Katy Perry’s Roar vibrates in my right ear while I settle my left boot up onto the snowpack of the next kick-in boot track along the South facing section of Forester Pass (13,160’). As I heave myself and my pack with 7 days’ worth of provisions nestled in a heavy bear cannister, I roar aloud simultaneously to my melodious inspiration. “It’s not that bad,” flies by my ear that is sans earbud. Surprised by my partners proximity, I turn and gruffly nod. Here is where I describe my waifishness – a long and lithe 5’2” former ballerina who obviously learned that the term “can’t” does not exist (still taught today in studios worldwide). Alternatively, my partner exudes averageness. Height, weight, male, and yes, titled Joey.

Every time I recall this memory I double over with laughter. Why? How is this scene not hilarious? Imagine, if you will indulge me, a small figure with a pack larger rising along the side of a rockface one boot up to her chest and pushing on trekking poles to reach the next step and her Average Joe on her heels waiting patiently for each step as if the stairs were made for him. Because they were. This scene encompasses my female narrative in all my adventures. Maybe it’s part of what draws me into the wilds though.

I grew up with older brothers and was expected to be stronger, better, faster if I wanted to participate. I outsmarted the other capture the flag teams, I was all-time QB for four hand touch, and I never shed a tear no matter how many soccer balls nailed my face when forced to be goalie (always). Is it this way for all the other female thru hikers? I don’t know. I wonder. I wonder a lot because their stories are never shared. So, sit back, turn down Roar and let me tell you mine…