A Trip I Did Not Take

Right now, I’m supposed to be driving seven hours through the crisp, cool air and changing leaves of fall, from the San Juan Mountains, across Bears Ears National Monument, to Grand Staircase-Escalante. I’d be meeting a group of strangers connected by Carrot Quinn, who would be guiding us on a five-day backpacking trip through the canyons of Death Hollow.

But I’m not driving out there. I’m sitting in my kitchen, processing the decision I just made not to go.

I signed up for this trip back in May, when I was recovering from my first round of PRP injections and feeling optimistic about what might be possible for my recovery. I thought I would be back to riding in June, then July, then maybe August. But every time I tried, the nerves through my sit bones and glutes would flare, followed by an aching in my hips that could make sitting uncomfortable for weeks.

Three weeks ago, I rode around the block and experienced another familiar pain: a sharp, 10/10 pain around L5/S1.

When people ask me about my back these days, I tell them I’ve reached a plateau in my recovery.

While I haven’t been riding my bike, I have been doing a lot of hiking and swimming, both of which I’ve really been enjoying. I’ve hiked so many new trails, and I’m happy to say it’s been so much more fun than riding my bike or bikepacking sounds to me right now.

I’m also part of a motley crew of friends and one dog called “Bravo’s Swim Club.” We squeeze ourselves into neoprene and swim across our local lake while throwing a stick ahead of us to keep Bravo swimming.

Life has actually been pretty dang good.

I even signed up for three backpacking trips this summer and fall because I was optimistic that if I couldn’t bikepack, maybe I could backpack. I got sick and missed the first trip. I did the U.S. Classic in July, but with an unloaded pack. And for the last several weeks, I’ve been preparing for this trip to Utah.

I’ve been hiking longer miles and gradually introducing more weight. I’ve also been incredibly motivated to make this trip happen because I was treating it like a vacation. I’ve been working really hard on Ruta del Jefe for the past two months, and this was going to be my opportunity to unplug and recharge in a beautiful place with great people at literally the perfect time of year. The weather is perfect.

My back was already angry yesterday. I can’t tell you exactly why, and that’s just how it is sometimes.

But I still needed to test my pack with five days of food. I had tested it several times over the past couple of weeks, but never with all my food, let alone the four liters of water I would sometimes need to carry.

I had meticulously analyzed every item I was bringing, counting grams and cutting weight anywhere I could. Adam has been aghast at how much of a weight weenie I became.

The hike with the loaded pack didn’t necessarily feel good or bad. But afterward, my back was more pissed.

I ended the day with an ice pack beneath my back, a heating pad over my hips, and a prescription anti-inflammatory. I was still optimistic I would wake up this morning feeling better because, lately, that's been the pattern.

But I could feel the anxiety creeping in, so I decided I needed something more objective to help me make the call in the morning.

Green light: no pain.

Yellow light: nerve pain in my hips, glutes, or down my leg.

Red light: nerve pain combined with the sharp L5/S1 pain I often experience at the end of a bad day.

When I first woke up this morning, I thought I was in the clear. I felt considerably better than I had the night before. Then I started moving around, making the bed and packing a few final things.

I could feel it.

First came the familiar aching nerve pain in my hips and glutes. I knew I needed to hit pause.

I told Adam what I was experiencing, and we agreed I should call Carrot and let her know I was getting a yellow light.

Carrot was incredibly understanding and supportive of whatever felt right for me. She shared potential bailout routes and talked me through the trip. Other than the physical demand of carrying a pack through thick sand, slickrock, and uneven canyon terrain, the hiking itself would be relatively chill.

But that’s just it.

My fitness can handle this hike. My mind can handle this hike. Both are craving this hike and this experience.

But right now, my back seems to barely tolerate the load of day-to-day life, let alone a 28-pound backpack for five days.

It’s not the decision I wanted to make, but it was the decision I needed to make.

And it’s another reminder of the distance that sometimes exists between the life I want to be living and what my body can handle right now.

For the most part, I think I’ve been relatively at peace with that. I’ve found other things I love. I’ve spent more time on foot, discovered new trails, swum across lakes with my friends, and built a life that still feels full and fun even without the bike.

But it’s different when I come up against the goals and dreams I still have. When there’s something I want so badly to do and I can’t do it because of an injury I still don’t fully understand, despite trying so many different things to heal over the past 11 months, it’s just hard.

I share all of this knowing there are so many people quietly living with pain like this every single day, sometimes for years. I never really understood what that was like until it happened to me.

I know there’s a glimmer of progress in listening to my body and making the healthy decision instead of the decision I wanted to make.

But this one hurt, y’all.