4- State Challenge

I woke up in the backseat of my Jeep Gladiator feeling like someone was hammering nails under my right kneecap. I realized I was using my first aid kit and an empty ruck as a pillow, so I reached into the kit and grabbed some Ibuprofen. I realized they were liquid gels and three of them were stuck together.

I had no energy to separate them, so I figured three won’t kill me, and I popped them into my mouth, grabbed a swig of Gatorade and laid back down.

I could feel them stuck to the back of my throat. I already put the Gatorade back into the front seat cupholder. I didn’t want to sit back up.

I stretched my leg out over the passenger seat headrest and tried to go back to sleep.

It didn’t work. Between the knee pain and having three liquid gels glued to my esophagus, I figured 10 minutes was enough sleep and I’ll start my drive back home again.

This is how my 4-State Challenge adventure weekend ended. The rest was just as miserable.

I’m no stranger to physically and mentally challenging 24-hour events. I’m no stranger to long miles or monotony. So why did I hate this event so much?

I'll give you a hint. It rhymes with cocks.

Let’s start from the beginning.

I’ve been rucking with Randall for over six years now. I couldn’t even put a guess as to how many miles we have walked together. For years, he has been casually talking about completing this thing called “The 4-State Challenge.” Finally, this year, he was going to do it. Take a 45ish mile hike on the Appalachian Trail that steps foot into four states, PA, MD, WV, and VA, within 24 hours.

When he mentioned it again earlier this year he was talking like this was something he was going to take on alone. I volunteered to join him because A. that sounds like a dangerous endeavor to take on by yourself and B. It sounded like fun.

“A” was 100% correct. “B” was anything but true.

Usually, I’m a planner, but I had plenty of other things going on to be paying attention to, so I relinquished my control. I read a few reviews on AllTrails, but that was about it. One just said, “I want to die.” I scoffed at that person, who was so obviously unprepared and inexperienced. I should have paid more attention to this brief, but informative synopsis of the challenge.

We decided to go SOBO, starting at Pen Mar Park and ending just past Harper’s Ferry, WV. Most reviews suggest going this route because of the challenging terrain in the north. Again, I let Randall make all these decisions, but looking back knowing what we do now, I’d choose the same direction.

To get to the PA/MD border, you have to hike a quick 0.4 miles to a sign right across some train tracks. It had a little mailbox next to it. We didn’t look inside, but maybe we should have. Maybe it had a warning to just stay where we were.

We started our journey at 5:45pm. We wanted to start in the daylight, but being that it was July, we figured getting a bunch of miles in at night would be in our favor. The temps have been high 90s with real feels in the 100s thanks to the humidity, but, while the humidity was still there, we were lucky to have temps in the 80s and some cloud coverage on Saturday.

We started off in good spirits, quickly reaching a section of rocks. There was no distinct path, but we could see the trail blazes. We followed them up a steeper hill. We reached the top around mile 2.

I’m no stranger to hills. I didn’t mind it. I’m happy we were going this direction, because I would have hated to descend that at the end of the challenge if we were going NOBO.

We find a little lookout. Since we know we are going to miss most of them during the night, we take advantage to get a quick peek at the view before continuing.

I know what’s coming next, though. What goes up, must come down.

I don’t even have my trekking poles out yet. I was slow but made it down the bottom of a much longer hill.

It’s starting to get dark, but I get a small glimpse of the sky during the sunset. The majority of the sunset was covered by trees. We cross a road and see a stream crossing. I get out my trekking poles and we continue as the sun fully sets.

I’m not afraid of the dark, but it’s definitely harder to pay attention to your surroundings, especially when you are looking down at the ground the whole time. We hear noises, some of them stranger than others. Randall tells me to check my six (look behind me) every now and then for safety. I kindly tell him that I am unable to do so unless I come to a full stop. Otherwise, I will 100% trip and fall. He takes it upon himself to ensure our safety. Fortunately, the only creepy glowing eyes we saw so far were from deer. 

We keep chipping away through the night. We are going MUCH slower than anticipated. While some sections of rock have less rocks than others, there’s still rocks everywhere, and in the darkness, if you aren’t paying attention, that one little rock or root can take you out.

Well, that almost happened. There was a root that was sticking up and I didn’t see it. I rolled my ankle, but thankfully for my supportive shoes, nothing was sprained. I knew I’d have to be especially vigilant the rest of the night.

Due my congenitally deformed dislocating knee, I’m used to looking down on hikes to make sure I don’t misstep, but this terrain required my constant undivided attention.

I knew the Appalachian Trail was pretty rocky, but I figured there was no way that the entire 4-State Challenge would be THIS bad.

I was waiting for it to improve.

I knew our pace wasn't great, but when Randall pointed out a big spider in the middle of creating its web, I had to stop to appreciate the artwork for a bit. 

We enter a field and it's almost a full moon. I pause and make Randall model for me. He returns the favor. Besides our brief photoshoot pause, we take advantage of the flat, clear path and pick up speed.

 

We reach mile 11 around 11pm and take a short break where a sign told us there was a spring. It must have been just as dry of a summer here as it has been in Pittsburgh, because there was only a few inches of dirty, muddy water. We weren’t super low on water yet, so it wasn’t a big deal.

We check some maps and move on. Right before we are about to cross a road we found some jugs of water near a sign on the trail that said, “water for hikers.” Randall asked me if I trusted it. I said yes, as a reached for a jug and filled up my bladder. If someone was going to poison me, wouldn’t they at least want to watch the aftereffects? He stuck to what was already in his bladder and Nalgene…

Thank you to whoever left that water. You did not poison me.

We cross a street and start heading back up another rocky hill. We see three headlamps in the distance. They reach their way to us and they ask us how close they are.

How close to what?

We discover they are doing the 4-State Challenge as well, but they are going NOBO. They started with seven people but lost four along the way. They are younger, and don’t look like very prepared/experienced hikers, but hey, they made it over 30 miles so far.

They have 6 hours to finish the 11 miles back to Pen Mar Park. We do give a proper warning that it is very rocky with some decent hills. They groan and warn us that our trip in the opposite direction is very rocky as well.

We groan.

We wish them safe travels and continue up the hill. They were right. It was rocky, but not AS rocky as where we came from.

(This is part of the "not as rocky")

We reach mile 15 around 1:30am. We each brought a 5-hour energy, so we cheersed during a brief break and moved on.

The rocks were definitely not as dense. You still have to pay attention to where you’re stepping, but with the right steps, I was able to take full strides.

We try to make up some time.

While we are "speeding" along Randall stops all of a sudden. I ask what's going on and he says, "Look up there. Is that a porcupine?!"

I look ahead and see nothing except a big log with a rotten center. I asked him if that's what he's referring to. 

He confirms it is...

I wish I took a picture of this "porcupine."

He did, however, spot a real tiny snake, so I'll give him credit for that.

We start to feel little rain drops. It feels pretty good. Then it starts pouring. Even through the dense canopy of trees, we are getting soaked. We pause for a moment to put on our rain covers for our backpacks and continue on.

As soon as we step back onto the trail we see a little frog.

Aww! So cute.

I stop to take a photo and video.

We walk a few more yards and there’s another frog. I take another photo and video.

Moving on…another frog, and another, and another.

Dozens more, blending in with the leaves, rocks, and roots of the trail. They are enjoying the rain.

As cute as they are, we are now tasked with the challenge of not stepping on them. This adds a new mentally draining task to my already depleting brain.

Our pace slows again.

We reach the bridge that crosses over 1-70 around mile 19. It seems like a milestone. Maybe it’s better on this side of the interstate? 

Right after we crossed the bridge, we see a deer like 20' away. We expect it to run off, but no. It just stayed there chilling, muching on some greens while we stared and took pics and videos. Reminds me of the city deer at home.

We see a sign for the original Washington Monument. We have to make a decision. Do we do the extra distance to get to it or just continue on. 

I say, "when's the next time we are going to be out this way?"

Randall agrees, so off we go.

It was cool to see. 

We get back on the AT and pass through a little park.

At this time, we are completely depleted. We ate some pizza around 4:30pm, but since then we’ve only had a few snacks. We both have stayed hydrated, so that is a positive.

We have about 5 miles to the bigger, nicer shelter area that has running water. We should reach it around our 12-hour mark as long as we keep the pace we are currently going (about 30 minute miles).

We reach it at exactly 6am. We already planned out our course of action. Fill water, make coffee, boil water for a dehydrated meal, eat. Move out.

We end up staying for an hour. It goes by quickly and it really didn’t feel like we squandered time at all. We had to walk 100 yards to get the water and wait to boil a few rounds of it in my JetBoil MiniMo. We did decide that 300mg of caffeine was not enough, so while our food was rehydrating, we added another 300mg into our systems.

Before we knew it, it was after 7am, so we moved out.

The sun came up right as we were heading into the shelter area, so it was relieving to leave in full daylight. Now that we can better see where we are going, we can enjoy more of the beauty of the Appalachian Trail…or so we thought…

I start to feel what I thought was a hot spot on the ball of my right foot as soon as we start moving again. I tell Randall that I’ll wait until the next shelter area about 1.5 miles away to address it.

He tells me to do it now, which is the more responsible choice.

I’ve had blisters there before, so I put a blister pad on and we move out. We have more hills to do, about 2 miles up with 700’ elevation. Not that bad in my world, but guess what’s not in my world?

A shit-ton of rocks.

It wasn’t as bad as the first hill we did, but again, still required full concentration from this handicapped girl.

There is no looking up and soaking in the beauty of the AT when you are staring at the ground the whole time, calculating your next move.

We find another lookout and lay down for a brief moment. The weather is literally the only thing that we appreciated. Oh, and our trekking poles. They were most definitely coming in handy.

We try to keep breaks short, as we start to realize we aren’t going to have the large buffer of time to complete this challenge like we thought. Initially, we saw the average time to complete this challenge was around 19 hours. We are pretty average people, so that originally seemed like a logical time for us.

Guess what? We discovered we are below average people. Way below average.

We keep trucking along. While we keep conversation at times, most of it is spent paying attention to where we are walking. I let Randall lead most of the time, so I can see where he steps. If it looks like he did it with ease, I go the same way. If he loses his balance, I choose a different direction.

He is very patient with my lack of speed, especially on the downhills. I already felt bad that I basically invited myself on this adventure, and now I’m the asshole holding him back.

He does reveal to me that he is not having a pleasant time on this terrain either, so that was relieving.

Miles 26-34 are a little blurry. Just a lot of hiking and a lot of rocks…and then.

Zap.

I get a sharp jolt of pain in my back. It comes quick and leaves just as quickly. 

Ugh. I really need another thing to be hurting on me. 

My back has given me issues since a Heavy Drop Training Throwdown event in May. If you don't know what that is, just Google it. 

I've been seeing my cousin, a chiropractor, for about a month now and it seemed for be getting better...until now. 

I decide to add back stretches to my priorities of work for our next break. The list of priorities was adding up.

It’s funny because I’m also seeing him for neck issues. My x-ray showed that I’m lacking cervical lordosis, a common thing amongst cell phone users who look down often. Can’t wait to tell him I looked down at the ground for literally a day straight while trying not to trip on rocks.

Anyway, back to the miles…

Randall points out an overlook just up ahead. I glance up, excited to see something new. 

It's a road. On a hill. Just a road on a hill. 

He was hallucinating again...

Still, a road is a pleasant change at this point.

I know we were planning on breaking at 36, but in this opening we saw actual grass a little bit before mile 34.

Like a field of grass. Like NO rocks.

It was an unbelievable sight.

We take advantage of it and lay down for a little under a tree.

I take my shoes and socks off to let my feet breathe. They are on fire. No blisters, but just pain from all the little awkward steps on the rocks.

I look down at my watch and realize almost 10 minutes went by. Longer than we planned on resting. I look over and Randall is asleep.

I wake him up as I put my shoes and socks back on.

We move out. We see a sign that says 6 miles to the Weverton Cliffs. My watch is currently at 34 miles, so that’s easy math, even for someone whose brain isn’t working on all cylinders. We know after that, we have a steep downhill and then 3 flat miles on the C&O canal, through the town of Harper’s Ferry, and then one more rocky uphill to the WV/VA border.

In that moment, it feels like we are on the home stretch, despite still having miles in the double digits to complete.

We relish in the glory of having this adventure be over “soon” and then I scream, “FUCK!!!!”

The outside of my ankle immediately starts burning. Something bit me. I swat down at my sock and don’t see anything, but there’s a searing, burning pain. I pull my sock down, and I see a little red dot with some blood coming out.

I’m not a contortionist, so I ask Randall to look. There’s no stinger. He just squeezes some blood out.

We assume an ant or spider went in my sock when I took them off to rest under the tree.

I grab a Combat Wipe out of Randall’s ruck and wipe it off. It feels much better a few minutes later.

We continue our trek up, you guessed it…a rocky hill. This whole stretch is mostly gradual grades up and down with plenty of flat (but still rocky) areas.

We do our best to pick up speed while we can. We decide no rest breaks until we get to the C&O canal. After doing some low-level math, which seemed extremely complex at the time, we realize we really are going to be cutting it close to finishing under 24 hours, especially if anything unexpected occurs.

We have renewed energy, though…or at least I do. Now this is an actual challenge. When we started out, we took it for granted. We thought we’d have this cushy, comfortable finish, maybe grab something to eat and relax before our drive home with plenty of daylight to burn.

Wrong.

Now we were tracking the pace of each mile, figuring we needed all the time to spare to go up this daunting hill at the end that everyone keeps warning us about.

I’m motivated. I do better under pressure.

The next animal spotting was a turtle. I like turtles. (To be said in that voice)

I ccan't pass an animal without taking a photo or video, so Randall patiently waits while I document our finding.

While it’s still incredibly rocky, there are some areas with stretches where you can take that full stride, and I take advantage. We clock in some of our fastest miles in this 6-mile stretch.

Randall turns to ask me, “if we know we aren’t going to finish under 24 hours, do you still want to go to the WV/VA border?”

I don’t hesitate to say, “absolutely.”

He replied, “I figured that was your answer, but I wanted to check.”

But I’m not worried too much about that. Knowing we have at least three miles of flat ground to give us a bigger buffer for the hill, we should have this in the bag as long as we don’t take a wrong turn or something…

My watch hits 40 miles. 6 miles from that sign.

We should be at the cliffs. We keep following the trail down a steeper hill and see more of a touristy crowd. These people obviously haven’t put in too many miles.

We look up and notice blue trail blazes.

But the AT blazes are white…

Ugh.

It’s ok, we didn’t go too far. We speed back up the hill as fast as our legs will take us and see that there is a sign that says “AT South” and points to the left. We missed the turn. We went on the trail that led to the cliffs, which was off the AT.

We head back on the AT only to be met with our steepest decline yet. We knew on the map it must be steep due to the switchbacks, and it did not disappoint.

I take my time. Now is not the time to fall down a steep cliff. It’s only 0.8mi  to the bottom, but it felt like forever. A cute German Sheperd passed us. That was enough to brighten my day.

We finally get to the bottom and check the map.

The start of the C&O canal is a bit further down the trail, so we continue on, relieved to be nearing flat, stable terrain. 

We find the towpath and borrow a bench with a biker and quickly attend to our needs before making our final push. 

I change my socks one more time, check my water, and drink my other 5-hour energy.

We start moving at about an 18-minute mile pace. 

While the legs were moving fine, and we knew we wanted to take advantage of the flat trail, my feet were absolutely burning. 

At this point, it is what it is. It's just pain. Walking slower and adding time to being on my feet isn't going to improve the situation, so we keep on at that pace.

 

 

Along the way, I stare out into the Potomac watching people leisurely raft down the river. 

 

Those sons of bitches. How dare they look so relaxed.

We near a bridge and bust through some site-seeing pedestrians who are totally oblivious to our important mission.

 

While there's 100% less rocky terrain in town, the addition of the general public into our challenge annoys both me and Randall.

 

The trail takes us up through some historic parts of the town. We then go along the side of a hill with some steep drop offs and, yup, uneven rocks.

 

We come to a bridge that crosses the Shenandoah River. We know we are getting close to our final push uphill. The one that everyone that we cross warns us about. 

 

We enter the woods again and see some stairs. We start our last ascent. 

 

We didn't know what to expect based on the warnings. We both had worst-case scenario in mind of super steep elevation with nothing but rocks. 

We were pleasantly surprised to find a fairly standard hill when you really get down to it. 

Sure it was long and had uneven parts, but we were mentally prepared for much worse. 

I take this time to apologize to Randall for basically inviting myself on this adventure. Sure, I can do the miles and elevation, but this terrain is absolutely no place for someone with a dislocating knee. 

I said, "If I knew it was like this, I wouldn't have come."

He assures me that if HE knew it was like this. He wouldn't be here either. 

That makes me feel a little better.

I originally dropped a pin on Google Maps where I saw the AT cross into VA. If the GPS was accurate, then we should hit it when my watch reached 47.2 miles.

That distance came and went. It has to be close, though...

We keep our eyes peeled on the trees ahead for a sign, no longer caring about all the missteps we are taking. Apparently now we decide is a great time to sacrifice falling on your face just so you can be the first to see the end point...

We keep going over a quarter mile and see nothing. 

I check the AllTrails description, which mentions looking for a sign that says you are entering, or in this case, leaving Harper's Ferry.

We finally find the sign. We must be close!

We keep going and going. 

Did we miss it? Does it not exist? 

No way they'd have this challenge and not have a sign indicating where the border is. 

I look again at AllTrails and click the actual map. I see the green line keeps going a bit farther than what Google is telling us. 

We keep going to the end of the green line and there it is, on the left on the back of a tree, a small sign that simply says, "WV/VA."

WE DID IT!!

0.8 miles after we thought we'd be done, but we did it!

We take some brief celebratory photos and then have a seat. I "accidentally" hit Randall in the head with my pole while I was trying to point to the sign...

I take my shoes and socks off and elevate them on a large log.

I get a minute or so of peace, until a bee starts buzzing around my feet, continually landing on them. I really don't want to get stung again.

I try to spray some bug spray.

Dammit. I'm out.

I put my socks back on, and while doing so, an ant crawls up my shorts and bites my crotch. 

I'M OVER THIS.

I get up and indicate to Randall, who is trying to have a nice snooze, that we need to get out of here. NOW.

So…this is the biggest joke of the entire experience...

When you go SOBO, although I'd definitely agree that the terrain is in your favor ending, when you are done, you are literally in the middle of the woods. 

So, sure, congrats, you finished the challenge. Whoopdee-fucking-do.

Now you need to hike multiple miles to get back to civilization.

We had two choices. Go back the way we came, which would be primary fairly steep downhill or we could continue hiking south to a parking lot, request an Uber, and pray to the ride-sharing gods that Ubers exist out here. (I did check general availability while laying down and it kept saying attempting to locate driver or something like that)

Randall voted the flat, Uber way. While I was worried about the possible lack of Ubers, I really didn't want to go downhill, and I also just didn't want to think anymore. I just wanted out of there.

So the flat, Uber way we went. 

The map said 3.1 miles to the parking lot. Just a 5k.

Guess what the terrain was like? ALL ROCKS.

Ok, that's an unfair exaggeration. The last 0.25 miles of the 3.30 it ended up being wasn't completely rocky...just partially...oh, but full of horse manure. Typically, I wouldn't care, but I already smelled bad enough. I didn't want to drag literal horse shit into this Uber drivers vehicle.

I was completely miserable at this point. I haven't experienced that much joint pain in a long, long time. My knee was searing. My ankles and feet were burning, my back was giving me electric shocks every once in a while. I was trying to move as fast as I could, but I simply couldn't sustain any respectable pace due to the terrain.

I tried to go off trail for a bit because it literally looked like whoever designed the trail said, "Look at this path of rocks! This is going to be the way people need to walk. Not through these trees with nice, packed dirt and leaves. THROUGH THE ROCKS THEY GO!"

I wanted to sit down and put my feet up so badly, but I knew I had to keep going to get out of there. Breaks would just prolong me getting back to my Jeep where my cooler full of icy beverages was waiting. 

That kept me motivated. A nice cold drink.

I sat down on a log to check the Uber app at 2.6 miles. I wasn't about to try to use my phone while walking on this shit.

I placed a pin at the parking lot that isn't even recognized on Uber's map.

Connecting...

 

Locating a driver...

 

...

 

...

 

Your ride will arrive in 22 minutes. 

Yes!!!!

We got someone and it was basically perfect timing. 

My spirits were rejuvenated, and we set off to the parking lot. 

The trail gradually got less rocky.

This was finally almost over! 

My watch hits 3.1. We should be at the parking lot. 

I look on Google Maps. It's still 0.2 miles away. 

My brain translates this into 0.02 miles away. 

Ok, I'm at 3.12. WHERE IS THE LOT????

I realize I'm a moron and keep going. 

I can hear cars!

I see cars!

I see a parking lot and there is a log to sit on!

I plop myself down and check the Uber app.

6 minutes away. 

We take a few ending photos and talk about which cold beverage we are going to consume when we get back to my Jeep. I added an assortment because I wasn’t sure what I’d be craving. I just knew I wanted it to be cold.

Our driver picks us up. We thank her profusely and apologize for our smell. We assure her we will give her a large tip. She enjoys hearing about our 50+ mile adventure and tells us we should write a book about it. 

Well, I'll write a blog post that like six people will read instead. 

We get back to my Jeep at Harper's Ferry Historical Park. 

I finally get to drink a cold Gatorade, Fit Aid, Pepsi, chocolate milk, or Monster. Which cold drink do I want to consume?

Randall grabs one first. 

He tells me they aren't cold. 

Of course. Of. Fucking. Course. 

I didn't bring my large Rtic cooler because I thought that would have been excessive for two people, but apparently a smaller Coleman cooler can't keep ice for 26 hours in a shady parking lot.

Par for the course. 

I grab a Gatorade, and we decide to drive to Sheetz to get some quick food and drinks that are actually cold. 

I have to drive Randall 50 minutes back to the start. Our spirits improve now that we are sitting comfortably. We express our mutual disgust for this whole experience. 

I start my journey back home, avoiding the construction-riddled, 18-wheeler-filled turnpike.

I break at a rest stop and get no sleep. I think my Monster energy drink finally kicked in.

I decide to get back on the road, grabbing a Coke at a Sheetz before I go.

I make it an hour before pulling over at the Pilot station and we all know how that turned out…

I finally make it home, shower, and crawl into bed for some dog cuddles.

I started writing this the next morning. I’m finishing it Monday evening.

I was back at work today only to find that my ankle is red and swollen. I went to Employee Health in our hospital to find I now have cellulitis from the bug bite.

That seems about the most appropriate ending to this experience.

To conclude, I'm honestly glad I'm delusional to the point where I think I can breeze through real, difficult physical challenges without even giving the thought of specifically training for or even appropriately researching them. I used to be afraid to do anything physically challenging.

A girl with a dislocating knee had ZERO business attempting that, and I did it.

Now that I’m sitting comfortably on my couch, I’d like to thank Randall for letting me join on this horrible experience. We both agreed to never do it again.

I know this blog is lacking in photos, which I'm known for taking, but breaking out my phone was just not in the cards most of the time with both hands on my trekking poles staring intently at the ground worrying about our pace. You didn't miss much. They would have all been photos of rocks...