Optiventure Thru-Hiking Scholarship 2026

I’ve never cried so much on a trail. Ever. I’m 470 trail miles into the Appalachian Trail, my training ground for a self-supported fastest known time attempt on the Ice Age Trail this May. I’ve just walked into Damascus, Virginia, the first trail town in this state if you’re heading northbound on the AT, and it is a beautifully sunny day.

Whether I’ve been happy crying, sad crying or hysterically laugh-crying, I can say that I feel alive. My senses feel amplified. This is what happens on a trail, as I discovered after hiking the Pacific Crest Trail in 2023 and a good chunk of the Pacific Northwest Trail in 2021. Experiences feel bigger. Like my morning of day six of my AT adventure, at about mile eight, I saw the tip of a white canopy tent in the distance. I started running, the possibility of trail magic fueling me. About a tenth of a mile from the tent, I saw the glorious “trail magic” sign; I screamed and, as you might imagine, started crying very happy tears. Nothing in that cold morning could have made me happier than the hot coffee the trail angel handed me.

I love those thru-hiking moments. A shower never feels as good as a trail town shower. Candy has never tasted as sweet as the gummy bears you have during a tough climb. The conversations you have with a friend who was a stranger five minutes ago are more raw and real. You feel everything on a thru hike. And sometimes, that makes things really hard. Homesickness, aches and pains, hunger, cold, etc – they hurt a lot.

For me, I was ready for the physical challenge I knew the AT would bring. I was warned of its steep climbs and merciless “PUDs,” hiker terminology for “pointless ups and downs.” I spent the winter running to build endurance, and I knew how my body and mind would react to physical challenges based on my previous thru hiking experience. And to be honest, I feel fantastic right now. 

I’ve walked almost 500 miles without a blister, a muscle cramp or even a “hiker hobble,” which is a sad-looking stumble that differentiates the thru-hiker from the day hiker. It is one among many other differences. If I compare what I’ve been doing differently on this trail to others, a big factor is taking Optiventure. There are many reasons thru-hikers are affectionately referred to as “trash,” and one of those is our diets. Although I’ve been known to smash a bag of lettuce in town and carry out a cucumber, I’m still not eating a well-rounded diet on trail. That hasn’t changed. What has changed however is that I’m waking up energized, I’m sleeping throughout the night and I’m not feeling the same muscle soreness after big days that I’ve anticipated. I truly believe that’s from regularly taking Optiventure.

The biggest surprise to me has been the status of my mental health on the AT. I’ve always felt like what gave me potential to be a strong hiker wasn’t my physical ability, but more so my mental capacity to keep pushing when things got hard. That’s how I summited Mt. Whitney on the PCT without sleeping for 36 hours beforehand. Or how I walked through three days of rain in the Hoh Rainforest on the PNT despite knowing I could have squeezed a cup of water from my sleeping bag (to be fair, I am a little traumatized by rain from that experience). It’s how I think I have a fighting chance of an FKT record on the IAT. I’m not saying these challenges didn’t or won’t affect me, but they never “broke” me or sent me into a trail town for coverage. For some reason though, on this trail, my mental health is wavering.

I want to be open about that because I think without a strong foundation for mental health, the ability to push oneself physically becomes more limited. To me, it’s all connected. I don’t have a reason for why my mental health hasn’t felt strong on this trail. I’m searching for an answer, whether that’s camping alone (which I’ve done many times without a problem) or stress from back home leaking into trail life (even though nothing too serious is happening). I’m not finding a definitive answer. Sometimes, it just feels really hard.

And for me, that’s okay. After living a more nomadic life since the start of the PCT, I know that this kind of lifestyle brings anything but routine and monotony. The highs are high and the lows are low. And if that means dreading a return to the trail while in the comfort of a trail town, so long as the beauty of a songbird at sunrise brings happy tears to my eyes or I get to sip what tastes like the world’s best coffee, I’ll take it. 

I have just about a week and a half left on this trail before I return home to recover and then start my FKT attempt. A week ago, staying on the AT until the end of April felt nearly impossible. And now, I’m wondering how I can possibly just spend one week on the AT – I want months. 

Mother Nature continues to challenge and impress me. My takeaways from the AT so far are that she will always humble you; every day on the trail truly is a new day, and therefore a new start; and you don’t quit on a bad day.

Happy trails and lots of love,

Bambi