By Allen Irwin. Mental health was never once a topic in my household and when it reeled its ugly head, a purple elephant showed up to the party that was somehow invisible. Crazy to look back and try to wrap my head around the fact that any of this could ever be ignored. Yet, this has been the very same story being told all around the world. Why would anyone want to talk about something that can’t be seen. I found myself sitting in a jail cell detoxing from Oxycontin and wondering where it had all gone wrong. And this was how I disguised my mental health by digging myself a hole that I nearly couldn’t climb out of.

By Zach Davis. The year was 2011. I was both stressed and depressed – largely the result of working on my laptop 70 hours a week. What little free time I had was filled with alcohol and even more screen time in the form of Netflix, YouTube, and the black hole that is social media. One night out at the local watering hole, a friend confided his plan to hike from Georgia to Maine on a path called the Appalachian Trail. This was the first time I had heard these two words used consecutively. Despite not having any outdoor experience or a clear path to escape my current obligations, I committed to join him.

By Judy Gross. The outdoors were my sanctuary – a place I could be alone and explore. I also grew up thinking the outdoors were a women’s sanctuary, that men didn’t go out in nature – I told this to someone recently (a man) and was laughed at – what little does he know – if you look at recent statistics, there are more women than men in many outdoor activities.

by Cindy Ross. Hiking gave me my life. It began with the Appalachian Trail which I hiked as a young woman. Upon reaching Mount Katahdin in Maine, I ran my finger across the routed wooden sign that pointed south and read Springer Mountain, Georgia, 2100 miles. I suddenly realized that I could have a dream and if I worked hard enough and believed in it deeply enough, it would come true. All it took was a strong passion and a lot of perseverance. Hiking gave me many gifts, but the most priceless one was this incredible self-confidence and belief in myself. The trail taught me to not see limits.

By Betsy Kane. In college, I found myself seeking out local trails to find peace and solitude away from campus. Hiking became an escape from reality in my mid-twenties, when I was facing divorce at a young age. When I was almost 30, a car slammed into mine on my way home from work one day, and I ended up needing spinal surgery. During that time of physical weakness, I decided that I should go for a hike on the Appalachian Trail. My mom angrily reacted to this decision by telling me to stick a note in my pocket saying where to send my dead body.

By Amanda Moutsoulas. Before this past summer, I never hiked. In my entire 35 years, I had hiked exactly once, ten years ago, on New Hampshire’s Mt. Major, with my husband. I have spent much of my life battling intermittent depression, and even during the periods when getting out of bed wasn’t a struggle, I wasn’t what anyone would call “active.” That changed when a sudden, devastating loss led me to begin running in January.

by Karen Viola. Walking in wildness with intention is a body-mind workout. It is all types of fun, alone or with friends. For me, it goes beyond recreational privilege. Hiking has grown to be my pilgrimage to presence and possibility. And yes, it is a privilege.

by Ron Tipton, retired President/CEO of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. My life was transformed by my A.T. journey. I decided my mission was to spend the rest of my career protecting national parks and wilderness areas and other special places in the American landscape, including the Appalachian Trail. When I hiked in 1978, more than 200 miles of the Trail were on public roads and more than 600 miles were in private ownership. Today the entire A.T. is publicly owned, permanently protected and managed by federal and state conservation agencies. I am proud to say I had a role in that historic achievement.