Not Walking It All: Redefining the PCT Beyond the Finish Line

Not walking it all

Somewhere along the trail, I realized I wasn’t chasing the same finish line everyone else seemed to be aiming for.

The goal had changed. Or maybe I had.

The PCT started as a straight line: Mexico to Canada, one continuous footpath. But life out here has a way of bending your plans. You start to notice the weight of the word “thru-hike.” It’s a beautiful goal, sure. But it’s also a box. And I’m not great at staying in boxes.

It didn’t happen in one lightning bolt moment. It crept in quietly—on days when the miles felt more like obligation than adventure. When I’d pass a side trail and feel a tug in my chest but keep walking because the plan said otherwise. When conversations at camp became mileage reports instead of stories. When I caught myself looking at my watch more than at the mountains. Little cracks in the idea of “all or nothing” started forming. And once I saw them, I couldn’t unsee them.

I thought about the mantra every hiker knows: hike your own hike. For me, it became move your own way. Sometimes that’s hiking. Sometimes that’s running. Sometimes that’s detouring to a lake just because the water’s cold and the light is perfect.

I started to let go of the mileage game, the fear of “falling behind,” the invisible race. I wanted to feel the wind on my face not just from the pass I was climbing, but from running down a ridge for no reason other than it felt right. I wanted to take side roads to places not in the guidebook, camp where the view made me stop breathing for a second.

The first day I stopped trying to “keep up,” it felt like my pack had lost half its weight. There was no schedule breathing down my neck, no guilt about slowing down. I ran when I wanted. I lingered when I wanted. I stopped in places that didn’t make sense to anyone but me. It was like taking a deep breath for the first time in weeks—one you didn’t know you were holding.

That choice didn’t end the journey. It opened it up. Now it’s wheels instead of just feet — the trail spilling out into the open road. Nevada’s dust. Arizona’s red rock canyons. The thin air of Colorado passes. Wyoming’s wind tearing through high plains. Idaho’s quiet alpine lakes. The PCT is still here in pieces, but so is the rest of the West. I’m moving through it all, not because I have to, but because I want to.

So no, I’m not walking it all. And that’s the point. I’m moving faster in some places, slower in others. I’m skipping stretches and adding new ones. I’m trading one long, unbroken path for a patchwork of moments, some wild, some quiet, all mine.

People will ask if I “finished” the PCT. The answer will be: I finished my PCT.

Not from Mexico to Canada but from place to place, moment to moment and the one that feels like mine