Breakthrough Week on the Pacific Crest Trail: Building Strength and finding My Flow
We hadn’t planned to enter Big Bear just yet—twenty five miles short of where we’d expected to-
But the storm didn’t care about our schedule (catch up on last week).
So we descended. Once there, we found comfort and community. Chris’ sister had room for 13 in her cozy cabin, and our trail family exhaled in unison. A soft landing and much needed reprieve.
The next morning, we took a zero day to wait out the weather, dry our gear and catch up on trail chores. As the skies cleared and the trail beckoned, we made a new plan for the following day: slackpacking.
Slackpacking means leaving your full gear behind and carrying just the essentials—snacks, water, layers—so you can move faster and lighter. The goal: 28 miles. It was the perfect day for it because we could get a ride to where we left off on the trail, make some good miles, and then descend back into Big Bear and stay at the cabin for one more night.
We set out feeling light as feathers.
The sun had returned, and the climbs were kind. At one point I got lost, adding a few extra bonus miles (oops). We all laughed about it later but that happy accident brought me to 30 miles: my longest day yet.
We returned to Big Bear that night and indulged in Himalayan food that felt incredibly rich and nourishing— the way that only trail hunger can unlock. We sank into bed exhausted but full—of gratitude, of joy, of curry. It was a wonderful day, but I went to bed unsure of what tomorrow would hold, and ready to listen to whatever my body needed.
When we awoke the next morning, something had shifted.
The fabled “three-week mark” that seasoned hikers speak of had arrived. Our bodies—battered and adapting for weeks—had transformed. We had gotten our trail legs. And for the first time, I felt unstoppable.
The weather looked promising for the next stretch, so we packed out of Big Bear and set big goals with our new trail family: two 20-mile days. Then two 25’s. It sounded wild stacked on top of a 30. But by then, my body wasn’t protesting anymore— it was ready.
After that 30-mile day, my body started moving without resistance. No more fighting the trail— instead, I was dancing with it. Forward motion felt easy, supercharged. I was locked in and in the zone, like forces beyond me propelled me up the mountain. I had found my flow.
Deep Creek Hotsprings
In 5 days, we hiked 117 miles. I still don’t know how to explain it, except that I now believe we are built for more than we know.
Each morning I felt amazing. Strong. Fast. Free.
The body breaks. It rebuilds. It teaches. It becomes— something else entirely. A transformation I’m in aw of.
And the mind— It softens. Sharpens. Deepens. Becomes more present, more alive.
Then there are the people. Oh, the people.
Strangers turned companions, each with a story, each with a reason, each surrendered to the wild unknown.
Deep Creek Hot Springs, near Lake Arrowhead. We were so eager to get there that we nearly ran 15 miles to reach the springs before 11 am. Worth it!
We come from all corners.
But out here, we are the same:
We rise with the sun. We climb, we descend. We walk. We listen. We care.
For each other. For the land.
For the version of ourselves that only exists here, under open sky.
We walk toward Canada.
But really, we walk toward something wordless and much greater than miles.
Something stitched together by dirt and sweat and stars.
