Author: One Step

Sometimes it looks like leaving the VA in Little Rock and deciding to walk about eight miles to the airport—in scrubs.

I knew I could handle the distance. What I did not know was that the route included a long, steep climb, stretches without sidewalks, and more grass and brush than I expected.

By the time I reached the airport, my clothes were soaked. I made a direct trip to the bathroom, tried to make myself presentable, refilled on water, and hoped nobody on the flight would sit too close.

It was not a glamorous training day, but it was certainly a memorable one. And somehow, I finished the day with 23,445 steps.

The road does not always look the way you pictured it. Occasionally, neither do you.

Dale “Greybeard” Sanders completed the Appalachian Trail in 2017 at age 82, becoming the oldest person to do it.

Then his friend, M.J. “Nimblewill Nomad” Eberhart, completed the trail at 83 and took the record. Greybeard did not resent him for it. He was there to congratulate his friend and present him with a walking stick.

Now Greybeard is back on the Appalachian Trail, attempting to reclaim the record in his 90s—and Nimblewill Nomad is cheering him on.

I think the friendship may be even more interesting than the record.

They are competitive, but neither man seems to need the other to fail in order to feel successful. One breaks the record, the other celebrates him, and then they start joking about who will take it next.

Most of us will never attempt a 2,000-mile hike in our 80s or 90s. But there is something refreshing about two friends who can challenge each other, celebrate each other, and still pursue their own goals.

Greybeard’s current journey is still underway. I’ll be following along.

Learn more and follow his progress:
https://www.greybeardadventurer.com/

Continue the Journey

Forward Still Counts

A comment appeared recently on The Long Walk Ahead Facebook page:

“We are on the journey with you.”

I have kept thinking about the word ‘we‘.

When I created Walk With Me, I imagined participation as something visible. Someone would choose a goal, send me their information, and appear on the tracker. We would see the steps, follow the progress, and move forward together.

But that comment made me realize there may be people walking with me who will never join the tracker.

They may never send their name. They may never tell me their goal. They may never comment or share a post. They may simply read something, put on their shoes, and take a walk.

Or perhaps their long walk has nothing to do with steps.

Maybe someone is trying again after a setback. Maybe they are making a change they have postponed for years. Maybe they are enduring a difficult season and finding enough strength to take the next step, even if no one else knows how difficult that step is.

I may never know.

That realization is humbling.

The numbers on the website are easy to count. Steps can be recorded. Miles can be measured. Names can be placed on a tracker. But perhaps the most meaningful part of this journey cannot be measured at all.

It makes me wonder whether Walk With Me is an iceberg. The people and progress I can see may be only the small portion above the surface. Beneath it could be quiet decisions, private struggles, and people moving forward without ever announcing that they have joined.

I do not want to exaggerate what this project has become. It is still new, and I genuinely do not know how many people are following along or what it means to them.

But the possibilities have started running through my mind.

Maybe everyone does not need a formal community. Maybe some people do not want their progress displayed publicly. Maybe it is enough to know that someone else is out there walking too.

There is comfort in that thought.

Somewhere, another person may be taking a step I will never see. They may not know that their quiet persistence would encourage me just as much as anything I could ever write might encourage them.

Walk With Me will remain open to anyone who wants to participate publicly. But I now understand that joining the tracker is not what makes someone part of the journey.

You can walk with me quietly.

You can keep your goal private.

You can move at your own pace, on your own road, toward something only you fully understand.

You do not owe anyone an announcement.

Just keep moving.

Perhaps we are walking together, even if neither of us ever knows it.

Continue the Journey

Forward Still Counts

This week felt different.

For the first time, I watched the 2026 southbound Appalachian Trail hikers begin their journey from Katahdin. Watching them take those first steps made 2030 feel a little less like a dream and a little more like a destination.

I also came across the story of “Grey Beard,” a hiker in his nineties who is out there doing the Appalachian Trail again. It’s hard to read stories like that and still find excuses.

Closer to home, I had a personal milestone. Today was my fastest sustained walk yet: 5 miles at an average pace of 17:31 per mile. Speed isn’t my goal, but with the Texas temperature at 101°F, I wasn’t going to complain about finishing a little sooner.

The biggest lesson this week didn’t come from the trail or the stopwatch. It came from the data.

After years of compensating for injuries from my motorcycle accident, I learned there’s over a 7-pound difference in muscle mass between my right and left legs. Honestly, that wasn’t surprising. Seeing it measured was a reminder that I still have work to do. Every step I take is helping build endurance, but now I know I also need to rebuild strength and balance.

I also did something that took me longer than I expected.

I finally made my first Facebook post about The Long Walk Ahead.

That may not sound like much, but it felt like crossing a line. Once you tell people your dream, it becomes real. And if you’re anything like me, there’s always that little voice asking, “What if I fail?”

The truth is, I might.

But I’d rather risk failing while chasing something meaningful than spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I never started.

Now there’s one more thing I need to do.

Make the first video.

I’ve been putting it off. A traumatic brain injury doesn’t exactly make me a smooth talker, and I tend to overthink every word.

Maybe that’s the point.

The Long Walk Ahead was never meant to document perfection. It was meant to document the journey.

Forward still counts.

Continue the Journey

Forward Still Counts

When I left for vacation, I honestly expected this week to slow my training down. New place, different routine, family activities—it would have been easy to say, “I’ll get back to it when I get home.”

Instead, something unexpected happened.

Vacation actually made it easier to move.

Without the normal distractions of work, emails, and sitting behind a computer, walking simply became part of the day. Every morning or evening there was an opportunity to get outside, clear my head, and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

So far this week every daily goal has been met, and I’ve logged nearly four miles of sustained walking on multiple days.

It’s a good reminder that progress doesn’t require perfect conditions. It requires consistency.

The Appalachian Trail won’t care whether I’m at home, on vacation, tired, or busy. It will simply ask me to take another step.

This week proved that I can.

Forward still counts.

Continue the Journey

Forward Still Counts