Purdue graduate learns about life

By Megan Finnerty
Features Editor

The feeling in her toes came back last week.

But for her last four months on the legendary Appalachian Trail, Leah Ross couldn't feel the stones, twigs, gravel, mud and miles she crossed.

After starting the 2,168-mile hike on March 13 in northern Georgia, the December Purdue graduate finally, and tearfully, wrapped her arms around the signpost atop Maine's Mount Katahdin Aug. 3.

The hike had been, she said, emotionally, physically and mentally grueling.

It had also been an incredible, 143-day adventure — one during which she learned more about herself and her world than she had in 16 years of school.

"I learned that if I set my mind to something, I can do it," she said without bravado. "It's not a matter of if it will happen, it's when. When I look at a map and see what I did, I think, 'Wow, if I can do that…'"

"I also realized how generous people are. I don't know how many hundreds of hitchhikes I got, and how many people just saw us at a road crossing and offered food or help or a shower."

Ross undertook the hike to educate people about and raise money for autoimmune disease research. Ross raised more than $10,000. Her younger sister, Heidi, died three years ago, at age 17, of complications from Lupus.

Heidi suffered for five months, growing progressively frailer and sicker. She died during surgery to repair her heart. But before Heidi died she said something to Ross that stayed with her on the trail.

"God's gonna be on my side," Heidi said.

Ross said her sister was with her during the miles and that kept her going.

Days blended into one another as she made her way through the ever-stretching tunnel of green that is the Appalachian Trail in the spring and summer. There were days that the hike became a job. And there were days the hike just became too much.

"There were at least three instances I can remember that I just sat down and cried for 10 minutes," Ross said earnestly. "There would just be some little pain that's been nagging at you all day, and you're just so sick of hiking that you just stop and cry."

Ross said that in her exhaustion, sometimes she'd almost be jealous of the many through-hiking retirees without time and budget constraints, who were able to go to a bed and breakfast when they got mentally and physically tired.

But for a recent grad, who had to be home by August to start looking for a teaching job, Ross had to maintain a rigid schedule. Out of 143 days, there were only 20 during which Ross didn't hike.

Her father, Reggie Ross, said his daughter was like a foreman on the trail, "crackin' the whip," he said with a laugh.

"She said she'd get up in the morning and throw rocks at the others' tents to get them up and moving. But she had a lot to motivate her over the miles. I know when Heidi died, it was a great burden on Leah," Reggie said.

A successful through-hike is an amazing feat. Each year about 3,000 people attempt one, but only about 425 succeed, according to the Appalachian Trail Conference in Harpers Ferry, W.Va.

While raising more than $10,000 for autoimmune research, Ross covered 14 states and in them, she pushed through hundreds of ankle-twisting, leg-cramping, knee-ruining miles that form the Nantahalas, Great Smoky, Blue Ridge, Allegheny, Berkshires, Green and White mountains.

She had less time to let her mind wander than she expected. Ross' thought about where she would get water next, where she would sleep that night, who she would run into or the details of technical hiking.

Now back home in Greencastle, Ind., Ross said there are many things she misses about the trail.

She said she exercises compulsively and wishes she could always be outside. On her first day home, she's not sure why, but she found herself tying her shoelaces and jogging out the door to run a few country miles.

And she's still not used to showering and changing her clothes so often, she admitted with a laugh.

Most of all, Ross misses Beaker and Dundee, two South Carolina men in their early 20s that hiked most of the trail with her. The three had a reputation on the trail as "good kids" and would catch the odd Bible study when they could.

But no matter how much she misses her fellow hikers, Pie Lady, Raindog, Cricket, etc., she fears her fans will miss her more.

While Ross hiked, she posted journal entries via email on her Web site, trailjournals.com/windex. She said some people would become aggravated if she missed days. Her site has received more than 8,500 hits since the end of January.

One fan emailed her and told her reading her journal was better than a Tom Clancy novel.

"People emailed me and told me they cried when I summitted, knowing that they wouldn't be able to read any more of my journal," she said.

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Features editor:
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