My mom describes me as an adventurer. I suppose this started in the summer of 2013 when I decided to ride my bike from Seattle, where I lived, down the west coast to San Diego. And I did it by myself. It was an elegant way to string together my life—an early life in southern California, formative years spent in the mystical northwest, and the future somewhere in-between. I'm grateful that I didn’t realize how difficult, near impossible, my endeavor would be. I didn't consider the harrowing task before me and pushed each day with a goal in mind—the border with Mexico. While I hit many bumps along the way, I look back and I surprise myself with the drive and ability that it took to bike over 1700 miles in 5 weeks time.
Since that fateful trip, I've trekked over 240 miles on the John Muir Trail, summited Mount Whitney, and taken to biking, climbing, diving, or camping as a lifestyle rather than an adventure. But in terms of a title, I think adventurer might be the best fit. Thanks, Mom.

“It always seems impossible until it is done.”
—Nelson Mandela
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