The butterflies were fluttering furiously in my stomach as I arrived at my starting point in Delaware Water Gap. Just about ninety minutes prior I said goodbye to my kids—Jake, 10, who was looking forward to being the man of the house and teased me incessantly about my fear of bears; Kat, 8, who readily shared her anxiety about daddy being away for three weeks; and baby Elizabeth, for whom I recorded videos of me reading books so that she would not forget my voice. It was a quick, awkward good-bye with my wife, Michelle, at the trailhead parking lot—a harried hug and kiss, knowing that this was the longest we would ever be away from one another since we were married.

I set out on my way, greeted at the trailhead by a curmudgeonly old timer who asked, “Where ya headed?” I explained that I was headed to Penmar at the Maryland border, an attempt to hike the Pennsylvania portion of the trail. “Now, why would you do that… Pennsylvania is the worst state on the trail,” he replied. I assumed that was his way of wishing me good luck, and started walking in the direction of Springer, Georgia with a spring in my step.

Just the night before, I had gone over my pack list one final time. I was nervous, but excited to set out on a three-week, 220-mile hike. I took Roy Halladay’s perfect game to be a good omen for me. Back on the trail, it was ninety-five degrees and humid, and within fifteen minutes I had sweat through my shirt. For the previous two months I planned methodically, including putting in three to ten miles of walking every day. This heat and humidity now seemed to be a bad omen, though, and it would soon take its toll.

My wife insisted that I bring a cell phone on my trek. Up to this point, I had not owned a cell phone. Never wanted one, never really needed one. But I conceded, to allay her fears, and purchased a pay-as-you-go-phone. My call home the first night was a recount of the twelve miles that I put in that day. I described the rocks in detail—they were either big or jagged or big and jagged. Yes, that first day had taken that spring in my step and mangled it into a state of disrepair. Those rocks were demoralizing. And the trail was not as wide as I had pictured it. Much of the trail was no wider than a foot across—with lots of prickly shrubs planted right on the trail’s edge. But, thankfully, no bears that day. The toughest part of the phone call was talking to my oldest daughter. She missed me and was very tearful. It put a huge lump in my throat, and I found it challenging to hold back my own tears. Yes, I was finding that this was harder than I thought it would be.

For all of the energy I had expended during that first day, I had absolutely no appetite. As a matter of fact, it made me sick to my stomach as I tried to force down a freeze-dried Pad Thai dish to no avail. Truth be told, the freeze-dried food may have made me sick to my stomach even on a good day. I unrolled my ground cloth, on which good-byes and well wishes were scrawled by my family in permanent marker. It made me miss them. With thoughts of being with my family, I set up my tent and tried to get some sleep. As physically exhausted as my body was, I only managed four or five hours of sleep that night. Unfortunately, throughout the entire trip, I was never able to get much more than that. Rest was easy enough, but sleep was a commodity that was hard to come by for me.

The weather for the second day did not improve. I tried desperately to keep up with my fluids, but sips from my hydration pack every fifteen minutes were no match for the heat and humidity. Coming off the trail in the middle of the day, I walked a mile to a convenience store to purchase Gatorade. Sixty-four ounces later I was still not completely hydrated. The end of the day found me severely dehydrated, still with no appetite, and very depressed. I called home explaining to Michelle that I thought I had made a big mistake. I longed to be home with my family and I saw no way that I could make it for another nineteen days. “One day at a time.” That was the advice my wife offered, and that would become my mantra for the remainder of the hike. She offered to pick me up at any time, but told me to call her in the morning after a night of sleep.

Wake-up time for me on the trail was usually around 5:30. I found early mornings to be one of my favorite times to hike. It was cool and quiet, and there was lots of wildlife to observe (thankfully, no bears). My fluids had finally caught up with me, to which my five nature calls during the night could attest, and I was feeling a little better the next morning. It was pathetic, though, as I still had no appetite. I knew that I needed some sustenance for my body that I had been working so hard, so I tried to choke down a breakfast of ramen noodles. There I was, at 5:30, taking a bite of noodles, feeling sick to my stomach, drinking some water, and then calling Michelle to wait until my stomach settled. And that cycle continued for about a half hour. But I was feeling better, so I told Michelle that I would try to get another day under my belt. One day at a time. Indeed, one step at a time.

Hydrated and fueled by half a pack of ramen, I got on my way. Within an hour of hiking, I took a misstep and toppled over, scrapping my leg pretty badly. I broke out my med kit and wrapped up my leg, wondering if this hike was every going to go my way. I was plagued with feelings of doubt and thoughts of embarrassment for biting off more than I could chew. Fortunately, it did get better.

I came off the trail in Palmerton, a quaint, small town where fire sirens sound at noon and the school children play in the town park for recess. Palmerton has the same charm as my hometown, Narberth, and it almost felt like I was home again. I stopped in at the local library to send out email to friends and family, ate a wonderful meal at a local restaurant (I finally had my appetite back), and stayed at The Straup House, a small B and B run by the warm and lovely Valerie Straup. I was a new man.

The days of hiking got better. I put in ten to twenty miles a day, and I found the time to be a wonderful way to clear my mind. The rocks were still bad, and the heat did not let up, but I made my peace with the cards that I was dealt. My body and mind adapted. But the nights were still hard. I completely underestimated my mental fortitude to be away from my family. I missed them so very much—and at night it was all I could think about. It was the little things, like making pancakes with my daughter or having a catch with my son, that I missed the most.

One day, closing in on Hawk Mountain, I made the decision to hop off the trail and hike on a country road that was parallel to it. The choice to stop following the prescribed path was liberating. I traded rocks and mosquitoes for a flat road and cows. It was a great choice. And freeing myself to make the choice was both an empowering moment and a turning point of sorts on my trip. That was the first time that I realized that I could dictate how this opportunity for growth would unfold. I was in charge, and I could get out of the experience whatever I wanted. Instead of trying to obtain some sort of preconceived goal, I was able to shape and determine new goals as I learned more about myself. It was a powerful realization, and one that I hope to bring back to the classroom.

After a week, I came home. My dad picked me up south of Port Clinton, and I pulled in to Narberth late Saturday night, so happy to see my wife. What a treat it was to surprise my kids Sunday morning. We were all so happy to be reunited—with pancakes for breakfast, to boot.

All along I assumed that the hike was going to renew my spirits to come home. Now it turned out that coming home renewed my spirits to return to the trail. And so back I went, for another week. This departure was so much easier, as my family and I all knew that I would be back by Saturday for my son’s championship baseball game. I was the assistant coach, and it took being on the trail for seven days for me to realize that I would be crazy to miss that game.

I opted to skip ahead on the trail, to the southern portion starting north of Boiling Springs. The trail was flatter, there were fewer rocks, the weather was nicer, and I had an ace in the hole in Boiling Springs. Dick Martin (Elizabeth Zodda’s dad) is a hiking aficionado, and he would become my trail angel for the southern leg of my journey.

And I suppose that it is as good a time as any to mention my gratitude to a host of people who looked after me during the entire process. Of course, Denis Asselin is the inspiration and motivation for my journey. Steve Piltch, Elizabeth Dougherty, and the entire Professional Development Committee took a risk to believe in me and my personal and professional growth. Chris Nelson, Tom Stambaugh (Barrie Pendergast’s husband), Elizabeth Zodda, and Dick Martin all helped me to prepare by answering endless questions, providing expert advice, and sharing my enthusiasm. Of course, there were countless others who either offered sage advice or who kindly let me bend their ears as I droned on with excitement about the trip.

As great as the southern part of the trail proved to be, it got off to an admittedly rocky start. As Michelle dropped me off at the trailhead, I realized that I forgot my maps and guidebook. I was a wreck. The consummate planner was without his plans. It took a lot of courage, but I took the leap and decided that all I really needed to do was follow the white blazes for the next twenty-three miles into Boiling Springs, where I could borrow some maps.

When I pulled in to Boiling Spring, Dick took me out to dinner and kept me busy until dusk. At this point I had just enough time to set up my tent and get to sleep in the town campground by the railway tracks. You see, Dick knew that I got homesick at night, so he kept me occupied until the very last minute. Very smart man. My wake-up call came via a blaring train whistle every hour on the hour for that entire night. Yes, sleep was hard to come by on the trail.

That second week was great. Wide trails carpeted with soft pine needles, good weather (except for one day when it rained and I feared catching hypothermia), blooming mountain laurels, and rhododendron tunnels—it was all good.

I completed 150 of the 220 miles I set out to do, and I made it home to coach my son’s team to victory in the championship game (for which Jake hit a game-tying RBI to send the game into extra innings). And then I topped it off with pancakes on Sunday.

What did I learn? While the experience was not necessarily what I thought it would be, it was probably what I needed it to be. It was a journey of the mind, body, and spirit, and I understand more fully now how my mind, body, and spirit relate to my everyday life. This big life experience helped me to realize the small life experiences that are important to me. The small things really do matter to me. While I found it hard, I learned the importance of independence. It is so great to have a support network of family and friends, but ultimately there are some things that you have to do on your own. I also learned that it is okay to ask for help. There were several times along the way that Denis Asselin whispered in my ear, reminding me to stay in the present and not dwell on the past or plan too much for the future. I found that to be a challenge, but always tried. And, of course, the school motto played through my mind on several occasions throughout the trip; Courage for the deed, Grace for the doing.

Much of the physical challenge is behind me, and now I need to focus on integrating my experience into my professional life. This will be ongoing and reiterative. As the digestion and reflection of my trip continues, I recognize more fully that the learning process is never ending—it is ongoing and reiterative. Learning can be hard, and it can be messy. Supporting and helping students is crucial, and so is challenging them to be independent.

I decided to log the remaining seventy miles of trail by doing day hikes, accompanied by friends and family when possible. I have since been out hiking on my own, as well as with my brother, mom, and dad. A camping trip with my two oldest children at Pine Grove Furnace State Park allowed me to log a couple of easy miles with them and point out where I was able to take a glorious midday shower at the park’s bath house back in June. I am closing in on finishing out my miles—because I want to, not because I have to. However, there are ten miles that lead from Pennsylvania in to Maryland that I am saving. Those last ten miles of the hike I intend to do with Michelle. She was my rock throughout the entire experience, encouraging me to submit my proposal, taking on single parenthood for a few weeks, helping me through bad nights on the trail, and welcoming me home with pride and joy. I am not sure when those ten miles will be completed—but I am saving them for her.