Knowing When to Quit
Whenever we set out to achieve any goal, the idea of quitting is always a very precarious one in our minds. Though we are hopefully aware of the possibility of failure, it is one that we have a healthy respect for but want to avoid at any cost. The goal to succeed is what drives us to keep going. It pushes us through the difficult part of our journey, forces us to dig deep and fight off pain, fatigue, and exhaustion. On a successful journey, when we reach our goal, it is the difficult nature of fighting off that failure that makes success so rewarding. It is, of course, a simple matter of fact that not every journey succeeds. Maybe your most recent adventure ended in you quitting. Maybe your next one will. There’s a lot to be said about failure and what it can mean to us and others. That isn’t what this article is about, though. I wrote that article for Outdoor Evolution in 2019. This article is about when you’re still on the journey. You will be presented with numerous occasions on which you consider quitting. Let’s ask ourselves, on which of these occasions do I need to keep on trucking? How do I know when it’s time to quit?
To frame this discussion, I’m going to take to adventures from my past, one in which I pushed through time and time again of wanting to quit, ultimately succeeding. The other ended in me deciding to quit about halfway through the journey after spending most of it debating on whether I should or not. A quick disclaimer - this is a discussion that has the ultimate nuance. There will never be a definitive right and wrong choice when in these situations. In this article, I’m hoping to draw on my own experiences to give a little context for whenever you find yourself in that situation and hopefully help guide the decision a bit.
Scenario A: A Lonely Highway in Texas
Sometimes the most challenging part about being faced with a decision to quit or not is when that situation is one you’ve found yourself before. Maybe you’ve had a successful journey before, but on a similar one, you now find yourself confronting feelings of wanting to quit. That’s the situation I found myself in on my second cross-country bicycle tour in 2018. I had completed the first ride the year before and was feeling confident going into the second one. Coming right off a PCT thru-hike, I was in shape and ready to roll another 4,000 miles or so across the country.
The ride got off to a pretty good start, but about three weeks in, as I made my way into and across West Texas, things changed. Riding West-to-East, I had been anticipating prevalent headwinds for most of the ride and had gotten them to that point. However, in Texas, they switched direction, and I ended up riding into a headwind for a solid week. That change in wind was joined by steady, all-day rainstorms, colder temperatures, all in a surprisingly remote part of the state with little opportunity for a good town to post up in and wait it out. Every day I rode, I grew more miserable and frustrated and had less fun.
Within two days of these conditions - which lasted for an entire week - I was considering if I should just bail or not. Even knowing that the conditions couldn’t last forever, I was still not feeling excited about the rest of the ride. The entire second half of the cross-country odyssey felt so daunting when I thought about it. I was exhausted and just wanted to be done. I had enough experience to know not to overreact to these feelings, but they were pretty strong. I rode on, but every day found myself wondering whether or not I should just bail.
Scenario B: A Tiny Bathroom in New Mexico
About six weeks ago, I set off on my first thru-hike of the year, a tough one - the Grand Enchantment Trail. As a seasoned hiker, I could do all of the necessary research for this, particularly rugged, difficult, and remote trail. I studied the maps; I read the field notes; I diligently planned the resupplies and prepared my body. As I set off on the journey, I noticed something strange a few days into the hike. I did not have any particular bad feelings. Physically I was doing pretty well; a few usual ailments popped up, blisters, sore legs at the end of the day, but nothing too bad. The weather was good; beautiful; early Spring temperatures greeted me in the high desert of the Superstition mountains. There was even enough water out there - my main concern going into the hike. Nothing too bad to feel about.
There was, however, something odd that I had never experienced before on a long-distance hike. There was a distinct lack of those unique, magical feelings which have made long-distance hiking so incredible for me over the years. It just wasn’t there. Every day I woke up, walked my miles, executed everything I needed to, and that was it. Nothing special about it. I didn’t know what to make of it, but after about four days, I started thinking about something that did begin to feel bad: my heart was not in this hike.
Just as with my bike ride two years prior, I did not want to overreact to this. I wasn’t going to quit right away, and I would keep walking. But I did want to be sure that I wasn’t going to make myself unhappy for six weeks out of pride. I started to check in with myself daily, then multiple times a day, seeing whether or not this was something I even wanted to do.
Remembering Why
I rode up and down the brutal, steep hills of West Texas, into headwinds, under painful rain, and passing through the tiniest of towns with little to offer me in terms of comfort. As I thought of quitting more and more, I also started checking in on why I was even on the trip. I remembered the excitement I felt before setting off to visit multiple cities that had long been on my list. I thought about how much fun I had already had in the three weeks of riding so far.
Austin was only a few days away - perhaps the place I was most excited to visit. After that, I’d get to ride the historic Natchez Trace Trail, followed by a trip to Nashville. From there, it would be re-visiting places closer to where I grew up that all had significant meaning to me. One night, sitting in a damp tent on a rather remote highway in West Texas, I thought about all of these things. Despite utterly hating my current situation, I couldn’t help but feel some excitement.
I kept on riding the next day, still in a downpour. I got a hotel room that night and managed to get most of my things clean and dry. The sun shined brightly following three days delivering me into Austin, where I had a great time. The entire rest of the ride was full of happy, magic moments. Sometimes I would think back to that week in West Texas, astonished that I had gotten so close to quitting but was so grateful that I didn’t.
Risk vs. Reward
As I continued on the Grand Enchantment Trail, it didn’t get any worse or better. I kept on executing the hike every day, staying right on pace, staying physically healthy. I also kept on not finding those feelings of wonder that a thru-hike is all about. Just like that bike ride, I found myself questioning why I was even out there. I couldn’t come up with a good reason.
Two weeks in, I crossed the border from Arizona to New Mexico a full day ahead of schedule. I was hiking strong and efficiently. The Mogollon Mountains towered ahead of me - the highest range on the entire trail. Spring snow was still extremely prevalent, not too exciting considering the cold spell that had come on over the last few days. I got to Glenwood, NM, a tiny town, and sought a place to stay the night while waiting for the post office to open the next day. I got a ride to an RV campground just a mile out of town, only to find no one was there. No owner, no guests, no one. I explored the area a bit and discovered that the bathrooms were unlocked with a sign posted: “Non-guests: $5.00 for a shower”. A little black box sat below the sign. An easy decision, I dropped my money in the box and headed into the rather tiny bathroom.
For the next hour, I went about the usual thru-hiker town chores that one might seek to get done in a tiny bathroom. I took a hot shower, cleaning up my blisters. I washed my socks in the shower and all of my dishes in the sink. I cooked my dinner while enjoying the warmth of the enclosed, steamy bathroom and began reading the field notes for the next section. It was my usual routine; everything was in service of continuing the hike.
As I read the Mogollon mountains field notes, I found myself realizing just how intense this section would be. I had already seen the snow up there. The RV park’s wifi had also allowed me to discover that a snowstorm would be blowing in two days. I had enough experience to know precisely how difficult - and dangerous - that next section would be. The following sections would remain in higher elevations as I made my way through the Gila Wilderness.
I thought back to so many situations before - similarly dangerous - that I had put myself into. Each time I was ready to take those risks because of the rewards I knew I would get. When an adventure gives you everything you want it to and more when it satisfies you, it makes you feel accomplished, confident, passionate - those dangerous situations are worth the risk. I thought about how the GET hike had been going so far. I was getting none of the rewards. Suddenly, the decision came to me rather quickly. I looked into the tiny mirror in the tiny bathroom and asked myself out loud, “Do you want to bail?”
The speed of my answer surprised me. “Yes,” I blurted out. And that was that. As soon as that one word tumbled out of my mouth, I didn’t look back. I felt clear and confident about the decision. The following day I went to the post office to save myself the hassle of getting the package returned to sender and began to find my way home.
The bathroom of clarity!
So What’s the Right Answer?
As I tried to highlight in the introduction, there is nuance to this. It’s never going to be possible to be 100 percent sure if you’re in scenario A or B. To be honest, there are probably more like 50 different scenarios here. The important thing is to take stock of why you’re out there. If you can regain a clear sense of why you set off on the trip in the first place, it can help you understand if continuing or not is the right choice given the specific circumstance.
Injury, weather, despondence, there are so many reasons why we might feel like quitting on any given journey. Making sure that we are continuing - or quitting - for the right reasons can be hard. Staying true to our happiness and motivations is the best way to try to come up with the right choice.
