I grew up in Holladay, Utah, with my parents, Wendy and Jamie, and my younger brother, Alex. Even before we could walk, my parents worked hard to instill a love of the outdoors in us. We went camping every weekend, backpacking, skiing, or biking. It was a running joke among my parents’ friends that no matter where they camped on Friday night, they would wake up to Wendy and Jamie there in the morning. It was a ton of work on their part, whether it was packing up after a long day at work or four-year-old me giggling in the bike trailer as I shrieked at dad, “faster, faster!” as he peddled up a steep hill. My parents’ hard work paid off, though, and I developed a deep love of the wild places around us. After undergrad, I even took off on a backpacking trip across the country, where I covered 1,200 miles of trail in 26 different parks over six months. There were so many memorable trips — solo horse packing through Yellowstone, picking wine barrels in Napa, deciding I could travel faster cross country, and being terribly wrong — it’s hard to pick a favorite, but that’s part of the fun.