Hi Tough Love readers! We’re trying something new with this column. I came across this question on , from a woman who’s not sure if she should pressure her husband to finish thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. It’s his lifelong dream, but he’s miserable, and she worries about his mental health if he quits. My heart went out to the couple. I don’t know if they’ll find this response, but maybe the answer will reach someone else in a similar situation. (The post below has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity).
My husband is currently NOBO on the AT and is not enjoying the experience at all. He’s been dreaming of doing the AT since he was about 12 (he’s in his fifties now) and over the years, he has read every book, watched every documentary, done so much research, etc. He’s healthy and is under no time constraints and we are fine financially to cover whatever he needs. But he is miserable. We’ve been married for almost 25 years, so I know him well, and I know that if he quits, he will seriously regret it later and that could lead to some very challenging (if not dangerous) mental health issues. So I want to keep encouraging him to continue.
At the same time, I feel like I’m almost “forcing” him to keep doing something he’s hating. So I’m not sure what the right thing to do is or how best to support him. Finishing the trail would have so many benefits for him, whereas quitting would open the door to a lot of bad things. I’m not sure where the line is between supporting him in being okay with leaving the trail and pushing him to do something I know he’ll be happy with in the end. Does anyone have any experience with this on either side and could offer insight? Or any hikers have ideas of what I could do? Thank you in advance!
Before I ran the Iditarod, I was terrified that I wouldn’t finish. My husband and I had sacrificed so much: years of work, any semblance of routine, and our financial stability, all in pursuit of this goal. Most of all, I thought of the wonderful people who supported me: sponsors and fans of the team who sent letters and bought dog booties and cheered us on every step of the way. I felt like I was gambling years of our lives, and extraordinary amounts of other peoples’ kindness, on a dream that might not pan out.
Plus, I had a second fear: that after all that exhausting, extraordinary effort, if I didn’t finish the Iditarod, I wouldn’t be able to rest until I did. And I was tired! I wanted to rest. It wasn’t that I was averse to running the race a second time. But if I did, I wanted it to be for the experience alone; not because my life felt unfinished without it.
And so, as we drove to the opening banquet, I asked my husband to not let me quit. As long as the dogs were happy, I told him, he should pressure me to keep going. I assumed he’d be happy to oblige. But he didn’t answer for a long time. He kept his eyes on the road.
The longer we sat in silence, the more nervous I felt.
“It’s not up to me,” he said finally.
“I know,” I said. But I also knew that I wouldn’t let myself stop if he asked me not to. We’d prepared everything together. It felt like our race, not just mine.
He shook his head firmly now. “I don’t want that to be my role. If you want to scratch, that’s not a choice you’d make lightly. I’m going to support whatever you choose. I want you to know I’m always on your side.”
Right now, you’re in the same position that my husband was imagining (and dreading). You want to be on your husband’s side—but which side is that? The side he’s on now, or the side of his imagined future self?
Here’s some mushing wisdom: never, ever scratch from a race right after you reach a checkpoint. That’s when you’re depleted. You’re freezing. You’re not thinking clearly. You should get yourself back to baseline, or as close to it as you can. Care for your dogs. Eat. Warm up. Above all, sleep. Let the clock run. And only when you’re full, dry, and rested should you approach the question of continuing.
You want to be on your husband’s side—but which side is that? The side he’s on now, or the side of his imagined future self?
When does your husband most want to quit? Is it while he’s hiking? At night? When he wakes up in his tent? The times that he fantasizes most about quitting are exactly when he should avoid making that decision. So when he talks to you about , assure him that he can, but now’s not the time to do it. Do his feet hurt? Is he covered in mosquito bites? Figure out his limiting factors, and address them first. Get him a hotel room in town, where he can soak in a hot bath and take a few days off. Let his body rest before his mind has to decide.
Once he’s rested, does he still want to quit? If so, see if he’s open to shortening his goal distance, rather than stopping outright. Maybe he doesn’t need to finish the whole dang trail at the summit of Mount Katahdin. He could, for example, aim for the thousand-mile mark instead. Or he could try to cross the border into the next state, then reconsider stopping. Looking back, there’s a huge difference between “I quit the AT,” and “I hiked 1,000 miles of the AT” or even “I walked across three states.” Reaching a smaller goal—that’s still a goal!—gives him an accomplishment he can tell people about, and a story that matters.
And of course, once he achieves that feat, he can choose to continue too. One hundred more miles. One more state line. Then, when he gets there, he can quit with pride—unless he chooses, once again, to keep going. Step by step, goal by goal, with countless little victories along the way.
Finally, he should know that if he quits outright, that’s okay too. But more importantly, if his mental health is truly precarious, then working on that should be his—and your—primary goal. Hiking the AT isn’t a band-aid for mental illness, and finishing the trail might be a triumph, but it’s not a short- or long-term solution.
I’m incredibly proud and grateful that I finished the Iditarod. But my primary fear about dropping out—that doing so would mean letting people down—proved unfounded. A few hundred miles into the race, a musher I admired made the hard choice to scratch. I saw how devastated she was—and I also saw the outpouring of love and support she received for making such a difficult choice. It touched my heart deeply. I realized that the folks who supported us athletes did so because they cared about our journeys, our adventures, and our best judgments, not just our finish lines. I felt, too, deep admiration for her choice to scratch. It wasn’t a weak decision, I saw. It was a brave one.
I still desperately wanted to finish, but not because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. It took risking the heartbreak of failure to realize that as long as I cared for myself and my team, I wouldn’t be letting anyone down—including myself. I hope that, with your help, your husband can reach the same clarity.
If you or a loved one are experiencing a mental health crisis, you may call or text 988 for 24/7, free and confidential support from the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. For more information, visit .