Girls and Women Need Connection, Not Control.

I was 14, stuck on an island with a bunch of teenage boys, bleeding through my white shorts.

My only backup? A friend with a code word for “I got my period,” a maxi pad the size of a throw pillow from the camp nurse, and mesh lost and found shorts I swore would haunt me forever.

That’s when I started to feel shame in my body.

I didn’t know that one day I’d run 100 miles, summit volcanoes, and raft the Grand Canyon… all while on my period.

I also didn’t know that my relationship with my body (yup, even my menstrual cycle) would become the best adventure partner of my life.

The Body I Tried to Beat

I grew up loving movement. I’d run laps around the karate dojo barefoot (beating all the boys), hike the White Mountains, and later, chase trail miles in the desert. I didn’t start doing these things to get faster or stronger. I just loved to feel alive.

But sometime during college, performance replaced presence.

I started to believe that being “good” at sport meant being disciplined. Restrictive. Unfeeling.

It was diet culture disguised as “health.” Miles as proof of worth. Numbers over needs.

I praised myself for pushing through injury, ignoring hunger, and losing my period entirely. (Let’s be real, society praised me, too.)

I had no idea I was numbing out in what looked like “healthy” habits. People applauded my control, when what I needed most was connection.

The Wake-Up Call

One winter night, years later, I found myself writhing in pain on the floor of my Salt Lake City apartment. It felt like I was being stabbed from the inside of my pelvis. And I’d been pushing through the pain for days.

After two urgent care visits, a misdiagnosis, and a late-night ER trip, I was wheeled into emergency surgery with a ruptured fallopian tube from an ectopic pregnancy.

My copper IUD had failed. I was in a life-threatening situation and didn’t even know it.

When I woke up, a nurse told me, “We had to remove the tube. There was a lot of internal bleeding.”

I was 24 years old. I didn’t know what hunger felt like. I didn’t know what rest felt like. I didn’t even know what healthy felt like. I was so disconnected from my body that I could've died that night.

I had spent my whole life trying to manage my body instead of trying to listen to it. And I was SO over that.

The Reconnection

Just a few months after surgery, I moved to a cute ‘lil cottage in the forest of Washington. No cell service, no pavement, no gym. Just trees, trails, and time to explore.

And finally, a fog in my brain started to clear. Nature didn’t ask me to hustle. It asked me to notice.

I started to see the parallels everywhere: how rivers rushed, then slowed. How plants bloomed, then decomposed. How nothing in the forest was expected to bloom or perform the same way every single day.

So why was I?

Living deeply with the seasons helped me finally tune into the cycles within my own body. I myself contained each season of Earth. I couldn't be in summer mode at every moment.

I let go of rigid rules and started to move with intention instead of pressure. I stopped trying to control everything. And in that letting go, I began to trust my body—and I haven’t looked back.

Now, the outdoors is where I continue to deepen my relationship with my body. Every run, bike ride, paddle, and alpine soiree reminds me of the strength and the needs of my inner seasons. 

It's hard to imagine a life without adventure at the core. Healing my relationship with my body changed everything.

Why I’m Fundraising for The Cairn Project

Girls are still growing up in a world where they're told to disconnect from their bodies. To bleed in silence. To push past pain. To look “fit” instead of to feel strong.

My time in nature transformed how I looked at my own body. And I’ve witnessed that transformation in other girls and women through my work and personal life.

The Cairn Project crowdfunds outdoor experiences for girls and women, especially those who might not otherwise have access to the wild.

That’s why I’m dedicating my next big adventure, a 100 mile gravel bike race in Oregon, to raising funds for The Cairn Project.

This is for the girl on the summer camp island, clutching her lunch bag over her shorts, hoping no one notices.

This is for the teens who’ve been told they’re too complicated, too hormonal, too much.

This is for the next generation of bold, intuitive adventurers and storytellers who deserve the tools, confidence, and community to move through the world with wildness.

Will Ya Join Me?

Your donation funds life-changing outdoor opportunities for girls and women.

Your support breaks cycles of shame and builds cycles of strength.

Your belief helps other athletes listen to their bodies—and trust them.