2,650 Miles to Go: Why I’m Walking From Mexico to Canada on the PCT
“The more real experiences you have dealing with fear, the less likely you are to make mountains out of mole hills”
-Alex Honnold
The trail is calling. I can hear the expanse of 2,650 miles ringing in my ears. It’s a strange feeling—thrilling, a little ominous, but undeniably real.
I’m so proud of us. We did it. Every ounce of hard work, every late night spent planning, every moment of preparation—it’s all led to this. My wonderful, adventurous husband, Abhi and I carved out space in our lives for the adventure of a lifetime. And now, a whole new kind of hard work begins.
For what feels like forever, life has been moving at full speed. In the past year alone, we packed up our lives in Washington and moved across the country, back home to Santa Barbara. We closed a successful van conversion business, and I shifted gears, diving headfirst into a new path as a Holistic Health Coach.
I turned 30. We moved again. We got married, celebrating with our closest people in a weekend-long gathering in the woods—one of the most deeply connective experiences of my life.
Then we moved again. And again. Somewhere in between, Abhi and I disappeared into Thailand for a month-long honeymoon, a place that I’ve loved dancing with for years, and where I first learned the meaning of true freedom and joy.
We returned home to a life that felt fuller than ever. I launched my new business and took another job. We both worked overtime. And in 2024, we moved six times, all to make this dream— this walk—possible.
By the end of the year, I could feel the weight of final PCT preparations pressing down. The first months of 2025 disappeared into spreadsheets, resupply plans, endless late-night research, frantic REI runs, stolen moments with friends, and as much training as I could fit in. And now, here I am—sitting on a train bound for the Mexican border, next to the love of my life, a sunrise away from a wild journey.
It all feels surreal.
We’ve been moving so fast that I haven’t had a chance to truly let it sink in. But as I stare out the train window, watching the world blur past—faster than it’s going to for a long time—I feel a shift. A slowing. A readiness for my mind to be still. I’m prepared for a new kind of exhaustion—the kind that comes from a physically demanding, deeply human experience.
Tomorrow, Abhi and will take our first steps on the Pacific Crest Trail.
Why walk 2,650 miles?
People ask me all the time: why hike the PCT?
Part of it is the challenge— the raw, unfiltered test of endurance, both physical and mental. There’s something deeply human about walking great distances, carrying only what you need, stripping life down to the essentials.
I crave that simplicity and clarity. I crave the spacious freedom of untethered introspection.
Another part is connection. To nature. To myself. To the people I’ll meet on trail who will undoubtedly shape me. I want to absolutely worship the land. To breathe in sync with the soil and feel it pulse beneath every step. The trail demands presence, and in return, reveals small, life-affirming joys— a sunrise, a warm meal, dry socks, a cool breeze on your face on a hot day.
And then there’s the unknown. I don’t know who I’ll become on the other side of this journey, and that’s certainly a part of the reason I’m doing it— it’s about becoming. And I’m really excited to meet her.
The months leading up to this have been exhilarating and overwhelming. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that readiness isn’t a feeling, it’s a decision.
So here I am. The nerves are real— the excitement palpable. A late winter storm is rolling in, promising an unpredictable and technical start to the desert stretch.
But I know deep down that I’m ready.
