Launching the Seek trail running shoe this summer was a full-circle experience for me. What started two years ago with blistered feet and a marriage proposal ended with a belated honeymoon thru-hike and 178 miles without a single blister.
As the Innovation Product Manager, I serve KEEN in many ways, but my favorite is testing product in the field. Passion for human-powered movement outside and a personal mission to introduce and inspire others to get outside is my core, personal raison d’être.
I put in over 1,000 miles of wear testing on Seek prototypes, even running my first 50-miler in them. But the most special part of the two-year process developing this shoe was the life-changing moments that occurred along the way.
Jumping In with Both Feet
It all started in the summer of 2023, when my partner Lauren and I headed out on an 8-day backpacking trip from Cascade Locks, Oregon, to White Pass, Washington. We got to touch the “edge” of what thru-hiking the PCT must feel like. We felt a special “something” walking over the Bridge of the Gods, catching vertiginous glimpses of the Columbia River through the open steel of the bridge beneath our feet.
"That’s the point of testing – you look for problems, stitching that could cause discomfort, fit issues and last adjustments, incorrect draft angles of lugs creating traction issues, everything, anything."
I decided to bring a prototype from our first decent round of trail running samples to expose its faults and discover opportunities for refinement. But I realized quickly that something was very wrong. Normally, my sample size feet are “magic” – generally I can wear whatever I want without issue, out of the box, and I can count the number of blisters I’ve ever had on fewer than ten fingers. But this time, I had hot spots on both of my heels, and 140 more miles to go.
More importantly, I was planning to propose to Lauren a few days later once we reached the Knife’s Edge in Goat Rocks Wilderness. I had run 50 miles before the trip without issues, but backpacking isn’t running. Your stride length, cadence, adjusting to carrying a pack, the underlying biomechanics, it’s all different. What this trip exposed almost immediately was horrible heel lockdown and fit issues leading to the worst pain I’ve ever dealt with on trail.
That’s the point of testing – you look for problems, stitching that could cause discomfort, fit issues and last adjustments, incorrect draft angles of lugs creating traction issues, everything, anything. I put the shoes I test through the wringer, because if I can’t trust it will do its job, why should anyone else? This wasn’t the first time I’d pushed things a little too far too fast. I’ve disappeared into the SE Utah backcountry only to discover that my prototype shoes were @#$%*# and with no option but to continue marching another 67 miles. It certainly won’t be the last either. Sometimes the best way to find what you need to fix is to break it yourself or to let it break you.
My Feet Said 'No.' She Said 'Yes.'
But back to the L.A.S.H., or “long-ass section hike" as it’s known. We hiked those seven miles a night earlier than planned because we realized GaiaGPS sandbagged our mileage. The next day, we hiked 25 miles with massive elevation gain and smoke-filled skies that made our heads ache as the pain in my feet worsened. I’m decent at suffering outside, I’ve been benighted ice climbing frozen waterfalls in Canada, endured the heat of the desert, squandered liters from dung-filled watering holes or pathetically shallow puddles, but the pain I felt with every single step was overwhelming. By the end of day two, after almost 30 miles, I was making involuntary noises and doing everything I could to keep moving with gritted teeth. At camp I was delirious, laughing at the absurdity of my predicament and my role in its manifestation.
"Then it was time. I asked Jimmy to take our picture, and Lauren gave me a 'wtf?' look as I took a knee and she realized what was happening."
Eventually we hit Goat Rocks, a craggy, steep, glacially carved zone known for its ruggedness and mountain goats. My brother Jimmy hiked in to meet us, and we hatched a plan for the big moment. I brought two rings, one fashioned from a cord pulled from my pack and tied in a beautiful single-fisherman’s setting, the other a RingPop, you know, to really impress her. Jimmy thru-hiked the entire PCT the summer prior, and suggested I ask him to “take our picture” when we get to the Knife’s Edge so he can capture the moment. I figured out what to say as we hiked past groups of mountain goats after descending from Cispus Pass.
Then it was time. I asked Jimmy to take our picture, and Lauren gave me a “wtf?” look as I took a knee and she realized what was happening. Then it was all smiles and giggles. A passing PCT thru-hiker from Germany asked, “Is it real?,” before offering his congratulations, and we continued down the trail feeling very, very full.
Roughly one year later, I proved the shoe to myself by running my first 50-mile trail race with zero blisters. Then, a week later, surrounded by friends and family on the shoulder of Wy’East (also known as Mt. Hood), the world drenched in crimson-filtered autumnal light, we tied the actual knot a stone’s throw from the PCT.
A Honeymoon for Trail Lovers
Honeymoon. The word itself conjures images of tropical destinations with umbrella-topped fruity drinks and turquoise waters, “all inclusive” package deals with poolside bars and decadent meals. Our vision was a bit different. We wanted our honeymoon to be memorable and experiential. Our first idea was the Colorado Trail, but let’s be honest – it’s hard to get a month off from any employer, so we adjusted our sights and focused on the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT). Logistically it doesn’t get much better than the TRT. It’s a perfect loop, resupplies are easy, and while it’s not very remote or wild at times, the trail is stunning.
The summer was busy and planning started later than intended. Our trail runner prototype, now called the Seek, was getting rave reviews and set to launch in late July. We found someone to drop off our resupply and leave water caches, a place to stay before and after the journey, weighed out our food and organized meals by day, finalized packing lists, and before you know it we were walking through Tahoe City at 6a heading to the trailhead.
Now, I might trail run more than I hike, but I’ll be the first to say that hiking is hard. Especially thru-hiking “off the couch.” Not off the couch in terms of being sedentary before hitting the trail, but off the couch as it applies to “hiker legs,” the durability that PCT hikers acquire during their first 700 miles of desert hiking. Survive the desert and you’re hardened and ready to tackle the Sierra’s rollercoaster elevation changes. Running legs aren’t hiking legs. I could tick a 50K no problem before we left, but after our first day I was cooked. My shoulders weren’t used to carrying weight, and my back which is a mess from playing hard my whole life was in agony.
On day two, we traversed one my favorite sections, the trail suspended above Kings Beach and Incline Village, the lake views unparalleled. A sage grouse visited us for breakfast in camp, but we had no intentions of making a meal of it and enjoyed it’s absurd and goofy exploration of our camp. We passed our first water source with plenty left from yesterday’s cache and carry, eventually filling at a small spring just off the trail which transected steep verdant green hillsides dotted with mud castle rock formations and wind-gnarled trees. After passing the TRT’s highpoint near Relay Peak, we slowly descended toward Mt. Rose Highway after stopping for lunch at Galena Falls. As we neared another trailhead and major road crossing foot traffic increased and Bluetooth speakers fought nature’s soundscape, messing with my peace of mind, but then we ran into Flo and Howie.
Love Birds & Cheeseburger Birds
Flo and Howie were a 70-something-years-old, very happily married couple, you could feel the warmth and strength of their relationship like rays of sun. They asked if we’d heard of the mountain chickadees, which of course we had, they’re the “cheeseburger” birds. Unbeknownst to me, Tahoe Meadows is a popular spot to feed them, right out of your hands. Pine nuts were on the menu, and they coached us to stand still with our arms extended until the chickadees felt comfortable enough to flit to your hand, gently wrapping their tiny claws around your finger, before taking a single pine nut and returning to their perch. We almost passed on the invitation, and would have missed arguably the richest, sweetest moment of the trip, feeling the urgent pull of the miles ahead, anxiety trying to wrest control from my prefrontal cortex. We left Flo and Howie, reflecting on our relationship and dreaming of a life many years from now where we might be the couple feeding birds, sharing our wisdom and warmth with a different younger couple.
We cowboy camped that night and woke to icy winds and dew on our sleeping bags, and a purple and orange sunrise over Washoe Lake. Our morning miles took us through Diamond Peak Ski Resort into Spooner Lake & Backcountry State Park, then high above Marlette Lake, drained for dam repairs, before entering picturesque fields of lupine in open and airy meadows beneath Snow Valley Peak dotted with white granite. Sweet and irresistible, the fragrance of those meadows with the azure depths of Tahoe looming far below is something I’ll never forget. We’d started the day carrying water, our only source being a hand pump at Marlette Campground, where despite having slightly elevated levels of aluminum we gladly topped off our reserves. Finally, we descended to Hwy 50 at Spooner Summit where we stopped to find yet another water cache we paid for, and to eat lunch before filling up all our damn water bottles and hiking uphill, again.
"Sleep as best you can, then get your butt up and do it all over again."
That night at “Bench Camp,” our position was incredible but not perfect. Perched high above the surrounding landscape nestled among protective stands of fir trees, the sunset was saturated with such color it threatened to leak into the lake below, mixing oranges, reds, and blues. We could hear muffled notes and lyrics drifting our way from South Lake Tahoe – and indeed Glass Animals was putting on a show. The sun continued its descent, rocks shifting underfoot while winds whispered, as we returned to our soon-to-be warm sleeping bags nestled behind a wall of trees and tried to sleep to the thrumming bass lines.
Dirtbag Life on Repeat
Day 4, resupply day! Guess what? We sandbagged ourselves again! At first light – as we donned gloves, tights, and rain jackets to stay the winds, the world still a bit hazy – we boogied to Kingsbury Grade and tried to hitchhike to the Fox and Hound restaurant, but it’s not as easy to hitch in Tahoe these days, and no passing vehicles deemed our thumbs worthy of a lift. Eating hot, delicious food after days of cold soaking the same menu repeatedly is something beyond luxury, an ungraspable experience unless you eschew comfort and convenience for a spell. I highly recommend giving it a try. After a day of big miles, you don’t need much to be happy, other than a dry, flat, hopefully somewhat padded place to lay your weary bones. After grabbing our resupply, and climbing for 13 miles to Star Lake, that’s exactly what we did.
"There was one rough moment, and only a few tears, when we realized tomorrow was 26 miles instead of 22."
By now we’d somewhat settled into the rhythm of things: wake up at 5:00, make coffee and breakfast, pack up and hit the trail by 6:00. Wait until your belly grumbles to eat Pop Tarts, then graze trail mix making sure you save enough to finish the day, take lunch at 1:00 to “shorten” the second half of the day and enjoy a tortilla with PB2 and trail mix. More trail mix to carry you to camp, quick protein shake immediately after arriving at camp for recovery’s sake (even if it’s psycho-somatic), and a handful of Swedish Fish or Haribo Goldbears for dessert. Sleep as best you can, then get your butt up and do it all over again.
Day 5 began with beautiful weather as we climbed to Armstrong Pass. Freel Peak’s talus slopes loomed above, a place where old gods might still linger. The landscape shifted to a brown and beige blanket of granite littered with chunks of quartz, interrupted by wind-gnarled trees reeking of resilience. From Armstrong Pass the trail continues to climb before descending over 2,000’ to Luther Pass. Big Meadow was, well, a big meadow, tranquil and lovely. We weaved through massive conglomerate boulders before reaching Round Lake’s cold, deep blue waters, pausing for lunch and a mid-day dip. At day’s end, we climbed through brushy meadows, across tiny streams tucked into hillside folds, only to find our final water source dry, necessitating our first backtrack. There was one rough moment, and only a few tears, when we realized tomorrow was 26 miles instead of 22.
"Perception is a weird thing. At the beginning of the trip, the enormity of it all felt rather big. Eight days, 170 miles, even on the sixth day it felt like there was more ahead of us than behind us."
We were excited to reach Echo Summit the next morning, where we’d grab a coffee and quick bite to eat while charging our digital tethers and refilling water. Echo Lake is the doorway to Desolation Wilderness, the crown jewel of the trail system, a stark and beautiful landscape covered in granite and dotted with unbelievably blue lakes. I’d never camped in Desolation before. Permits are hard to get, so the general rule of thumb is to camp before or after the boundary, so any Desolation thru-hike requires somewhere in the ballpark of 30 miles of hiking in a day. Our expectations for Echo were way off. They’re not on city water so they don’t allow refills but do sell gallons for $6. They don’t provide outlets for charging, and the coffee wasn’t on. I’m just a whiny entitled hiker, but we didn’t have time for a hitch to South Lake, so we passed on the boat shuttle across the lake, shouldered our packs, and ventured forth into what felt like a warming oven.
We snaked our way through a rocky world of water and granite, stopping frequently to take it all in. Our legs burned on the never-ending climb up Dicks Pass, one of the few big passes on the TRT. The white and grey landscape reflected the sun’s heat, somehow focusing directly on my calves. We splashed our faces with tiny spring water trickles tracking across the trail, and once at the top of the pass, glimpsed Freel Peak far off on the horizon, our previous night’s camp hidden somewhere between here and there, the splendor of Desolation revealed below in full and absolute glory. We stumbled downhill on tired legs to Middle Velma, pitched our tarp on granite bedrock before inhaling dinner and falling asleep to the staccato calls of coyotes.
Wild, Free & Almost There
Perception is a weird thing. At the beginning of the trip, the enormity of it all felt rather big. Eight days, 170 miles, even on the sixth day it felt like there was more ahead of us than behind us. Once at Velma, it felt like we were already done, and therein lies so much tension. We were tired and dirty, and the idea of food cooked by someone else and warm fluffy beds was almost irresistible. But we were also happy and whole, displaced from the monotony and displeasure of the grind just long enough to feel free and alive, wild and raw. That tension, to me, is a summary of the human condition in our timeline, and something you can feel just as easily at a desk as on a ridgeline.
After leaving Desolation we spied more granite expanses lower in elevation to our west where the Rubicon river flows, our feet kicking up clouds of powdery dust with every step, squirrels and chipmunks, mostly chipmunks, announcing our passage. We stopped at Richardson Lake, memories of my last visit (testing KEEN prototypes, weird…) bubbled up from the depths. We ate our lunches feeling more at ease knowing the end was near. At Barker Pass we found a trailhead sign reading “Tahoe City 16 miles.” Lauren broke with happiness, confronted with concrete evidence of many miles behind and the few between us and our goal. At deteriorating picnic tables we grazed on another round of peanut butter tortillas and trail mix as a dual sport bike putted by, wishing they had a cooler full of cold soda. Our spirits were so high we decided to willingly extend our miles (and also minimize tomorrow’s), choosing a somewhat level spot nearly on top of the ridge where the trail meets the boundary of Granite Chief Wilderness, where we watched dueling skyscapes, golden amber light to our west, pastel pinks and purples to the east over Tahoe.
"I proposed to Lauren testing this shoe on the PCT, a year later we tied the knot adjacent to the PCT at Timberline Lodge, and now we wrapped up our celebration after sharing miles on the very same trail."
Our final day was a mix of emotions. Relief balanced by a certain sense of loss, knowing that our time immersed in sublime beauty and the comforting embrace of space and time and the freedom to move as we pleased. I hoped that maybe we’d finally see a bear, but settled for more chipmunks and birds, passing Twin Peaks, which we’d stared at our first day on trail and now traversed below, continuing to Ward Creek, then Page Meadows, and finally paralleling the aquamarine Truckee River as the day’s first groups of tourists began their lazy floats downstream.
We cherished every moment, good and bad. We worked together even when exhausted and cranky, taking each obstacle in stride, whether it was the pain of heavy water carries, the fatigue in our legs and bodies, relentless midday heat, or the uncertainty of our off-the-couch endeavor. Almost a decade after a chance meeting at a tiny brewery in a sleepy SW Colorado town, Lauren and I celebrated our honeymoon amble embracing on the sidewalk in Tahoe City. I proposed to Lauren testing this shoe on the PCT, a year later we tied the knot adjacent to the PCT at Timberline Lodge, and now we wrapped up our celebration after sharing miles on the very same trail. The same shoe that almost broke my spirit two summers ago carried me 178 miles in 7.5 days without a single blister.
In so many ways, just like that, I’d come full circle. Not only did I help launch a new shoe and a totally new category for KEEN, I also launched this next amazing chapter of my life. I can’t wait to seek what’s next on the trail ahead.
