Section 2 really did a number on my mental state—out on the trail and in all the things I feel and “think.” I came home Sunday feeling worn out, lonely, incapable, self-doubting, and full of redirection. I never wanted to completely stop the Sheltowee Trace hike, just approach it differently. Well, welcome to a little glimpse of how my brain works: 7 days later I’m still fully committed to completing this hike with the STA Hiker Challenge, but the negative self-talk during challenge weekends? That stops now.

After a couple of tear-filled, confusing, angry, pity-party days, I told myself, “Get back to why you started this.” Seven words that hit hard and repeated in my head just as I saw a fellow challenge participant offering a shuttle to a couple hikers coming up Friday the 20th. Without overthinking (which is not my typical mode), I immediately messaged asking if I could hop a ride to where I left off on Section 1.

Sometimes my quick, gut decisions are the truest reflection of what I actually want and need. I’m learning to listen to those instincts more—they keep me from hours of exhausting overthinking and the spiral of self-doubt that usually follows.

I needed to get back to the trail. I needed to figure out why I couldn’t keep food down—seriously, when it takes you two hours to choke down a Barebells protein bar, something’s gotta give.

Even after committing, I found myself watching the weather, making excuses (sore, tired, feet hurt—you name it), and nearly talking myself out of going. When the alarm went off Friday morning, I did what any self-sabotaging hiker would do—I goofed around long enough to nearly be late and left home without my sunglasses, on the first hike I’ve actually needed them. Classic me. But honestly, just standing up for myself—to myself—was a win. That alone told me the day’s only direction was up.

Leann met the three of us in Morehead, and we loaded up for the 25-minute ride to our drop-off. New trail friends Sarah and Kate (I’m 100 percent sure that’s their names—ha!) and I started back on the Sheltowee. I was nervous, but the warmth of the sun compared to last time’s freezing temps felt like a big universe hug. And just 30 seconds in, we were crossing the bouncy questionable swinging bridge over Holly Fork—a fantastic way to shake out those early jitters.

Once I got back among the trees, my thoughts went quiet. The crunch of leaves, the wind on my face, and the smell of the woods—every single time, nature quiets my mind like nothing else.

After warming up and finding my stride, we made it over I-64 and onto the Forest Service Road—about seven miles of monotony ahead. I’d started this challenge swearing off music and audiobooks during the hike, wanting to stay fully connected. But after the mental battles of recent, I decided to test things out: hiking playlist? On. Food every hour no matter what? Yes. Drink my fluids? Absolutely.

Let me tell you—those seven miles flew by. I was hiking close to 4 mph (or “fast walking” if we’re being honest). I felt great. Energized. For the first time on the trail, I was 100% content… maybe even a little giddy.

Reaching campus meant more than I expected. I pushed hard all day, only stopping for quick breaks, and suddenly realized—I am capable. I actually laughed to myself and then said it out loud so I could hear it: “You did this. You walked this. You graduated from here. You, Steph, you.”

For reasons I can’t explain, I’ve never really loved myself. I wish I knew why. But in that moment, I did. And that’s something I’ll hold on to. I’ve had more of those moments in the past year, and though it’s never been easy and I’ll likely be in therapy for life, I now know I can love myself. Some days I won’t. But the proof is there—I’m capable of it.

Sitting on that bench at Eagle Lake, changing out insoles (because I’m always testing stuff), a thought hit me so hard it took my breath away. I felt enormous gratitude that on that July afternoon a few years ago, I did not pull the trigger. For the first time, I felt deeply thankful that I chose to keep living.

I stood up, put on my shoes, and said to myself—I’m not giving up on this hike. I’m stronger than I tell myself. I’ve got this. It won’t always be perfect, or easy, or even fun, but I have the strength and mental tools to keep going.

The hike itself was invigorating, grounding, and a fantastic use of a PTO day. The weather was nearly perfect, except for the wind—up on those ridges, I half-expected Toto in his basket to blow by.

I wandered over toward my college dorm. Shoutout to the college kid I asked to take my photo. “I went to school here forever ago and I’m hiking the Sheltowee Trace,” I excitedly explained. He just looked at me and asked, “So… you just want a pic?” Yep. Thanks, kid.

I can only imagine his retelling later: “Some older lady came rambling about a trail and said she went to college in the 1900s…” (For the record, he’s right—47 probably is ancient in college years 😂.)

Walking through downtown, I passed places from my Morehead days—the sorority house I DJ’d my one and only party, La Finca’s karaoke nights, movies at the old theater (now a cozy bookstore and coffee shop). Downtown’s changed a lot—more vibrant, somehow even more inviting. I told Amy we need to come back to wander and grab a burger at Fat Patty’s.

I bought a cool hat at a shop and had great little convos with the student cashier and a couple of women outside. One told me she loved my “vibe,” and I melted. For so long, I’ve poured my all into others—and I still will, to a point—but now I’m finally giving some of that to myself. And that feels really beautiful.

Section 1.5 was impactful, grounding, and eye-opening. It showed me what my heart already knew: I am capable. I am worthy.

Live a great story, folks—we only get one.

And I can’t end without a huge shoutout to my wife, Amy, for her endless love and support. Thank you for always entertaining my wild ideas and spontaneous adventures. You’re my steady through every climb and valley. ❤️