Northern California was probably the most challenging part of the PCT. You're off your high of the Sierra Nevadas, yet you still have around 700 miles of California to push through before reaching Oregon. In fact, the official halfway point on the trail is in California. Slowed down by the epic snow of the Sierra Nevadas, we had to really push ourselves in NorCal to eventually make it to Canada before October.

This required work. Hard work. And lots of it. When this photo was taken, we were well into our routine of hiking 13 hours a day through heat and hills. On Day 58, we were coming out of Drakesbad Guest Ranch, our bellies full of fresh breakfast food and our bodies showered. To top it off, the next 10 or so miles were relatively flat, a treat after hundreds of miles of hills.

But walking through this flat, sandy burnt forest, I was kicking myself for not appreciating this terrain. I was tired – eight hours of sleep (if we were lucky) doesn't cut it when you're pushing your body this much. And my feet hurt so, so much – my shoes had around 500 miles on them at this point and were worse for wear. And my pack felt heavy – we had just loaded up with a fresh resupply of food.

As I walked, a thought popped into my head: "What if I just closed my eyes and tried to sleep? The trail is flat and straight. Maybe I could sleep and hike at the same time."

That's how a delirious hiker thinks.

I tried out this plan. After a few minutes, I realized how insane this was. And then it hit me like a wave. I was fatigued. I couldn't eat enough to satisfy my body. I was carrying over 25 pounds on my back. I felt all the pain in my feet. I felt the pain everywhere. Then I started to cry.

I cried because I couldn't think straight. I cried because I was tired of being in pain all the time. I cried because I wanted to stop walking. I don't usually cry.

So, not knowing what to do and a mile away from the creek we were all going to meet at, I stopped hiking, tossed my pack on the ground, and sat on a log with my head in my hands. A few minutes later, my hiking family approached and asked me why I stopped early. I told them that I just had to stop, and they understood.

Why I Didn't Stop Hiking

It was a simple fix, really. I changed two things after this experience:

1. That was the first day I took a "tylie" (AKA Tylenol). I'm not saying you should pop pain medication like candy, but Tylenol changed my life on the trail. I would take it as needed which was almost daily. Not great, but it helped me persevere.

2. The next day, we were in the tiny town of Old Station where I inspected my shoes. Turns out the factory insoles had been worn down to nothing. In a moment of desperation, I duct-taped restaurant paper napkins to my insoles to provide some added cushion until we reached Burney, a town that would have a drug store. That's where I invested in some Dr. Scholl's gel insoles that changed my life forever. My feet (and mood) felt instantly better.