Peace With My Pace: A Sierra Reflection July 2025
Make it stand out
Backpacking through the Sierra Nevada for four days and 28 miles, I found myself humbled and expanded in ways only the wilderness can offer. The climbs were real—4,000 feet of elevation gain starting at 7,000 feet, with thin air burning my lungs and legs—but so was the clarity that came with every step. The hardest day stretched 12 miles, up to a glacier-fed lake sitting quietly at 11,500 feet.
What a view. What a gift.
I made peace with my pace. That phrase repeated itself like a mantra as I hiked—slow, steady, determined. I wasn’t chasing speed. I was honoring the miracle of being able to do it at all. Less than two years ago, a torn hamstring and a long surgical recovery had me questioning if I’d ever return to the mountains I love. And yet, here I was: climbing, moving, thriving.
Nature cared nothing for my timeline or expectations. Its power pulsed through rushing cascades—ice-cold water that filtered into my bottle and splashed onto tired and dirty skin.. Waterfalls served as both awe-inspiring spectacle and a source of renewal, their constant motion mirroring my own efforts. Deep canyons stretched out like open invitations to feel small and whole at the same time.
My sister, preparing for her own epic journey on the John Muir Trail, surged ahead on many climbs—her box-jump-trained legs strong and light. But we had long stretches of connection too, talking nonstop, laughing, sharing memories, and simply being. That quiet bonding time wrapped us in something sacred—woven between the trees, along dusty switchbacks, under stars so bright they made the universe feel closer.
I’m grateful for my body—for its resilience, its quiet comeback, its ability to keep going even when the way is steep. I’m grateful for the time, the space, the power of the land to restore what’s been frayed by too much noise and too little pause. Out there, perspective returns.
Out there, I remembered again: I don’t need to rush. I just need to keep going.
