9/11 firefighter's hike to raise PTSD awareness leads to unexpected gift on Appalachian Trail

Rob Weisberg was about halfway through hiking the arduous 2,190-mile Appalachian Trail when he crossed paths with a young man.

Months of grueling hiking had been taking their toll on the 55-year-old Weisberg, so he was glad for the company. As they hiked along a Virginia trail, Weisberg began sharing his motivation for the solitary journey to his new travel companion, who was about 25 years old.

A volunteer firefighter from New York, Weisberg has long dealt with post-traumatic stress disorder from responding to the terror attacks at the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001, which was now 22 years ago on Monday.

For those 22 years, Weisberg largely suffered in silence. This year, he decided enough was enough.

So on March 11, he began hiking the Appalachian Trail with two goals in mind: push the boundaries of what he can do to give hope to others with PTSD; and raise money for a charity close to his heart called Paws of War, which provides support dogs to veterans and first responders.

After sharing his story with the younger hiker, Weisberg looked over at the young man and was moved by what he saw.

“He's got tears coming down his face and his bottom lip was quivering," Weisberg recently told USA TODAY. "And he says to me, 'Well you know, I'm not OK.'”

It was in that moment that Weisberg stopped talking about himself, instead providing kind words and an empathetic ear to someone battling demons of his own.

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Haunted

Weisberg, who lives on Long Island with his wife and two teenage sons, counts the interaction interaction with the young man as a highlight of his trip — a moment emblematic of what he had hoped to accomplish by embarking on the hike in the first place.

For more than two decades, the specter of mental illness has haunted Weisberg, who now laments the years he spent succumbing to despair rather than seeking support.

His mental health struggles can be traced two decades ago directly to the moment when American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center complex in Lower Manhattan.

In that moment, Weisberg, a longtime volunteer firefighter with Commack Fire Department in New York, didn't hesitate to answer the call for help. Leaving behind his office job at a software company near the towers, Weisberg instead ran to the New York City Fire Department's station across the street from the World Trade Center and began helping the injured.

The subsequent attack on the World Trade Center's South Tower sent a plane engine crashing into the firehouse, barely missing Weisberg. And when the collapse of the towers trapped Weisberg and everyone else at the firehouse under debris, Weisberg helped lead many to safety.

Weisberg was grateful to help the injured that day but his heroism left him irrevocably scarred.

Racked by survivor's guilt, Weisberg still finds himself unable to sleep and easily set off by a host of triggers. Loud noises and crowds are nearly impossible for him to tolerate, as is dust from sheet rock at hardware stores, which resembles the rubble. Even flowers are hard for him to see, an unbearable reminder of all the funerals and memorial services he attended.

"You end up with a lot of anger, and your reaction to things may not fit the situation,” Weisberg said. “When I go out in public, I would be aware of that and have to concentrate on it to control it because, let’s face it, that’s not the person I am.”

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Early end

That's why Weisberg, a former Eagle Scout, set out along the Appalachian Trail to prove to himself as much as anyone else that PTSD does not define him.

Along the way, he documented his travels on Facebook and Youtube.

Weisberg had hoped to reach the end of the trail in Katahdin, Maine on the anniversary of 9/11, but a knee injury in August prevented him from completing the trip. Instead, Weisberg made the decision to end his journey in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, having completed more than 1,852 miles.

“You’ve got to listen to your body and that’s what ended up happening,” Weisberg said. “If I ignored what’s going on with my knees, I'd be in the mountains somewhere totally jammed up because I'd be waiting for some sort of rescue.” 

Though the decision was difficult, Weisberg still considers his trek a success. Not only did he undertake a challenging feat, but he raised $14,000 for Paws of War, a nonprofit organization founded in 2014 to rescue and train dogs before placing them for free with a veteran or first responder.

“He’s been so active in the community, a true hero on so many levels,” said Robert Misseri, co-founder of Paws of War. “He pushed forward to do this, going through some of the roughest terrains to send a message that you can fight this, you can win, you can get out of this depression if you have PTSD.”

Solace

In 2019, Weisberg brought home a rescue dog of his own, a treeing walker coonhound he named Chip.

Chip had no training when Weisberg adopted him, and his breed was not typical for the service animals that Paws for War trains. But about a year after entering training, the 6-year-old Chip is now one assessment away from being fully certified with the nonprofit, Weisberg said.

One of the primary areas in which Chip was trained was in recognizing Weisberg's physical cues for a PTSD episode. In those moments, the pooch will place his paw on his owner, signaling to Weisberg that it's time for a walk or another activity that will help him avoid going down a dark path.

Now home for three weeks, Weisberg has been on the mend and even got a celebratory ear piercing — long frowned upon in the corporate world, he said. As he adjusts back into the rhythms of his life, he fondly reflected on his Appalachian Trail journey.

“This was the most challenging physical and mental activity I've ever intentionally taken on," Weisberg said. "There were days where I'm tired, I'm beaten up, but I got to keep pushing through.”

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Even one person

The young man who Weisberg met in Virginia turned out to only be hiking in that area for the day. After the pair spoke at length, the man walked on ahead at a faster pace, but Weisberg crossed paths with him one more time when the man had turned back.

Weisberg had told him that if he had only helped one person along his journey, he would consider it a success — regardless of whether he finished. The man thanked Weisberg again for taking the time to care, and then left him with one final message.

“He turned to me," Weisberg said, "and said, 'Go find number two.'" 

Eric Lagatta covers breaking and trending news for USA TODAY. Reach him at elagatta@gannett.com.