If the woods could talk

​As I climbed the Appalachian Trail yesterday, up and into the woods and away from the world, I had no idea what stories I'd cross paths with. But I knew there would be stories.

The woods always tells stories.

I was there to meet my friends Meg and Celia who are running the entire length of this trail in weekend segments the next year and a half. Talk about stories...

I hadn't gone far before I ran into an older man. He gladly stepped to the side of the trail to let me pass. I think he saw me as the perfect excuse for a much needed rest.

"How long you been out here?" I asked him.

"Since early April," he told me.

"Your first time hiking the trail?" I asked him.

"No, I did the whole thing about 7 years ago."

He told me he was 60 when he did it the first time. He said it's harder this time - the back just isn't as strong as it used to be. He questioned whether he'd be able to make it or not.

I saw the questions in his eyes. The doubt. Maybe even a hint of sadness - a feeling of losing a battle with the war on age. I wondered if that's what this second time was all about. Proving something to himself. An unwillingness to abandon the war.

He told me his name was T Bird. I discovered yesterday everyone on the trail has a name that isn't really their name. He seemed proud of his name. As I walked away T Bird extended a fist.

I bumped it.

I wondered if what he really wanted was a hug. I think I wanted one.

A little up the trail I saw another older gentleman hiking my way. The first thing I noticed was a small stuffed animal attached to his shoulder. I don't know if the man noticed me staring at it, but he introduced the creature.

This is Koda he told me. I can't bring the real Koda along, so I bring this guy. But I miss the real Koda, he told me. He's a rescue dog.

I thought, how lucky is THAT rescue dog. That out in the middle of the woods, far from home, the first thing his owner wants to talk about to a complete stranger is him. The rescue dog.

I asked Brett - the man - why are you out here?

He said he wanted to take a bike trip, but ended up getting tangled up with an automobile. He said, I decided at the very least, if I hiked the trail, I wouldn't get run over by a car.

I'm stealing that one Brett. If anyone ever asks me again what my crazy butt is doing out in the woods - I'm going to tell them it's the best place to avoid getting hit by a car.

Brett said, I don't want to keep you. And like that, he and Koda were gone. I couldn't help but imagine the real Koda, back home, wishing for a stuffed Brett.

About three miles in, I saw a woman come running at me. I remembered what my friend Celia told me when I said I was hiking in to meet her and Meg. She said, good, when you get to us, you can hike the rest of the way out with me while Meg runs circles around us.

And there was the circle runner, Meg, coming my way.

I asked her where Celia was - wanting to immediately rule out any unfortunate bear encounters! She told me Celia was right behind her.

And she was.

Which made me smile. Celia can be unkind to herself as she tries to keep up with Meg. Which isn't a fair unkindness since Meg is difficult for most runners in the world to keep up with.

Meg didn't run circles around us as we made our way back out of the woods. She hiked with us. I got to listen as she and Celia told stories about their latest segment.

I thought - how different is their journey than T Bird's and Brett's and Koda's. Both of those guys seemingly needing to fight battles within - and alone.

But here were these two women fighting their own battles, but together. As I hiked and listened, you could hear togetherness.

Meg the planner - take charge. Celia, absolutely admiring her coach, and friend. But not afraid to say, "that's a bad idea."

My friend Jenny Baker once told me that if you spend enough time on the trail it's impossible to NOT be vulnerable. I'd never spent much time on the trail the first time she told me that, and she made me feel awkward when she said that.

When you're not on the trail, the mere mention of the word vulnerable makes you want to run from the word vulnerable.

I've come to know Jenny is right, though. Whether you're hiking the woods alone, or with someone you deeply care about, the woods brings out the best in you.

And the best in us isn't always pretty. That's the deceiving thing. The best of us is what's deep inside us. So often hidden. But the stuff the woods just seems to draw out of us. The stuff the woods loves to collect.

Oh the stories the woods have collected. You can almost hear them as you hike.

Then some days you get really lucky. And you get to stop and talk to a man and his stuffed dog. On those days the woods can't wait for you to hear the stories. It shouts them out.

They are the stories that remind you how real and beautiful it is that a man misses man's best friend. They are the stories that remind you what a gift it is that you were the one who got to hear it. They are stories that remind you that maybe we don't tell enough of these stories to one another when we're not in the woods.

Driving home last night - I thought how nice it would be if all the world was a little more like the woods.