride and not dwell on it. As if something that might be challenging for someone else should be easy for me. (Should-erella is my inner critic… she doesn't tend to obey logic.)

This trip was an easier place for me to acknowledge my own pride, because it was so far outside the parameters of anything I've done before. But the warm inner glow of being able to say out loud, "I'm proud of myself" is a glow that's soothing and that's lasted even after the trip is over.

I want to keep that glow, and remember that it feels this good.

If you’re interested in seeing more of a day-by-day exploration of what we did, you can check out my posts on Instagram.

Creative Prompt Coda: Choose one thing you’d normally do inside, and do it outside instead.

75 Mindful Miles on the Colorado Trail