I was in incredible shape when I finished the Colorado Trail at the end of July. At 486 miles, the trail wasn’t long enough to turn me gaunt and hollow, but the miles helped shed a significant amount of pandemic pounds and get as close as possible to my “ideal body.”
I am aware that my version of my ideal body is a result of years of filter-fed media and edited internet photos. I am praised when I’m at my most fit, thin, and probably a few pounds underweight. I know that this is not realistic, and I also know that I benefit from thin privilege. I’ve struggled with body-image issues for as long as I can remember, which is where a lot of these thoughts stem from.
Despite understanding my own body image issues, I stood in front of a full-length mirror when I returned home, turning from side to side, smoothing a hand over my flat stomach and staring in awe at the gap in my thighs. I was lean and muscular, and I felt immense relief at finally achieving my own ridiculously high expectations.
This body I was so proud of was achieved by hiking an average of 22 miles per day for 23 days in a row. These included days when altitude-induced nausea meant I couldn’t choke down more than 1,000 calories over the course of a full day, or when I was so exhausted from lack of nutrition and challenging terrain that I nearly passed out at the top of a pass.
But damn, I looked good when I got off the trail.
In just over three weeks, I’d whipped myself into shape. A secret part of me saw the trail as a type of fitness boot camp: 23 days of really hard work to achieve the fitness and physique that would have taken six months of healthy eating and exercise in the real world.
Therein lies the crux of post-thru-hike body image, at least for me. Most people will be at their most fit coming off a thru-hike. When else are you going to be dedicated the majority of your waking hours to hiking up and over mountains, carrying a fully loaded pack? In the abstract, exercising for 12 hours a day for an extended period of time is insane. The only instance when this makes sense is a long-distance backpacking trip or thru-hike, and at some point, those come to an end.
When the hike ends, your physical output greatly diminishes. It doesn’t have to come to a screeching halt, but most people will be exercising a fraction of the amount they do on a thru-hike. When your fitness comes from extreme output, anything less than that will feel subpar, and yes, your body will change.
I told myself I’d do everything in my power to stay as close to my post-hike fitness as possible. And for a while, I did. I went to yoga, ran, hiked, and climbed. I had worked hard to get fit on the trail, and I didn’t want it to “go to waste.” I felt attractive and fit and proud of my physique, something I’d struggled with for the prior year or so.
But a thru-hike isn’t real life, and that amount of time dedicated to working out isn’t realistic for my life and lifestyle. I started working my film set jobs that had me away from home for a month or more at a time, eating catered food and working 14-hour days that left no time for exercising. My job is outdoors and physical, but it doesn’t have the same impact as running and yoga each day. It wasn’t long before I saw my hard-won appearance backslide, and with it, my confidence.
For most of us, the bodies we achieve by hiking for weeks or months at a time aren’t realistic to maintain. But getting into that kind of shape and then losing it can be mentally challenging, especially if you’re a person (like me) who’s already prone to body-image issues.
My body is strong right now, just in different ways. It can carry me through full days outdoors in the middle of the Montana winter, and I know I’ll be able to peakbag winter 4,000-footers back in New Hampshire in a few weeks. But when I look in the mirror, I see my current body superimposed over my post-thru-hike body, and I flinch.
I also understand that my “ideal body” isn’t realistic. Social media and personal feedback have influenced me to believe there is only one way for my body to be attractive, and that’s a personal battle I’m working on. Still, the idea needles at me: it would only take a few weeks of thru-hiking to get back to that fitness. I look ahead on my calendar to see where I can squeeze in a trip. I tell myself it’s because I want to take a work break and get my mind straight on another solo trip, but isn’t there part of me who wants that quick, brutal, whip-myself-into-shape fitness plan?
I’d have body-image issues with or without the influence of thru-hiking’s peak fitness. But the contrast becomes more stark when I have those comparisons, along with the knowledge that I’d only need a few hundred miles of backpacking to get back to where I want to be. Getting rid of these thoughts and mindsets takes a lot of work, and I’m definitely not there. But understanding is the first step, and accepting that I don’t always look like I just finished hiking 500 miles is a good place to start.