My trail friends call me
Kaleidoscope
Ivey at the northern Terminus of the BMT, prior to setting a new overall unsupported Fastest Known Time (FKT) and the first women’s unsupported FKT
But I also respond to “Ivey”
I began backpacking in 2017 with a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail.
I had a lot to learn when I set out from Amicalola Falls on that faithful rainy morning in March.
Turns out I didn't need to carry an entire roll of duct tape or a golf umbrella, but I was going to need more than a summer sausage and jar of PB to make it all the way to Hot Springs, NC.
Today, the lessons the trail teaches me are a little deeper, like embracing the unknown alone, managing my anxiety in the middle of nowhere, being kind to myself when I mess up, continuing to walk even when I am exhausted and nervous. Oh, and patience, the trail has plenty to say about patience.
The privilege of hiking thousands of miles in one go makes my soul sing at the highest frequency.
The minute I took my first steps on the A.T., I knew everything was going to change. I had come to the trail dragging my alcoholism, depression, anxiety, and a perpetually broken heart behind me, my life teetering on the rails.
As I walked, I chased a flicker of something—a new way of being, perhaps?
Standing on the summit of Katahdin 2,200 miles later in the wind and rain, wrapped in clouds, I found myself hopeful for the first time in years, hopeful that things could be different.
A singular thru-hike would not be my panacea, but I was on my way.
In the years following my thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail, I continued to walk long distances. In June of 2020 I thru-hiked Vermont’s Long Trail, and then drove across the country in July to thru-hike the Colorado Trail.
My intuition told me I would be staying in Colorado, permanently, so I threw most of my things into my Corolla before hitting the road from my home state of Maryland.
Along the CT, on Cottonwood Pass, I met Logan, my fiancé, and subsequently made my home with him in Crested Butte upon finishing the trail.
Since moving to Colorado, my life has been full of beautiful climbs and bumpy descents.
In January of 2021, I tore my ACL learning to ski; the subsequent repair and recovery was immensely challenging for me.
Seven and a half months post-op, though, I began a journey on the Arizona Trail; I completed my thru-hike 35 days and 800miles later at the Mexico Border Wall feeling elated.
The AZT was rugged, winding me through a landscape of extremes; it gave me back my sense of freedom and independence, something I’d been missing since my injury.
The time I spent rehabbing my knee prior to embarking on the AZT wasn’t wasted, though. During that “down” time I began building She Treks from the ground up.
I was highly motivated to build a solid foundation for my fledgling guiding company, so that in the years to come, it might see a measure of success.
I spent the summers of 2022 and 2023 successfully guiding my first lightweight, all-inclusive backpacking trips for She Treks in the West Elk Wilderness, near Crested Butte, CO.
In fall of 2023 I hiked a trail in my own backyard, the 164mi Collegiate Loop, in just under 4 days, pushing myself past the limit of what I thought I was capable of.
One month later I drove alone across the country to Georgia, to a parking lot in the woods where it all started for me, almost 7 years ago.
Over the next 6 days, 18 hours, and 54 seconds, I would walk 289 miles and climb 67,000ft—much of it in the dark—southbound on the Benton MacKaye Trail, setting the first women’s unsupported FKT and a new overall unsupported FKT.
I had no idea how much it would mean to me, to walk back to Springer Mountain after all this time, with nearly 5 years of sobriety under my belt and a renewed enthusiasm for this thing called living.
