Survival with a Smile

3:45 a.m. Friday: I left Gainesville with 10 other UF students to travel 11 hours in a van to the North Carolina-Tennessee border.

We planned to hike a southern section of the Appalachian Trail over three days. We'd camp Friday and Saturday night under the stars, eat meals on the trail and see some of the most beautiful scenic views in the South.

The mountain tops in that area are called "balds." As hikers emerge from a dense forest of oaks and evergreens, the trees give way to grassy peaks and unobstructed views.

But as we made our way farther from civilization and into the woods, we began to realize this trip wouldn't be one we'd remember for its beauty.

I've never gone on so much as a day hike. But ever-the-adventurer, I pounced on the opportunity to go backpacking for the weekend.

On Friday night, the temperature plummeted from mild in the mid-70s to cold, windy and raining in the 40s. The trail, covered in yellow and orange maple leaves, became a treacherous mud slide.

And the balds, more than 7,000 feet above sea level, left us exposed to the harshest hiking conditions of the season.

The grassy peaks, usually home to giant African cattle and goats, transformed into what looked like an arctic tundra. We hiked in a cloud -- mist like smoke curled around the mountain tops. The only thing visible beyond the trail was the orange or blue of the hiker's pack in front of us.

Five miles into our hike on Saturday (less than half the distance we eventually traveled), we were soaked, freezing and miserable.

With two peaks left to climb, I wanted to cry. We were hours away from anything warm or dry, at risk of getting pneumonia and hiking on a rocky, muddy trail where falls and ankle sprains were the only ways to make any progress.

Because the whipping wind and pelting rain left little room for discussion with my fellow hikers, I had a lot of time that day, 11 miles to be exact, to stew in the less-than-desirable situation.

Only three thoughts circulated in my mind.

The first, the chorus of Christina Aguilera's "Stronger." Embarrassing, yes. Motivational, yes. Annoying after the fourth hour, also yes.

Second, a chorus of negative thoughts, including: How the hell did I get myself in this situation? Will I die out here without ever seeing my family again? What are my options if I break my let or get hypothermia?

And finally, around the ninth straight mile we hiked with no food or significant water breaks, I had a mental breakthrough.

"Rowing, like success, is a journey, not a destination. I tell my oarsmen to have fun, learn and, most of all, grow as individuals. The wins and losses will take care of themselves."

My coach told us this the day before I left on the hike. It comes from a speech from Rick Clother, a coach for the U.S. national team.

When I embarked on my first hiking trip, I didn't think it would help my rowing career. But by repeating the mantra of character building during the most physically and mentally grueling workout of my life, I came out of it positive and with renewed dedication to my sport.

Today, we did our weekly test pieces on the ergs (rowing machines). Usually during these three 10-minute pieces, I pray for the end. I do my best to make it through, and nothing more.

But today, I put myself on top of Big Hump in the Appalachian Mountains, doubling over from the force of the wind and frozen from the rain.

If I could get through that, I could surely succeed in the shelter of a boathouse on a warm Florida evening.

I got personal bests on all three pieces. I can only attribute this to the change in my mentality caused by the battle I fought within myself to complete the 14-mile hike.