Fatigue and motor learning, 2026 hiking plan

Complex environments drive motor learning through vast sensory inputs and the required variability of movement, but the degree to which motor learning can occur is dependent on fatigue management. I have yet to hear anyone talk about the intersection of motor learning and fatigue when training physical attributes like cardiovascular endurance. In hiking, the average healthy person may think of it simply as long-duration cardio. I’m most drawn to it because it is nature's playground—a complex yet soothing environment with variable terrain and weather. These are perfect conditions for the nervous system to improve movement capabilities through self-organization, but fatigue is a modulatory factor.

It’s tricky to find the sweet spot for duration and intensity of hikes for “optimal” motor learning—for changing the brain and reinforcing efficient movement patterns. While “it’s all about the journey,” it’s also about getting to the desired summit(s), and the top is only halfway. The mountains don’t care if I feel fluid moving and then, 3,000 feet and 5 miles from the car, muscle spasticity locks me up from fatigue. This is part of the process of making improvements, though, as consistent exposure to difficult hikes raises the bar for what is fatiguing. If I only ever walked on easy, flat terrain, the acute motor learning gains would not be transferable to anything more fatiguing. Pushing the limits on duration and intensity drives adaptability, translating to improved performance on easier terrain as well.

In 2025, I hiked 8 New Hampshire 4,000-foot mountains and did another 8–10 moderate day hikes. This was my biggest year of hiking so far, and I have improved steadily over the past five years. The circumstances of my life in 2026 bring great opportunities to continue pushing myself in the mountains. I now live in the closest proximity to big hikes since I’ve gotten into hiking—being in Western Maine, where I can see six 4,000-foot peaks from my apartment, including the daunting Bigelow range. This, combined with the summer off from work, sets the stage for a legendary hiking season.

In 2026, I would like to bag as many peaks as possible—maybe even finishing the New Hampshire 48 4,000-footers (I have done 13 so far). This is possible but ambitious, as a nervous system with cerebral palsy needs more time to recover than most. I will be more systematic with my approach, tracking mileage, vertical gain, and subjective feelings of fatigue and movement quality.

To explain my approach to fatigue management for hiking with CP, we must distinguish between a more “typical” physical attribute like cardiovascular endurance and movement quality, which I define as how efficiently, safely, and skillfully the body executes physical tasks. The cardiovascular system is relatively straightforward to train and improve; in general, doing more cardio will improve your cardio, even for those with physical disabilities (though I understand it can be more complex when programming for elite endurance athletes). Contrarily, moving more does not necessarily lead to improvements in movement quality, especially for people with disabilities.

I can get glimpses of improved movement quality, but the demands of a long hike make it challenging to maintain. Neurally, this process looks like translating chemical changes in the brain into structural changes that “stick.” Motor learning research strongly supports dual tasking to accomplish this, where a motor task is paired with a cognitive task. This is most commonly seen in something like a balance drill paired with multiplication problems. The idea is that the cognitive task occupies one’s conscious thoughts, allowing the motor task to be completed more subconsciously. Could a lifetime of exposure to complex environments serve as a natural form of dual tasking, reinforcing more automatic and efficient movement patterns?

Now, what does dual tasking look like for me in hiking? I’ll tell you now—I’m not doing multiplication problems for 8+ hours. Instead, it means having an external focus of attention as much as possible while hiking, rather than thinking about which muscles are needed to move (an internal focus). I aim to immerse myself sensorially in the environment, similar to how a child interacts with the world, using all five senses regularly.

Vision: sensing optic flow—objects moving past as I move forward (especially on the left side)—and soaking in panoramic views to enhance parasympathetic activity.

Hearing: noticing the subtle background noise of birds chirping and wind moving through trees.

Touch: interacting with the environment, like feeling the bark on trees or the texture of rocks.

Smell: engaging with scents in the environment, especially when something stands out.

Finally, it becomes a focus on gratitude—being in beautiful places with people I love. This all may sound corny, but sensory-motor integration is the only way to truly make lasting changes in movement quality. Pairing this with building resilience to fatigue allows the nervous system to become more efficient and more robust with each experience in the mountains

A few upcoming trips planned for this year:

Iceland with my mother to celebrate her retirement!

Redemption of the Pemi Loop in the White Mountains of New Hampshire with college friends. Last time, we had to bail due to a blizzard, 70 mph winds, and little visibility (in October) on Franconia Ridge. It is 30 miles and 10,000 vertical gain, and will be accomplished in 2 or 3 days – hopefully with a lighter pack this time.

The Bigelow Traverse in Maine with friends from Carrabasset Valley. I see it everyday from my living room window and cannot stand to see it without knowing what it's like to be up there. 17 miles and 5,700 vertical gain, likely over 2 days.