Unsupported

By Bethany Adams

This is an excerpt from Unsupported: A Story of Moving Fast and Letting Go – Setting a Speed Record in the Adirondack Mountains, Bethany Adams’ memoir, recently published by Rugged Outdoorswoman Publishing in early 2026. More than anything else, Unsupported is the story of a woman who fell in love with the Adirondack High Peaks and sought healing there, repeatedly. Set against a weeklong expedition in the High Peaks, to be one of the first women to climb them all in an unsupported manner, meaning no car rides, no food drops… just feet, she’s forced to reckon with the dissolution of her first marriage, and what it means to be supported in life, love, and adventure.

The forested peaks and whiskey-colored waters of the Adirondack Mountains have captured my heart. After four years of environmental studies at Paul Smith’s College, I can’t bear to leave. Though I miss the farmland of my central New York roots, something about this vast, jagged landscape feels like home to me. The sheer rock faces that rise to the sky, the thick pine forests, the blue ridgelines stretching toward Canada and Vermont. Plus, I love the idea of being close to Lake Placid, where Olympic athletes train. 

But living here isn’t easy. The [2008] recession leaves my dozen job applications unanswered, so I piece together three seasonal tourism gigs just to afford the expensive vacation-destination rent. To save money, I bike and walk as much as possible, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and picking wild strawberries along the roads and railroad tracks. 

One day, my college friend Maegen invites me to hike Mount Marcy. I don’t know much about the Adirondack High Peaks, as New York’s tallest mountains are known, other than there are 46 of them and Mount Marcy is the highest. In all my years as a student, I had been too busy playing soccer and basketball to get out and explore them, even though I could see a few from campus and most of their trailheads were less than an hour drive away. Knowing that my restless legs need a new sport, I agree to the 15-mile adventure. 

On the day Maegen and I set out to climb Mount Marcy, rain spits from a steely sky and the parking lot of the Adirondak Loj, where the hike begins, is nearly empty. I wear a pair of black soccer shorts and a green fleece, two sizes too small, that I’d picked up at a local thrift store for three dollars and tie back my short blonde hair with a bandana I recently bought at a Bruce Springsteen concert. From the trunk of my car, I pull out an old Adidas backpack and toss a liter of water, a few Clif bars, an apple, a disposable camera, and a pair of gloves inside.

Maegan and I follow a rocky trail which snakes beside the river through balsam and birch forest. We talk about college and reminisce about ex-boyfriends until the terrain becomes steep and challenging. Eventually, the trees give way until all that’s left is a tumble of mossy rock. As we approach the summit, yellow splashes of paint, or “blazes,” and large rock cairns guide us. I hike ahead for a few minutes and when I look back, I can no longer see Maegen through the fog. The steep terrain engages me and forces my calves to work like they never have before. 

Round droplets of moisture cling to my fleece. Out of the fog, I spot a plaque cut into a large rock. I run my fingers over the raised text. Marcy, also known by the Indian name Tahawus, meaning “Cloud-Splitter.” I like that. Tahawus. Cloud-Splitter, the one who splits clouds. I wish the clouds would split now, so that I can see what’s around me, but the view is obscured and I stare out at a world of gray. 

After six hours of climbing, Maegen and I lean against the summit rock to eat our lunches. The absolute stillness of the world captivates me. I don’t want to leave, but I know I cannot stay. From the bottom of my pack, I dig out the disposable camera and snap a photo of the gray nothingness before we descend into the mist.

After five miles downhill, the tips of my toes scream for release. I take off my shoes and settle my feet into the dark mud. The earth pushes up between my toes, and for the last two miles I run barefoot in the rain, mud splattering my legs. 

Running through the mountains feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

From a young age, being athletic and playing sports have been a central part of my identity. My family cultivated three main values in me and my sisters: faith, family, and sports. Believe in God, be a good daughter, and play hard. I’m not sure which came first: the knowledge that sports were important or the fact that I was a strong and competitive kid. My above-average height, broad shoulders, boundless energy, and easy speed made me a natural athlete. By the time I was 13, my bedroom walls were plastered with posters of Mia Hamm and Michelle Akers, two of Team USA’s best soccer players.

My dream had been to play soccer at a collegiate level, possibly even to go further. But it seemed my athletic ambitions were always limited by my body. I was diagnosed with asthma before I could walk, and then ulcerative colitis, a chronic inflammation of the lower intestines, at age 10. Driven by the desire to be normal, I often refused to acknowledge the complexity of my illnesses – or the consequences of not taking care of my body. When I reached college and my mother was no longer around to manage my treatment, I stopped taking my medications. With the newfound freedom to live however I wanted, I made poor nutritional decisions that often resulted in bingeing the sugary, processed foods I’d been denied early in life. In the end, my college soccer career was lackluster. I spent most of those years inflamed and depressed.

Now on the slopes of Mount Marcy, my legs seem to go faster with every stride, and I open into a full sprint. It’s a wild and uncontrolled rush. Having to focus so intensely on my foot placements as I pick my way between rocks and roots reminds me of the joy I often felt playing soccer. For the first time in years, I feel strong and powerful, not controlled by my physical limitations.

I’m free.

Bethany Adams (bethanygarretson46@gmail.com) is a writer, mountain athlete and experiential educator. Her stories of endurance and healing through nature have been published in Trail Runner and Outside magazines and in the short story collection Blood Sweat Tears (Rugged Outdoorswoman Publishing, 2024). She is a community ambassador for SheJumps, a non-profit organization that works to provide more women and girls access to the outdoors.