It has been nearly two months now since I at last stood atop Mount Katahdin and posed triumphantly for the summit photo I had dreamed of for years. Every day it becomes increasingly surreal to think that for five months and five days I had walked, run, skipped, tripped, shuffled, hobbled, and crawled my way through the Appalachian mountains; through blood, sweat and tears; through countless tiny moments of self realization; and that suddenly in an instant it was all over.*
Before I ever set foot on Springer Mountain in Georgia, ...
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