On September 7th, 2025 — the final day of my 210-mile section hike on the Colorado Trail — I was about three miles from the end when I stumbled and lost my balance.
It happened fast. Stumbling on the trail isn’t uncommon because roots and rocks are a part of the terrain. But this time, my reaction time was slower. I tripped over a boulder, slid about six feet down the mountain, and collided with a pine tree on the way down, which likely prevented something far worse. Still, I had two head lacerations, a deep cut on my knee, severe rib pain, and severe numbness in my left arm. I couldn’t walk normally and was leaning to one side.
Leading up to the fall, I hadn’t been feeling right. My knee and back felt off, and my balance wasn’t steady. But I was ready for the hike to be over, so I decided to combine the last two days of hiking into one.
In hindsight, it was probably a combination of dehydration, altitude, and simple overexertion. But if I’m being honest, I knew something was off. I knew it, and I tried to push through anyway. It was a mix of pride and stubbornness, but at 72, that decision carries different consequences than it did at 42.
When I went down, my good friend and fellow hiker, Mr. Wizard, wasn’t far behind and found me quickly. The rest of the group carried my gear and supported me as I walked the remaining three miles. What should have taken about an hour took two.
The next morning, we drove three hours back to Boulder, and I spent over five hours at the hospital waiting for answers. The diagnosis: a fractured C7 vertebra and a bruised rib. I left in a neck brace with instructions to wear it all the time for six weeks.
Three separate opinions from neurosurgeons recommended immediate neck surgery because of nerve damage and feelings of numbness in my left arm, which would have meant a long recovery and several months to a year in that brace. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t sit still well, and I also don’t make decisions like that lightly.
After careful consideration and a fourth opinion from a neurosurgeon and personal friend that I know well and trust, I decided to try a more holistic path forward first — peptides, chiropractic work focused on light adjustments, incorporating PEMF therapy with an acupuncturist, and frequent, gentle massage to increase blood flow and support healing. I leaned into the principles I’ve spent much of my life championing: that the body has a remarkable innate capacity to heal when given the right conditions. I also credit my nutrient-dense diet and healthy lifestyle for speeding my recovery process.
During my recovery, there were days of uncertainty, wondering whether I’d made the right call declining surgery, and if I’d ever move the way I wanted to again. Eight months later, I’m grateful to say I’ve healed almost completely, with only slight numbness remaining in the tip of my left pointer finger.
This past March (6 months since the fall), I returned to the Appalachian Trail for another section hike. This was my first big hike back, and the numbers speak for themselves:
📏 171.4 miles hiked
⬆️ 32,958 feet gained
⬇️ 34,270 feet descended
🗺️ 4 states: VA → WV → MD → PA
I finished feeling strong, fit, and deeply grateful. This time, I adjusted my approach. I reduced mileage on high-elevation days. I stayed more conscious about hydration. I paid more attention to how my body felt, and when something felt off, I listened and made the appropriate adjustments.
At Love.Life, we talk a lot about longevity, not just living longer, but living longer better. I’m not interested in becoming less active. I still want to challenge myself. But as we age, we have to listen to our bodies and respect our limits, so we can continue doing the things we love for years to come.