Rewiring Experiences: Thoughts from a Hungry Thru-Hiker

At the time I am writing this, I am camped on the side of Mt. Mitchell, listening to the pitter-patter of bugs ricocheting between the layers of my tent and its rain fly, to the concert of birds chirping with one another as they perch on tree branches swaying in a light breeze, and to the muffled roar of a plane flying far above me. Oh, and what must be – what I reassure myself can only be – a junco bird rustling around in the bush beside me. It’s not a bear. Can’t be. Not even going to go there…

At the time I am writing this, I am 323.7 miles into the Mountains-to-Sea Trail, a 1000+ mile long journey across North Carolina that I am taking on foot, bike, and kayak as a way to say goodbye to my home state before permanently moving to India this December.

And I am hungry.

If I could eat my entire food sack at this moment, I would, but I am not getting a resupply for another three days, and so I pace myself. I eat the equivalent of two breakfasts each day. I snack on three energy bars, minimum, as I hike, supplemented by random bags of trail mix, peanut butter pretzels, dried fruit, and whatever else I can get my hands on. At dinnertime, I am starting to routinely chow down on cookies as appetizers and second desserts. I have never had to eat this much in my life, day in and day out, to stay full. And I’m happy to say that it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

Eating food – eating carbs, sugars, proteins, fats, the whole shebang – is powering me through 20-mile days of hiking on steep, rocky, rooty terrain. Food is what gets me from the bottom of the mountain to the top. It’s what gets me the last ten miles into camp when I’m starting to feel a new blister coming on and my shoulders are feeling sore and my calves are starting to scream. Just two weeks ago, I squatted down on the side of a backroad and devoured a candy bar in no more than five minutes, max – something I haven’t done in years – and after relishing that moment, I popped back up again with replenished energy, ready for the last six miles. I used to see candy bars as the difference between life and death, but right now, I see them as the difference between death and life.

I have worked at a bed & breakfast on the Appalachian Trail, and I have heard hikers talk about wanting calorie-dense food frequently, but only now can I empathize with them fully. Calories used to scare me. Now they seduce me. Now I am literally dreaming about random food cravings – most recently, any tropical punch flavored drink. Kool-Aid, Powerade, Gatorade – they will all work, so long as it is that bright, synthetic red that cannot possibly be naturally derived. I’m grateful for this experience of truly loving and valuing food again, for more clearly seeing how putting food into my body translates into fulfilling the goals and dreams I have set for myself.

This adventure has reinforced to me the fact that our relationships with food can be altered by our experiences, which grant us new perspectives. And if this is true, then what are we doing sitting around, waiting for change to just “happen”? The solution to our anxieties is right there in front of us – we just have to do something, small or large, to force a rewire in our brains.

In writing this, I am not at all meaning to tell you to hike ten hours a day so that you can feel like you “deserve” to eat. Again, I am hiking this trail not to change my body, but to see the natural beauty of my beloved home state. In fact, my “rewiring experiences” in the past have included simple prayers before mealtimes, eating previously self-restricted foods without making any changes to my exercise routine, and choosing to not exercise several days in a row when I noticed I was in an addictive phase.

Rewiring experiences break the chains of thought that shackle us to our biases. They help us not only understand how our own needs might change depending on our activities and seasons of life, but also how others’ needs might be completely different from our own. In fact, they are completely different from our own. We are all unique in our bodies, lifestyles, and hungers. I laugh out loud now at the nutrition labels of all the Clif bars, nut butters, and peanut butter pretzels I stuff into my mouth while on trail. I’m sure I’ve gotten around 1,000% of my daily “need” of carbs each night as I crawl into my tent.

So what can you do to rewire your brain? It doesn’t need to be, and probably even shouldn’t be, something as large as a thru-hike. Start small. Here are some ideas to get you started:

·   Cook for a loved one. How does the act of serving food to someone who truly appreciates it affect your relationship with the food itself?

·   Share a “restricted” food with someone else in a joyous setting. Try to make sure it is someone who will not make negative or guilty comments about the food, who can help you learn that it is safe and wonderful to eat.

·   Let someone else cook for you – a meal for which you don’t know the caloric or nutritional quantities, a meal with ingredients you might not normally eat. In a safe and loving setting, letting go of control can heal the gaps in our hearts ripped open by fear.

·   What are two words or phrases that you can think of daily to remind you of your positive relationship with food? “Nourishment,” “community,” and “love” are good ones. Remember them at the start, middle, and end of every meal.