Meet Hyena

I wasn’t always a “nature person.” I used to be the kind of kid who’d head inside at the first sign of a bug. But somewhere between veering off dark mountain roads and signing up for the wrong kind of race, I found myself falling—hard—into the wild.

My first trail race was at Mahlon-Dickerson Preserve. I showed up late, unprepared, and hadn’t even realized it was a trail race. I loved it. That day turned into a string of trail races, which led to ultramarathons, which led to a Wilderness First Responder course. The trails pulled me in deeper, and I didn’t fight it.

Along the way, I earned my trail name: Hyena. She came to life during a particularly rough race at the foot of the Appalachians, when an older hiker laughed at my laugh and gave it back to me in the form of a name. Hyena is me—but bolder, steadier, better. When things get hard, I ask what she’d do.

Since then, I’ve run a marathon by accident during a hurricane, cried in knee-deep water, DNF’d my first 100-miler after a sneak-attack hill, and learned to carry my own gear, my own fears, and sometimes my own first aid. I study wilderness medicine, with goals of becoming a W-EMT and earning my first ultra buckle. Most of what I know, I learned by doing it wrong the first time. Books and videos are great—but it’s the terrain that teaches.

I’m based in New Jersey, where I feel at home in the rough edges of the Appalachian corridor—places like Wawayanda, Mahlon-Dickerson, and Kittatinny. My compass is pointed toward longer hikes, deeper woods, and bigger goals, but I still think the smallest adventures—solo walks, blisters, trailhead coffee—matter just as much.

This site isn’t about how far I’ve gone or how fast. It’s about reminding ourselves that we’re built for this. That we all came from the wild once. That freckles, tan lines, and sore quads are just as human as screens and code. That whether you’re running 100 miles or wandering a mile off-path, the wilderness gives you back a little more of yourself.