Starting Squak has been one of the greatest adventures of our lives — and also one of the most stressful. Building something you believe in requires a lot, which is why balance has become one of our core values. Balance in work, in relationships, in rest, and in adventure.

This year I turned 30.

For a few months,  we’ve joked about planning a “Big Adventure” to celebrate — something far away and epic. But January arrived on the heels of holiday travel, and postponing it until summer felt like the practical choice.

Still… I love birthdays. I love celebrating people. And I didn’t want to let this milestone quietly pass by.

So we planned an epic adventure — just not the kind you’d expect.

Hamilton first suggested I run 30 miles. I run consistently, but since my marathon in September, I haven’t gone much farther than eight miles at a time. Thirty sounded less like a celebration and more like pure suffering.

Then he suggested hiking 30 miles.

Immediately, I knew exactly where I wanted to do it: our local trail, just minutes from home.

There’s nothing particularly dramatic about this hike. It’s about 1.5 miles to the top with just under 1,000 feet of elevation gain. No sweeping alpine lake, no waterfall finish line, no summit selfies. There’s a viewpoint — but nothing you’d call spectacular.

And yet, it’s our trail. We hike it in every season. It’s where we go when we need fresh air, perspective, or simply an hour outside.

So I decided to lap it.

Ten times.

I’ve never been brave enough to attempt a backyard-style race — the idea of quitting early always gets in my head. I much prefer knowing exactly how far I have to go and then just doing it.

Choosing a trail close to home meant friends and family could join for a lap or two. It wasn’t so difficult that someone couldn’t participate, and that mattered to me.

The goal: 10 laps of the Woodland Hills Switchback.

I started at 6:00 a.m. and finished around 6:30 p.m.

Secretly, I was hoping for a 10-hour finish, but a few things slowed me down — and in hindsight, I wouldn’t change any of them.

There was snow on the trail. Not terrible, but enough that I didn’t feel comfortable running downhill. (Microspikes would have been smart — especially since mine broke last season and I never replaced them.)

But the biggest reason?

People.

Friends showed up and hiked at their own pace. Normally, big efforts feel like a race against the clock. I’m pushing hard, moving fast, squeezing the adventure into a tight schedule.

This day was different.

There was zero pressure.

So I slowed down.

I walked most of it. Ran a little downhill. Jogged the flats. And just enjoyed the day.

Honestly, these low-key adventures might be my new favorite.

No pre-trip jitters. No complicated logistics. I just woke up and started hiking.

I ate real food — including half a pizza midway through — and my stomach never once protested. I adjusted layers as the day warmed, leaving extras at the trailhead. Between laps, I lingered and talked with Hamilton and whoever else had arrived.

It was relaxed. Uncomplicated. Joyful.

Most of all, it became about the people.

Friends from before college. New friends from church and our neighborhood. My husband’s aunt, who casually knocked out five laps herself (incredible). Two neighbors who live less than ten minutes from the trail reached the top for the very first time.

I didn’t complete a single lap alone.

And I finished the last one with Hamilton.

Somewhere along the way, I realized something: the adventure wasn’t the mileage or the elevation — it was the community surrounding it.

For the gear lovers reading this — yes, I basically wore a rotating closet of Squak layers throughout the day. Ultralight Alpha for breathability, merino wool for warmth, my Alpha beanie for the chilly morning start, and the RT windbreaker when the weather shifted.

Layering well meant I could focus on the experience instead of the conditions.

Final stats:
30 miles
11,000 feet of elevation gain
One very full heart

This birthday reminded me that adventure doesn’t have to mean boarding a plane or chasing dramatic landscapes.

Sometimes the most meaningful challenges are waiting right outside your front door.

Sometimes celebration looks like showing up, lap after lap.

And sometimes balance means choosing the simple adventure — and letting the people you love make it extraordinary.