So I've been sick.

And lazy. And tired. And demoralized. Rough couple of days. Got sick leaving Rangeley. 

The morning started off great, I felt wonderful and the strongest I'd felt since the beginning of the Whites. I also ran into Tatianna and Lyons, and hiked with them all morning. Tatianna took a rather terrifying face first fall. Bloodied her nose and chipped a tooth, but she's a regular badass and walked it off. I like them and was looking forward to hiking with them for a while, but my stomach started hurting around lunchtime. At first I thought I was hungry. I was incorrect. 

Anyway, the second half of the day went rather poorly. I don't think you need the details, but I decided to call it an early day. Especially since it was gonna rain.  Except when I got to the shelter I'd decided to stop at, it was full of Sobos. A group of 9 of them who were hiking together. I was irrationally irritated. I blame it on my sickness. So I started hiking on. Like 5 feet from the shelter the rain started. I found an old abandoned tarp that was suspended, and I huddled under it until the hail stopped. That was the beginning of my low point for the trail, shivering, staring at the raindrops and hail stones splashing in the puddles. Freezing. 

When the rain stopped, I decided to move on. Mostly because I was freezing. I walked...or stumbled... about a mile before I found a spot to set my tent up. Which happened to be covered by moose poop. I sighed. Or would have, but my teeth were chattering too much. So I found a different spot, and dragged my drenched carcass inside my tent. Where I shivered uncontrollably for a while, mixed with cramping in my legs, since I hadn't been able to keep any water down. That was a bad night. 

In the morning, I felt much better, just drained. I didn't get out of my tent until after 0900. I felt much better, but so incredibly weak. I had to force myself to eat. I did about 15 miles, and had to call it quits for the day. The mountains were destroying me. I figured the next day would be okay. I was wrong again. 

I felt great, until that first hill. I couldn't get my legs to move. They were leaden, and I had to force them up each rise. These weren't tiny little hills. Not as bad as some mountains we'd seen, but still plenty bad. I did 8 miles into Stratton, where I had a bit of luck. Peppa's dad, who I hadn't met, was at the trailhead and gave me a ride into town. I got myself a room in the White Wolf, ate a Wolfburger (trail legend), took a shower and did laundry, and am currently feeling sort of human. 

Couldn't find any sewing shops or outfitters, so my shorts are going to stay ripped. Unpleasant for anyone walking behind me, I imagine. Also got some bad news, Hard-to-Kill is getting off the trail. I guess Maine has been rough on him, too.   He made it to Andover, which is a pretty impressive feat, anyway you look at it. I know a lot of people just skipped the next section of Maine by yellow blazing. It's been a demoralizing beast. 

If I didn't have a schedule, I'd be enjoying Maine. Some days. Other days, it's just "I can't wait to get this over." Almost there. There have been some great moments, they're just a little overshadowed right now by the less great ones. Really hoping I'm recovered by tomorrow, as I don't have time for any sort of recovery. 

The Mahoosuc Notch. Ate my water bottle. It was this tough the whole way. 

All you can eat and drink pizza night at the Little Red Hen. Rugby and Big Tex suitably stoic for Brits. 

Caribou's sketch of me. I look Greek. 

Yep. Weather's great in ME. 

This was possibly the best view of the whole trip. Wish the photo did it justice. Of course, a whole lot of people drove there. 

Look who I ran into in Rangely!

Tatiana and Lyons. 

When I thought I was hungry. 

When I thought I was dying.