Travel with a Toddler: the Great Smoky Mountains, TN

Last month, my husband came to me beaming about a mountain hike in the Smokies. The last mountain hike we had done - correction, the last hike we had done at all, period - was a year earlier. We planned an overnight trip, packed our bags, and drove five hours to Tennessee. 

Upon our arrival, we parked in a Walmart lot and set up "camp." It was handy having the store right there, because we quickly realized how unprepared we were. We had somehow managed to overpack things we didn't really need, and forget almost all the necessities. We improvised, and - spoiler alert - it all worked out just fine.

After spending a night crammed in the back of our little SUV, we set off bright and early for... we didn't know. There are a ton of great hikes in Gatlinburg, and I suggested we tackle some shorter hikes, given the fact we hadn't hiked at all in a year. 

As we were driving to a short hike that neither of us was particularly excited about, we unexpectedly and unanimously decided to tackle a 10 mile round trip, Mount LeConte. This was the mountain that my husband had come to me, incredibly ambitious, beaming about. On our honeymoon we spent a few days in the Smokies; he had wanted to hike it back then, but I was tired and out of clean clothes at that point, so we said we would tackle it next time we were in the area. This was that time.

As I mentioned before, we had successfully hiked a significant peak a year prior. The entire time, as I was on the verge of tears and questioning all of my life's choices, I reminded myself that - in the worst shape of my life - I hiked a mother loving mountain once. I could do it again. I didn't murder my quads on the stairmaster for nothing. 

If nothing else, I was driven by the fact that Future Janessa would be absolutely shattered if I didn't complete this hike. I knew my body was capable. Overcoming mental barriers would be the real challenge. 

We reached the halfway-ish checkpoint so quickly. Not counting the first staircase just before this steep ridge, the hike was nearly flat up to this point. Immediately after, was when I first questioned if I really wanted to go on. Future Janessa would get over it. Future Janessa could suck my dick if she had a problem with me turning back, I thought. But, we didn't drive 5 hours and sleep in a Walmart parking lot for me to turn back. We came to do this hike. So goddamn it, we did the hike.

This is one of many staircases we had to ascend to reach the top. Just around the corner there was another flight of stairs; I stood at the bottom and, near tears, I declared to my husband that he would have to go on without me. He, of course, did not do that. These staircase portions were the absolute death of me. Not at all like the stairmaster, because obviously I'm not on that thing for fucking hours.

Here I am again, absolutely fighting for my life. You can just see the absolute speed and determination with which I am tromping forwards. I probably stopped to have a little cry like two minutes later, to be honest. With every little burst of energy, I got too ambitious, then kicked myself for it moments later when my thighs were screaming.

This photo cracks me up. I am - again - fighting for my life, if that wasn't obvious. My daughter is holding on for dear life, while simultaneously dozing off. I'm gazing out at the glorious scene before me (the first photo after the title banner!) while questioning why the hell I agreed to do this. 

As luck would have it, I left my phone in the car and my husband's phone had died by the time we reached the top. "Pics or it didn't happen" doesn't count here because nothing could make me endure this hike ever again. 

I loved it. The views were phenomenal. I love the physical and mental challenge. But I'm going to need another year to recover from this. 

Pro tip: please for the love of god bring nail clippers with you. Sorry if this is TMI but both of my big toes are bruised because I was so painfully unprepared that I hadn't thought to clip my toenails beforehand. Every step I took going downhill was agony. At one point I legitimately thought my nail had dislodged itself from the nail bed because of how excruciating the pain was. 

I've been out of pointe for too long. This was a regular occurrence when I was training in ballet. I can confidently say that I absolutely do not miss that side of it. 

Little disclaimer: I only mildly hated my life during this hike. I joke about it being a time of such physical agony and emotional distress, but I can't get enough of it. Hiking and I have this weird relationship where I got into it because my husband enjoys it, then at some point I started to fall in love with it on my own. 

Sometimes when I'm hiking, especially when gaining 3,000+ ft. in elevation pretty much straight up (Table Rock, I'm looking at you), I think to myself "there can't actually be people who look forward to this." Then I look at the person I married.