2,800 Miles Later, This Moment Broke Me
Six months of walking from Mexico to Canada on the Continental Divide Trail. Every blister, every 4am start, every resupply box—it all led here.
Big Sandy Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range. Day 127. I'd been moving for so long that stillness felt foreign.
I sat by this water for two hours. Not because I was tired. Because after 2,800 miles of chasing the next mile marker, the next town, the next mountain pass—I finally understood what I'd been walking toward.
Not Canada. Not some finish line celebration.
This. The moment when your body stops but your mind keeps racing, then slowly, finally, catches up. When you realize the trail changed you somewhere between mile 500 and 2,000, and you're just now meeting who you became.
The photo doesn't capture the silence. But I'll never forget it.
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