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Saturday morning, 3:32 a.m. I shot up from the guest bed faster than I could shut “Best Day of My Life” off blaring as my alarm tone — my wife, Amy, was in the other room battling a bug. This was it. The big day I’d been anxiously counting down to: the start of my Sheltowee Trace adventure.

The two-hour drive to Morehead was pure hype — singing, dancing, all the blood-pumping stuff to shake off nerves and wake up my body. Though, to be clear, “warm up” didn’t make the list. I drove in nothing but my base layer and hiking pants — no jacket, no hat, no regrets. Heated seats are modern miracles, and I wasn’t about to roll up to the trail drenched in sweat before even stepping out of the car.

I tossed my drop bucket into the U-Haul (joining about 70 other hikers for the weekend) and boarded the 6:30 a.m. shuttle. The 20-minute ride to the Northern Terminus was filled with that perfect mix of excitement and mutual “what exactly have we all signed up for?” energy. Once we arrived, packs were reunited with their owners, group photos were taken, and reality set in — time to walk.

I was the caboose of the crew at first, taking my time adjusting my pack when a kind couple snapped my photo. We stuck together for a bit — until I decided to attack the first incline like it had insulted my momma. Halfway up, heart rate skyrocketing, I was dry-heaving and questioning every life decision that led to that moment. The nerves? Gone. Reality check? Fully delivered. After stripping a layer and slowing down, I found my rhythm again.

Around mile four, nature called. And ladies — this is where my gear MVP made its debut. The pee funnel. Life changing. I will never squat in the woods again. That thing is freedom from hurting knees and cold bums.

My hiking poles and I, however, were less in sync. I’ve used them before, but not consistently or often. Sometimes they made me feel like a mountain goat — other times I wanted to launch them off a ridge. So, I’ve challenged myself to keep using them until our relationship improves (or one of us doesn’t make it).

The boots? Perfection. My insoles? Heavenly. I packed extras because my feet are tender divas, but they held strong — twelve miles later, not a single complaint.

The trail itself was peaceful and challenging in the best ways, with perfect winter weather. The Cave Run STA Chapter even surprised us with warm chili — true trail magic. Pro tip: when your toes are numb and your energy’s low, a bowl of chili feels like Michelin-star dining.

My cold-weather setup worked beautifully, though: a 20° sleeping bag, liner, and insulated pad kept me cozy in 20-21 degree temps. Just a base layer, wool socks, and down booties were all I needed. The fear of freezing to death? Officially over.

Next trip, I’m ditching my stove. If it’s below 30°F at night, forget cooking — PB&Js will do just fine. Also leaving behind the “just in case” quilt that never saw daylight. My overpacking tendencies got called out, and I’m grateful for the lesson.

Unfortunately, my stomach had other plans early Sunday morning, and I had to head home early. Disappointment hit hard. The old version of me might’ve labeled the weekend a failure. But I’ve put in a lot of work on giving myself grace — and I reminded myself this journey isn’t just about hiking miles. It’s about learning, adjusting, and laughing when the trail puts you in your place.

So yes, the Sheltowee sat me down this weekend. Hard. But I think that’s part of the deal. The trail humbles you first — and then, step by step, it teaches you how to stand back up again.

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