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It has been two full weeks since I injured my right knee on the Eagle Rock Loop.

I’ve had some time to think about what happened, and the first thing I needed to understand was why it happened.

I was on a steep, narrow section of trail carrying a backpack that weighed about 29 pounds. Twenty-nine pounds doesn’t sound particularly heavy for backpacking. But weight behaves differently when it’s strapped to your back and you’re trying to maneuver over uneven terrain.

I turned my upper body to navigate the trail. The pack shifted with me, adding momentum and causing my upper body to rotate farther than I intended.

Normally, that’s not a big deal. Your feet move, your body adjusts, and you continue down the trail.

But my right foot doesn’t work normally.

I have drop foot.

To pivot normally on my right side, I need to shift my weight toward the front of my foot, lift my heel and allow the foot to rotate with the rest of my body. At that moment on the trail, my weight was planted on my heel. Because of the drop foot, I couldn’t lift the front of my foot normally and reposition it quickly enough.

My foot stayed planted.

My upper body, with a 29-pound pack attached to it, didn’t.

Something had to absorb that twisting force.

My knee did.

And that ended my Eagle Rock Loop attempt.

The trip back wasn’t much fun. I limped my way out, went home and started dealing with the consequences.

Two Weeks Later

The first week was about recovery.

I stopped walking. I bought a knee brace, which helped immensely, and gave the knee time to settle down.

During the second week, I still didn’t return to walking. Instead, I shifted my attention to strength training. I’ve been working my entire body, including my legs, because one lesson from Eagle Rock is very clear:

Walking farther isn’t necessarily the same thing as becoming better prepared.

I had become very focused on mileage. Five miles. Six miles. Ten miles. More steps. More weight. More distance.

Progress was something I could measure, and I liked watching those numbers climb.

But Eagle Rock exposed a weakness in my training.

I wasn’t just preparing to walk a very long way.

I was preparing to carry weight over rocks, roots, slopes, mud and uneven ground with a right leg that doesn’t function like everyone else’s.

Those are different things.

And I pushed too hard, too quickly.

It cost me.

Now Comes the Harder Part

Physically, I’m beginning to feel like I can start walking again.

No backpack. No big mileage goal. Just walking.

Strangely, that’s not the part I’m struggling with now.

I don’t want to.

The drive I had before Eagle Rock isn’t there right now.

For months, I got up early and walked. I watched the miles accumulate. I watched myself get stronger. There was a destination attached to all of it.

Then I got hurt.

I stopped.

And somewhere during those two weeks, the momentum disappeared.

I’ve spent a lot of time talking about building physical endurance for the Appalachian Trail. Maybe I haven’t spent enough time talking about the other kind.

Mental endurance.

The ability to begin again after something knocks you off course.

Because motivation is easy when you’re excited about what you’re doing.

It’s much harder when the alarm goes off and you simply don’t feel like doing it anymore.

That’s where I am.

So I Am Starting Again

Not where I left off.

That’s important.

I’m not putting 29 pounds on my back and trying to prove that Eagle Rock didn’t beat me. I’m not immediately going back to six-mile mornings. And I’m not going to punish myself for losing two weeks of progress.

I’m going to reassess the training plan.

I’m going to keep strength training.

I’m going to figure out how to better prepare my body for uneven terrain, lateral movement, balance and the unique problems created by hiking with drop foot.

And I’m going to start walking again.

Slowly.

The plan needs to change because I learned something the old plan didn’t account for.

That isn’t failure.

Refusing to change a plan after discovering that it isn’t working would be failure.

So I’ll readjust.

I’ll redefine.

I’ll replan.

And then I’ll carry on.

At least that’s the plan.

And maybe that’s why this post needed to come before the first walk.

Because The Long Walk Ahead was never supposed to be a story about someone who had everything figured out. It was supposed to be about continuing forward when circumstances tell you that forward is going to be harder than you expected.

Today, forward isn’t six miles.

It isn’t a 29-pound backpack.

It isn’t the Appalachian Trail.

Today, forward is admitting that I’ve lost some of the motivation I had two weeks ago and deciding to begin rebuilding it anyway.

You don’t always have to feel like moving forward to move forward.

Sometimes you just have to start.

Forward still counts.

Over the weekend, I made a mistake.

I threw a fully loaded pack on my back and went hiking.

Not a short walk.

Not a controlled test.

A real hike with steep terrain, roots, rocks, uneven ground, and the kind of trail conditions I know I will eventually face on the Appalachian Trail.

I felt confident.

Too confident.

For weeks, the numbers have been good. The steps have been good. The miles have been good. The sustained walks have been strong.

But this weekend reminded me of something important.

Steps build stamina.

Miles build endurance.

But neither one automatically prepares my bad legs for a fully loaded pack on rough terrain.

That is a different kind of stress.

A heavier kind of stress.

A more dangerous kind of stress.

And I pushed into it too soon.

The result is that I injured my knee.

For now, I am out for a couple of weeks. I cannot walk on it well, and I am down for the count.

That is frustrating.

But I am also lucky.

If this had happened on the Appalachian Trail, it could have ended the hike until the next season. One bad decision, one injury, one knee that will not cooperate, and the trail does not care how much training came before it.

This is exactly why the training plan has phases.

Foundation first.

Then pack weight.

Then camping skills.

Then terrain.

Then trail simulation.

I skipped ahead.

I let confidence outrun preparation.

And my knee gave me the answer.

So now the work changes.

For the next couple of weeks, the goal is not to force steps, chase miles, or prove toughness.

The goal is to heal.

Rest.

Recover.

Learn.

And come back smarter.

This is not the end of the journey.

It is a correction.

A painful one, but maybe a necessary one.

The Appalachian Trail is not going to be beaten by ego. It will require patience, discipline, humility, and respect for the process.

This weekend reminded me that I still have a lot to learn.

Forward still counts.

But sometimes forward means stopping long enough to heal.

This week marks my 13th week of training.

For 13 weeks, I have been walking.

Recording.

Updating.

Working.

Trying to build something steady enough to carry me all the way to the Appalachian Trail in 2030.

This week was different.

It was the first week I did not update the whole webpage on Monday. Usually, I close out the prior week, update the chart, move the current week forward, and make sure the plan still matches the work.

But this week, life was busy.

Work was busy.

The law office was busy.

The walking continued, but the webpage update waited.

It was not until Thursday that I finally sat down and updated everything.

And that is when I saw it.

Last week, I missed the goal.

By 94 steps.

Ninety-four steps.

After a week where the goal was 94,500 steps, I finished with 93,834.

That means I missed the weekly goal by less than the length of a short walk across a parking lot.

But missed is missed.

The rule in the plan says that if I miss a goal, I should repeat the week.

That rule exists for a reason. The point is not to chase bigger numbers just because the chart says so. The point is to build honestly, recover well, and make sure the foundation is real before moving forward.

But by the time I caught it, I was already almost through the next week.

So I am going to continue forward this time.

Not because the missed goal does not matter.

It does.

But because the lesson is clear.

From now on, I will check the weekly totals on Sunday night before I retire for the evening. That way I know exactly where I stand before the next week begins.

If I need to repeat a week, I will know it before I have already moved on.

This is part of the training too.

Not just the steps.

Not just the miles.

The discipline.

The honesty.

The willingness to look at the numbers and let them tell the truth.

Thirteen weeks in, I have come a long way.

But this week reminded me that the plan only works if I keep checking it.

Forward still counts.

But honest forward counts more.

One step at a time.

This week begins Week T-202.

That means I am almost out of the T-200s.

When I first started this training plan, the numbers felt almost theoretical. T-213 sounded far away from anything real. The Appalachian Trail was still years out. The plan was on paper. The website was still being built. The walking was just beginning.

Now there are 11 completed weeks behind me.

Eleven weeks of getting up.

Eleven weeks of logging steps.

Eleven weeks of sustained walks.

Eleven weeks of learning what my body can handle.

Eleven weeks of trying to balance training with work, law practice, family, finances, faith, recovery, and the ordinary weight of life.

I have come a long way.

Not just in steps.

Not just in miles.

In belief.

At the beginning, I was building the habit. Now the habit is starting to become part of who I am. The walks are not always easy, and I do not always feel motivated. Some days I am tired before I even start. Some days the drop foot reminds me that every step requires focus. Some days life feels heavier than the training.

But I keep moving.

The Phase I chart now shows more than numbers. It shows evidence.

It shows that progress can be built slowly.

It shows that consistency matters.

It shows that a hard day does not erase the work.

It shows that recovery, faith, discipline, and patience are all part of the same trail.

Week T-202 has a new goal: 13,500 steps per day, with a weekly goal of 94,500 steps.

That is not small.

But neither is what has already been done.

I am not at the mountain yet.

I am not at Katahdin yet.

I am not even out of Phase I yet.

But I am closer than I was 11 weeks ago.

And that matters.

Forward still counts.

One step at a time.

Yesterday, I looked at the goals for this week.

13,000 steps per day.

A sustained walk every day.

A planned Saturday long walk of 11 miles.

Then I looked at everything else.

Work.

Evening and weekend law work.

Household responsibilities.

Family responsibilities.

The Dave Ramsey financial plan, which I know is leading toward freedom later, but right now brings its own kind of pressure.

For a moment, life felt like its own mountain.

Not a scenic one.

A tall, ugly, mean one.

The kind of mountain that does not care how tired you are. The kind that just stands there and waits for you to climb it.

And honestly, looking at the whole thing at once felt heavy.

Too heavy.

But then I had to remind myself of something simple.

How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.

How do you climb a huge mountain?

One step at a time.

So I stopped looking at everything that needed to be done.

I stopped trying to carry the whole week in my head at once.

I stopped staring at the mountain.

I focused on the next step.

Then the next.

Then the next.

That is really what this whole project keeps teaching me.

The Appalachian Trail will not be walked all at once.

Recovery does not happen all at once.

Debt freedom does not happen all at once.

Faithfulness does not happen all at once.

A hard week does not have to be conquered in one heroic moment.

It just has to be faced one honest step at a time.

Today, that means doing the next right thing.

Take the walk.

Do the work.

Honor the responsibilities.

Trust God with the weight of the whole mountain.

Then take another step.

Forward still counts.

One step at a time.

One of the things I have learned early in this process is that a long-term training plan has to be structured, but it also has to be honest.

When I first laid out the training roadmap for The Long Walk Ahead, I divided the work into six phases. The idea was simple: build the foundation first, then slowly add endurance, pack weight, backpacking skills, terrain, trail simulation, and final preparation.

That structure still makes sense.

But the actual training has already started teaching me something.

Phase I was originally designed as a foundation phase. The main goal was to build the daily walking habit, increase step goals gradually, and prove that I could show up consistently.

That part is happening.

But something else is happening too.

My sustained walks are already reaching the kind of distances I originally expected to build later. I am not just hitting daily step goals. I am doing intentional sustained walks during the week, and I am using longer weekend walks to build endurance.

So the plan needed to be adjusted.

Not because the old plan was wrong.

Because the work has changed.

The updated roadmap now looks like this:

Phase I — Foundation and Endurance Base
This phase still builds the daily walking habit, but it also recognizes that the endurance base is already being developed through sustained walks and longer weekend efforts.

Phase II — Pack and Load Progression
Instead of waiting too long to introduce the backpack, Phase II will focus on learning to carry weight carefully. That will likely begin with an empty pack, then slowly progress as my body adapts.

Phase III — Backpacking Skills and Camp Systems
Walking is only part of a thru-hike. I also need to know how to live out of the pack. This phase will focus on setting up and tearing down camp, meal prep, water filtration, first aid, packing systems, and bad-weather routines.

Phase IV — Terrain and Elevation
This phase will focus more on hills, descents, uneven ground, trail surfaces, and Arkansas trail weekends when possible.

Phase V — SOBO Trail Simulation
This is where the pieces come together: realistic pack weight, consecutive hiking days, food and water planning, camp routines, and trail-style weekends.

Phase VI — Final Preparation
The final phase will focus on tapering, logistics, final gear decisions, travel planning, and arriving at the trail healthy and ready.

The main rule remains the same:

Do not add too many stressors at once.

Distance, pace, pack weight, terrain, heat, elevation, weather, and back-to-back hiking days all count as stress. The goal is not to prove toughness in training. The goal is to build durability.

That matters to me.

I am not preparing for one impressive day.

I am preparing for the ability to get up, pack up, walk, recover, and do it again.

The Appalachian Trail will not care what the original plan said. It will only reveal whether the preparation was honest.

So the plan will keep being measured against the work.

Forward still counts.

One step at a time.

I don’t want this to come across as bragging, but today deserves to be acknowledged.

Today I walked 10.49 sustained miles.

There was a time when I don’t think anyone—doctors, nurses, physical therapists, family, my spouse, or even me—would have believed that was possible.

But today it happened.

I’m tired. I’m sore. And I’m incredibly grateful.

More than anything, today changed something in my head. There are still limitations. There is still a lot of work ahead. But the list of things I’m willing to call “impossible” just got a whole lot shorter.

The sky feels a little higher today.

And I discovered something interesting along the way.

When I used to run, somewhere around mile five I could occasionally hit that “runner’s high”—that strange point where the effort seemed to disappear and the miles just started passing underneath you.

Apparently there’s a walker’s high, too.

Mine showed up somewhere around mile eight today. Suddenly the rhythm changed. The miles started coming easier, and for a while I felt like I could just keep going.

Endorphins? Endocannabinoids? My brain finally accepting that I wasn’t going to stop? I had no idea, so I asked AI.

A note from ChatGPT:
There actually is some science behind what you experienced. The traditional explanation for a “runner’s high” focused on endorphins, but research increasingly points to the body’s endocannabinoid system as an important contributor. Sustained aerobic exercise can increase circulating endocannabinoids, which can affect the brain and are associated with reduced anxiety, improved mood, and decreased perception of pain.

And running apparently doesn’t own the phenomenon. Sustained moderate aerobic activity—including brisk or prolonged walking—can activate some of the same biological systems. Exactly when it happens varies considerably by person, intensity, conditioning, duration, and other factors, so there’s nothing scientifically magical about mile eight.

But after walking for eight miles, it is entirely plausible that what felt like a “walker’s high” was a real exercise-induced change in mood and perception of effort.

So no, Jason probably wasn’t imagining it.

Back to me:

All I know is that this morning I put one foot in front of the other 10.49 miles worth of times.

And today, that was enough.

We now have 5 walkers from 2 states.

Texas: 3 walkers
Arizona: 2 walkers

This started as part of my preparation for the Appalachian Trail in 2030, but it is becoming something bigger than that.

Not everyone is training for the trail.

Some are walking for health.
Some are walking for recovery.
Some are walking for discipline.
Some are walking for family.
Some are walking because forward movement matters.

The first 20 members will be recognized as Founding Walkers.

Those are the people who joined early, before this was polished, before it was big, and before anyone knew where it might go.

Welcome to our newest walkers.

Different places. Different goals. Different reasons.

Same direction.

Forward still counts.

https://thelongwalkahead.com/training-log/walking-with-me

Harsha joined us from Arlington, Texas. He is moving toward better physical health, with a particular focus on strengthening his heart.

He plans to do that through walking, running, and hiking.

In his words:

“Walk and run to better the heart, hiking to enjoy the beauty.”

I like the balance in that. Some movement has a specific purpose. Walking and running can help Harsha improve his heart health. Hiking gives him an opportunity to enjoy the beauty around him.

Harsha has not joined a competition. He does not need to match anyone else’s distance, pace, or progress. His journey belongs to him.

Walk With Me exists so people can choose what moving forward means in their own lives and know that someone is interested in their progress.

Harsha now has his own page where we can follow his journey and celebrate the updates he chooses to share.

Welcome to Walk With Me, Harsha. We are glad you are here.

Follow Harsha’s walk:
https://thelongwalkahead.com/meet-harsha/

Interested in joining us?

Walk With Me