by Cara Baskin
John Kelly on the Appalachian Trail
On a Monday afternoon this August, I packed up my work computer after a solid 3 hour work week, and headed to the mountains. John Kelly, a highly accomplished athlete, was making his way through the White Mountains on his second “fastest known time” attempt on the Appalachian Trail. Just last year, he made it from Georgia to northern New Hampshire ahead of the speed record, before making the anguishing but non-negotiable decision to quit when his ankle quit on him. This year he decided to go southbound, starting on Mt. Katahdin in Maine, and working his way through never before seen trail, which happened to be the most difficult terrain on the 2,198 mile trek. With a 40 day timer ticking the moment he stepped away from the highest point in Maine, John moved efficiently and determined across 50 miles a day for 6 days straight before I met him. He even clocked 25mi across the misty and slippery Presidentials before we set off on a 6 hour hike together at dusk into the Pemi range. From the first minute of that hike, he was basically silent, except for the frequent groans of pain and discomfort. It was dark. And then it was raining. And the other hikers and I stayed respectfully behind him, carrying carbs and water he barely touched. He missed his youngest’s first day of school that day. The trail was getting real, and its impact on the father of four was too.
We reached Galehead Hut at 2:15am and were asleep, soaking wet, smelly and disgusting by 2:30am.
Just before breakfast, some of the other guests in the hut said they had been tracking John for the last couple days and thought he might be close. We informed them he was in the building. Their eyes widened with excitement. “He’s here?!” I felt the same way. At 6:30a on a Tuesday, the other hikers, our crew, the “hut croo” and John Kelly shared oatmeal and coffee in a hut in the mountains. I can’t get over how special that was.
The new day was sunny and dry. John was a different person. He jogged and leapt over rocks. He ate and drank. We talked for hours and climbed our way out of the deep Pemi wilderness onto Franconia ridge, where we were met with some of the coolest conditions I’ve seen up there. Expansive clear views to the east, and a block of clouds to the west, divided perfectly along the most classic ridge NH has to offer. We even casually bumped into the gold medal olympic skier Jesse Diggins on trail! Tuesdays are apparently the time to go hiking!
I left the group where the AT crosses the highway, and John was shepherded out of the White Mountains by a fresh crew of excited hikers, ready to pass his liquids and carbs like a baton on the track. He continued covering 50 miles a day to where the AT meets the Long Trail and then calmly and resolutely shared his decision to leave the trail in a five minute voice note to 300 of his closest fans.
In a nutshell, which encompasses decades of sweat and toil, he simply had nothing left to prove. Last year he fought through awful weather, pain and mental walls, and was forced to step off trail. In this effort, everything was going well, and yet he didn’t want or need to be there. His family and children were waiting at home, missing a dad that was missing them.
John happened to stop by my office on his way back to Tennessee. (Yes I felt very cool). I told him how much fun I had on our hikes. He told me he had now seen the whole AT.
A section hiker.
A smile on his face.
A dad headed home to see his kids, watch them go to school, cheer at their cross country meets, and build a treehouse together, with 500 extra miles in his legs.
All this to say there is more out there and we should listen to the ebb and flow of motivation. What I do deeply believe in is the constant of us all being connected through our shared love of running, whether we are deep into an obsession, just starting out, on a hiatus, or giving kudos to our friends because we care. There is an underlying trust where we see and understand each other, and that trust allows us to walk out of our workplace and into the night with a complete stranger. John created an experience that started out for him, and ended up giving to the rest of us. I came back from that day and a half stoked on life (and less stoked about going back to my office chair), having met many awesome people who I hope to see on future adventures. I have so much respect for his time on trail and equal respect for his decision to take time off trail. I hope you too feel the excitement of a running goal and the balance of a well lived life, when the time is right for each.