Because sometimes the heaviest thing you carry is your fabulous self

I didn’t train for this.

I didn’t pack enough water.

I had a moody knee, some hiking poles, and a camera (on my iPhone), I was going to use whether my legs liked it or not. So there I was last July, chasing mountains like they owed me money.

I’m plus-size, but I never let that be a crutch or an excuse. If there’s a mountain, I’ll find a way to climb it. If there’s a trail, I’ll hike it. And if there’s a chance to laugh along the way, you better believe I’ll take it.

Because here’s the truth no one tells you: you do not have to be a specific size to love adventure. You just need a little determination, a supportive sports bra, and a questionable amount of snacks you acquired at every gas station. 

Let’s rewind to the start of this journey.

Mile 1: Colorado Optimism

We kicked off the trip in Denver — not on a trail, but wandering through breweries, vintage shops, and pretending the altitude wasn’t trying to assassinate me. I wasn’t hiking just yet, but the mountain views? Deceptively welcoming. The fresh air and cool breezes whispered lies like, “You’re going to crush this trip.”

I was thriving. I was hydrated. I was still wearing jeans.

Little did I know that the moment we hit the Grand Tetons, all that confidence would be replaced with sweat, sore calves, and trail-induced humility.

Because when I did finally lace up my boots and hit that first real incline, it wasn’t a hike — it was me rethinking all of my life choices.

Mile 500: Montana Delirium

I saw a sign for a suspension bridge, somewhere near the Montana border. The kind that sways gently in Instagram influencer posts. I needed to go.

It was July. It was 95 degrees. I had no water. But I had confidence, which is almost as hydrating.

The hike to the bridge was steep, rocky, and smelled like sagebrush and regret. My thighs were clapping in protest. My knee was throwing a complete tantrum.

And yet — I kept going.

I reached the bridge, drenched, dehydrated, and with hair that could only be described as “wilderness chic.” But the view? The view made me forget everything. In the middle of nowhere, I stood on this rickety bridge over a river canyon, screaming internally from joy and quad cramps. I leaned over, just listening to the water rushing below, and I thought to myself: THIS WAS SO WORTH IT. But also, will Uber pick us up out here?

Bonus Round: Canada Tried to Kill Me

Next stop: Canada. Specifically, the glacier ice fields.

Let me tell you something about glaciers: they are steep. And frozen. And nature tests how badly you want to prove you’re “outdoorsy.”

Climbing that glacier was a full-body betrayal. My calves were trembling. My lungs were filing a complaint. My knee had entered full rebellion mode.

But still, I climbed. Slowly. Closely resembling a tortoise. I stopped a dozen times, snapped photos, waved politely at tourists who looked suspiciously frost-resistant, and kept going. By the time I reached the top, I was freezing, radiant, and prouder than ever.

The Moral of the (Sweaty) Story

Every trail I walked last summer — whether it was in Grand Teton, Glacier, Banff, or a random dirt path I mistook for a trailhead — reminded me of one thing: You don’t have to be thin to be adventurous. You don’t have to be fast to finish. And you don’t have to be graceful to have a good time.

So I may hike slower. Maybe I’ll  make more stops. Perhaps I’m out of breath, red-faced, and cursing softly into the wind. But I’m doing it. I’m out there. I’m seeing things people think they’re “too big” or “too out of shape” to see.

And if you’re reading this, thinking “maybe I could do that,” let me just say: You absolutely can.

Bring your body. Bring your extra baggage. Bring your snacks and your squeaky knees. The world is still yours to explore—one hilarious, sweaty step at a time.