Imagine walking across the entire United States—not once, but three times—in a single year. That’s exactly what I did in 2025, logging over 10,070 miles on foot. By 7 PM on New Year’s Eve, I stood at the finish line, reflecting on a journey that pushed me to my limits and redefined what I thought was possible. But here’s where it gets controversial: Was this a triumph of human endurance, or a reckless pursuit of an arbitrary goal? Let’s dive in.
This year wasn’t just about the miles; it was a test of resilience, both physical and mental. Averaging 27.5 miles per day—even with 30+ days off—meant every step counted. And this is the part most people miss: the injuries, the doubts, and the moments when quitting seemed like the only option. By the halfway mark, I was sidelined for 17 days, unable to walk without a cane. Did I push too hard? Maybe. But I also learned to trust the process, believing the universe had a plan even when I couldn’t see it.
Stepping back from social media in the final weeks allowed me to fully immerse myself in the experience. While sharing my journey online brought joy, the break reminded me of the importance of being present. Starting and ending in Key West, with my hiking partner Slide by my side, felt like coming full circle. But it wasn’t all scenic sunsets and key lime pie celebrations. The hardest part? The 9 weeks in Colorado, where I averaged 37 miles a day to outrun winter. Those weeks transformed me, stripping away everything but the raw essence of who I am. I felt closer to the earth than ever before—a connection that’s hard to describe but impossible to forget.
Slide and I met on the PCT in August, each having already hiked nearly 6,000 miles. His presence during those grueling weeks was a lifeline. Together, we finished the year in Florida, logging 1,600 miles in just 44 days. Here’s a thought-provoking question: Would I have attempted 10,000 miles without him? Probably not. Yet, those final weeks were some of my favorites, proving that even in exhaustion, joy can thrive.
This year taught me that highs and lows aren’t opposites—they’re partners. Every struggle complemented every triumph, and every lesson was a gift. But here’s the counterpoint: Did I miss out on moments by hyper-focusing on the goal? Maybe. Yet, I also discovered a strength I never knew I had. To everyone who cheered me on—trail angels, friends, family, and online supporters—thank you. Your encouragement kept me going when the mission felt impossible.
Now, as I catch up on blogs, videos, and creative projects, I’m excited to share more of this journey with you. But I’ll leave you with this: What’s your 10,000-mile goal? Is it worth the sacrifice, or is there a point where ambition becomes folly? Let’s discuss in the comments—I’m all ears.
